The Proposal Problem: A Billionaire Royal Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  “Hello? A little help here?” I yell above the music.

  The only one who pays any attention to me is the toddler. But he just waves at me before wandering off for another bubble fix.

  Fucking hell.

  Evidently, the girls aren’t going to be all that useful for the time being, which means I’m on my own.

  Leaving them behind, I venture deeper into the club.

  As much as I’d like to have some fun with them—because foam parties are a fucking blast—I am on a fucking mission.

  I’ve got more fucking multicolored wrist bands on than the colors the rainbow has.

  Someone here has to know what the fuck they mean and why the fuck I have them all.

  The problem is that it’s next to impossible to find a single person who works here. There’s so much foam everywhere that it’s hard to tell if I’m standing beside Brad Pitt, an employee, or some random nobody.

  “Fucking foam, stay the fuck out of my mouth,” I spit foam from my lips in frustration.

  The deeper I go into the club, the more foam there is.

  And this isn’t the kind of white stuff I prefer having in my mouth—though it is just as salty. From out of nowhere, I feel a pair of hands on my waist and a hard body—of the male persuasion—against my back.

  Their hips move in a sexy, harmonic way with the beat that makes the music tolerable.

  His hands move over my stomach and up over my chest. They grab my tits firmly, and I feel a nudge against my ass from a growing cock.

  I should be pushing off and continuing my hunt. I have the skittles catalog of wristbands right now, but this guy can fucking dance.

  He’s got all the right moves. And in all the right places.

  And—for the sake of honesty and transparency—I’m curious about just how big his cock can get if I grind my ass up on it enough.

  My hips and ass move along with his, as if we’ve done this dance a thousand times before. Which— let’s face it—isn’t far from the truth for me.

  The number of hard bodies—both men and women—I’ve grinded up on has likely reached the five-digit range at this point. But to this guy’s credit, he’s easily in the top one percent of people who know what the fuck they’re doing.

  I reach behind to run my fingers through his hair on the back of his head.

  “So do you dance like this with all the ladies or am I just special?” I ask as I give my ass a wiggle against his growing cock.

  “Do you really care?” he growls in this brassy, husky voice that reminds me of a young Clint Eastwood.

  If I had been wearing panties right now they would be soaked. As it is, I’m dripping down the inside of my thigh.

  “Should I?”

  “Well, you never know what kind of people you’ll find in a club like this.”

  A normal person would probably just walk away—or at least check the fucker out—but not me. Not knowing who this guy is—or what he looks like—is part of the thrill.

  It’s like glory hole dance floor. Don’t know whose cock I’m playing with, but it’s a nice one, and I don’t give a fuck.

  “You should be careful—I’m a married woman,” I say as I let a hand drop to rub over the shaft of his cock through his pants.

  “That’s okay,” his teeth pull gently on my earlobe. “I’m a married man.”

  He slips a hand down from my tits to the bottom of my skirt.

  I can feel my lips turn upward into a beaming smile when I feel the front of my skirt being lifted up.

  I should totally put a stop to this.

  But then that just wouldn’t be fun.

  And his cock is like a magnet to my ass.

  The man is about as big and thick as a French baguette, and if my ass could speak—which I’m thankful it doesn’t, given the shit it would say on a regular basis—it would be calling him “daddy” in French.

  His fingers graze up along the bare flesh of my exposed pussy.

  My eyes shift from side to side to see if anyone is watching. I’m disappointed that nobody is catching a glimpse of the show.

  He runs his fingers through my bush and gives it’s a short tug.

  “Ooooohh fuck yes,” I moan.

  Whoever this guy is, he knows just how to work it—in more ways than one.

  His fingers move back down to my wet pussy, and I feel him slide a finger in between my lips. A fresh stream of juices spills out and down the side of my leg. I’m so fucking wet that I’m going to form my own Great Lake on the dance floor: Lake Sexy Bitch.

  I’ve always been a sexy bitch—that’s never been a question—but even I have to admit I look good enough to make the Devil rise up from Hell and ask for my number.

  Fuck—if the Devil looked like Viggo Mortensen or Elizabeth Hurley, you can best believe they’d be getting my number, too.

  I shudder as his teeth drag across my neck.

  The feeling of my clit being massaged between two fingers sends a jolt up my spine.

  This guy is hitting all my good spots.

  I reach down and grab his shaft through his pants as his reward, while his finger flicks at my clit.

  A moan hisses between my teeth.

  Suddenly, his finger slides up inside me, and I lean my head back against him.

  It’s shit like this that keeps me—or kept me