RICHARD (A BAD BOY ROMANCE)

by Wild, Nikki

  “Maddy,” he groaned. That word left his lips like a prayer, and a moment later, he worshipped me with his seed.

  He fell forward and I caught him, kissing him over and over as he filled me in the way I’d needed ever since we’d last seen each other. That sensation of wholeness returned to me, and for the first time in weeks, I felt utterly at peace with him and with myself.

  We lay together for innumerable moments, entwined in one another and unwilling to let go. Tears were brimming in my eyes again. The tidal wave of my pleasure had been replaced by one of emotion, and I couldn’t stop the sobs wracking my body as Preston kept me safe in his arms.

  “Hey,” he said, finally drawing away from me. “You know who deserves a happy ending?”

  “We do,” I said, laughing as I blinked the happy tears from my eyes. “We fucking do.”

  Preston smiled. He brushed the last tear away with his thumb. “You’re damn right,” he told me. “And I think I know just the place to make it happen...”

  If you’d told me three weeks ago that I’d have Maddy out on my boat cruising through the Caribbean, I would have said you were crazy. Back then she was still my soon-to-be stepsister, it looked like my father had won, and I’d firmly believed I’d chased away the love of my life for good.

  Now here we were, just the two of us aboard my boat, the shadow of impending relation no longer looming over us. We were finally, completely free, and it was the best feeling I’d ever had.

  I watched her as she sauntered over in her white string bikini, the one with a big, gold ring that pulled together the front of her top and accentuated her inhumanly perfect cleavage. The way her hair fluttered in the warm breeze made her look like she was in some kind of Sports Illustrated ad as she bent over to hand me another daiquiri.

  I gently pulled open the front of her top with one finger and peeked at her bountiful breasts. She laughed and slapped my hand away before sitting down on my lap, relaxing against me in the sun.

  “This is perfect,” she said, sipping on her drink as we baked under the clear skies together. “I can’t believe how lucky we are.”

  “Good things come to those who do good,” I told her. It might have been ineloquent, but it was true. “You taught me that,” I added, kissing her shoulder.

  She smiled and turned toward me, placing her own kiss on my temple. “I love you, Preston Harvey. You know that?”

  I grinned. It was the first time either of us had said it to each other, but we’d both known well before now how we felt. It had been love at first sight—we just hadn’t known it at the time. Now that we did, it was something we’d never forget.

  It still felt good to hear her say it, though. And it was only fitting, since I had a very important question for her.

  “I love you too,” I replied, kissing her on the lips. Then I tapped her thigh with the palm of my hand. “You gotta get up, though. I have something to give you.”

  Maddy giggled and stood, looking up at me as I got up from the lounge chair. “Is that a ring box in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

  I stared at her, mouth agape. “You bitch,” I muttered, giggling as she slapped my shoulder. “You ruined the surprise.”

  “The real surprise would be if you managed to slip something past me,” she said, biting her lip as she gazed up into my eyes. “Come on, Preston. Ask me. You already know what I’m going to say.”

  I smirked. “Yes, ma’am,” I said as I did what I was told.

  I lowered myself down on one knee with much grunting and groaning and holding my back while Maddy rolled her eyes and tried not to smile at me. Then I reached into the pocket of my shorts and pulled out the ring box she’d already known was there. At least she didn’t know what was inside of it.

  “Madison Hearst,” I began, and even though I knew what her answer would be, my pulse quickened all the same. “You are the single best thing to have ever happened to me. Before you, I thought I knew what wealth was. Before you, I thought I knew how the world worked. Before you, I was sure there was no such thing as love. Well, I was an idiot. You made me see that. And now I want to show you something in return.”

  I opened up the box. I’d never felt so proud in my life as I did at that moment when she gasped.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed. “Jesus, Preston. It’s beautiful!”

  She stared down at the rose gold ring I’d picked out for her, the one with a twisted, diamond-encrusted shank framing the brightest pink diamond money could buy. Knowing and loving Maddy had made me rich in an intangible way, but being an actual billionaire still had its merits when it came to gifts.

  The sun reflected off the gem’s surface, painting Maddy’s face with an array of prisms that would have rivaled the Hope Diamond. I took her hand—she was too flabbergasted to give it to me on her own—and slowly slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, just as I’d intended. It had been hell getting her ring size while she was sleeping.

  “Madison Hearst,” I intoned, trying to sound very, very serious. “Will you marry me?”

  Maddy looked from me to the ring, then back again. I quirked a brow at her as I waited for her to respond.

  In typical Maddy fashion, she made me wait. And then she grinned and threw her arms around me as I stood, bouncing up and down as she cried, “Yes! Yes!” over and over again.

  My heart swelled as I took her in my arms, holding her tightly and kissing over the waves of her hair as she committed to being my wife. I’d never wanted anything so badly in all my life as this, and now that I had it, I felt utterly complete.

  Maddy looked up at me and bit her lip. With a very put-on Southern accent, she asked me, “Does that mean we ain’t gonna be kin no more?”

  I shook my head at her and laughed. “Only by marriage,” I replied, and kissed my bride-to-be once more.

  Are you ready for your super secret BONUS NOVEL? That’s right, I have ONE MORE LITTLE SURPRISE for you. Turn the page, because I’m also including my BESTSELLING novel, ROYAL PRICK, absolutely free! Why? Because I LOVE my readers! I really hope you love it!

  -Nikki xoxoxo

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  ROYAL PRICK

  A BRITISH ROYAL STEPBROTHER ROMANCE

  By Nikki Wild

  Copyright 2015 Nikki Wild

  All Rights Reserved

  _Find me at my website:

  WWW.WILDNIKKI.COM

  Or friend me on Facebook!

  http://www.facebook.com/wildnikki

  Although I hold the copyright, this ebook is completely DRM-FREE copy and you can read it on any device you wish to with zero restrictions. You paid for this story, and you deserve to be able to enjoy it on any device you see fit. THANK YOU for supporting an Independent Author.

  –Nikki Wild

  Table of Contents

  Author’s Note

  ---

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

 
Chapter 20

  EPILOGUE

  Special FREE Bonus Novels:

  DICK (A Stepbrother Romance)

  HIS (A Dominating Billionaire Romance)

  Thank you for supporting an independent author! Just for my naughty readers, my entire catalog is now FREE TO READ to anyone with a Kindle Unlimited subscription!

  Be sure to check out my entire naughty Nikki Wild catalog by clicking RIGHT HERE!

  You might be interested to know that I offer a chance to be an ARC reader, special limited time discounts, new release notification, and FREE EXCLUSIVE CONTENT to anyone that subscribes to my Nikki Wild List! So go ahead, sign up is easy and I will NEVER send you spam or share your e-mail address with anyone.

  Sign up for the NIKKI WILD e-mail list by clicking RIGHT HERE!

  Prologue

  “Tristan… oh, my God. If we’re caught…”

  Gwendolyn Pierce was staring up at me with her wide, soulful eyes and her pretty pink lips all agape, her heart beating so hard if I listened closely, I swore I could hear it. I was close enough to feel it, too, pounding through the thin fabric of her camisole, making her pert nipples quiver against my chest.

  I’d caught her in her nightclothes, a modest ensemble of flannel pajama pants and a lacy top with no bra underneath. The latter clung to her small frame, the full, tender globes of her breasts outlined in delicious shadow.

  I slid my fingers up along her ribs, returning her gaze, the bare skin of my chest grazing her trembling arms. “Nobody needs to know, Gwennie. It’s just you and me.”

  Gwen took in a sharp breath, and for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that,” she whispered, but trailed off when I began inching her cami up her stomach, revealing more of her pale skin than was appropriate, given who we were to one another.

  Gwendolyn was my stepsister. And I was her stepbrother, and heir to a duchy. We were both hot and barely past eighteen and pumped full of hormones. We were dangerous. A scandal waiting to happen.

  And I wanted it to happen. I was sure Gwennie did, too. No matter how hard she’d dug her heels in about adapting to British culture—something her mother had insisted upon, accent and all—my stepsister couldn’t shake that rebellious nature of hers. She wasn’t meant for the aristocracy. Then again, neither was I.

  “We can’t,” she breathed. God, I could taste her on my lips. She tasted like desire, betraying her words, which came out almost like a squeak. It made my cock hard to no end. She was such a little mouse, but I got the feeling she would turn into a wildcat in bed, once somebody popped that sweet cherry of hers.

  Somebody who would, hopefully, be me.

  “We can,” I insisted. “See?” And I ever-so-lightly brushed the pad of my thumb over one of her nipples.

  “God!” she hissed a little too loudly, and I leaned down to cover her mouth with my own, to stifle the seductive sounds dripping from her mouth. Gwendolyn turned her face away at the last second, panting hard as I teased the nub of puffy, sensitive flesh beneath the fabric of her shirt.

  “Let me do this for you,” I whispered in her ear. Her back arched, forcing her hips against my hard-on. “I want you so badly, Gwennie. And I know you want me.” I took one of her hands and placed it on my cock; in response, it lurched toward her, desperate for more contact, so full of want and need that it physically hurt. “Do you feel what you do to me?”

  “Tristan,” Gwendolyn said, her doe-like eyes somehow growing even wider. “You’re… pierced? Down there?” She touched the surgical steel embedded in the head of my cock.

  “Do you want to see it?” I asked her, shivering as she stroked it. Oh, God, I wanted her to keep going, and to never stop.

  “I…” She looked up at me through her lashes, her gaze so curious, so full of wonder. “Um…”

  “Come on, Gwennie. Live a little.”

  “I can’t,” she said, pushing me away by my chest. My dick slipped from her hand and I groaned. “Not like this, Tristan. Not… here. When you’re only doing it to make your father… our father… mad.”

  I leaned against the pantry shelves and rubbed my face, trying to scrub away the frustration boiling in my nuts. When I looked at Gwen again, there was such sadness on her face. I thought that, even in the darkness, I could see the glint of tears in her eyes.

  I realized then that, for her, this was so much more than youthful desires. I realized that she might even have feelings for me—genuine feelings, ones that transcended a mere compulsion to be naughty. For me, this was just a passing interest, one of many I’d had since I realized girls didn’t actually have cooties—well, most of them, anyway.

  I wanted to fuck Gwen and get her out of my system. She wanted to fuck me, too, but then she wanted to live happily ever after. I was not the man to do that with. She needed to lower her expectations.

  And why not? Everyone else had.

  “I see,” I sighed, shaking my head. “Bloody hell, Gwennie. I thought you were an adult now. That you’d grown up a bit. But you’re still clinging to that Mickey Mouse, lovey-dovey horseshit, aren’t you?”

  Gwendolyn blushed. “I just want it to… mean something. Is that so wrong?”

  I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t a Disney movie, Gwennie. You’re not a princess, Gwennie, regardless of who your mother married. And I’m not your Prince Charming, your knight in shining armor, or whatever the hell else you expect me to be. But I am hot, and I am good in bed, and I am willing to teach you a few things you can use to snag a husband later on in life. It’s a good deal, love. You should take it.”

  I waited, my cock thrumming to the beat of my heart as Gwendolyn stared at me. Only this time, there wasn’t a war waging behind those pretty eyes. She wasn’t struggling between propriety and desire. This time, she was hurt. Pissed. Shocked that I’d ever speak to her that way.

  Good. Somebody had to bring her head down out of the clouds.

  “You’re an asshole, Tristan,” she whispered. “A real prick.”

  “Royal prick,” I corrected her. Then I shrugged. “Anyway, the offer stands. You know where to find me.”

  I opened the pantry door and stepped out, leaving Gwen huffing and puffing behind me. This was exactly why I didn’t go for the innocent types. They always wanted something they couldn’t have, something I couldn’t give. They watched too much TV and read too many books. Real life wasn’t The Princess Diaries. Real life was more like The Bachelor, where you ended up with someone based on prior arrangements and how good they were in the sack—after you’d test-driven all your options, of course.

  This was the reality check Gwendolyn needed, and I was confident she’d come after me. After all, I was leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow, a newly enlisted member of Her Majesty’s Royal Army. She wouldn’t let me go off to war without something to remember her by—she was, as I’d said before, a romantic.

  I chuckled and shook my head. Virgins…

  Chapter 1

  Four years later…

  It was a well-known fact that driving your own car in London was, above all things, a very poor decision. Even among the aristocracy—who seldom touched the wheel of their own vehicles, save for an odd sense of personal enjoyment—you never drove yourself through the streets of London town. In fact, such a thing was widely accepted as the key to a stress-induced heart attack—or at least, a minor brain aneurysm.

  I, thankfully, had never needed to worry much about the perils and stresses of London traffic aside from a slight sense of inconvenience, what with the readily available use of my own driver on hand.

  That might have sounded snobbish, but to say that I ever took dear Franklin for granted would have been a gross injustice—I prized that man almost as much as my own family, sometimes even more. In fact, if it were to be put in order of people I could count on more, it would be my beloved Franklin who would have to sit squarely on top, my own parents residing somewhere abysmally lower. It wasn’t uncommon for women such as myself to have a—shall we say—distant affect
ion for their parents, but my feelings about my family often bordered between apathy and sheer disdain—and that was on a good day. I grew up with all of the perks of a wealthy upbringing, as well as the minimal parental appreciation.

  The life of a young woman living among the upper echelons of British society was, without a doubt, one of privilege and often a great deal of to-do that hardly seemed to mesh with the modern age. For instance, many among the aristocracy still scoffed at the idea of work, aside from a few select professions: lawyer and politician being the most agreeable to the senses of the “old blood.” Men were, more often than not, still expected to hold down respectable careers while women were expected to take up one or more charities to help boost their popularity among the people. I, being only the stepdaughter of a lord, was afforded certain freedoms, most of which came from not bearing the name of his house upon my shoulders. The greatest of these freedoms, I felt, was the simple option of actually choosing my own profession, something few of my fellow members of the nobility shared.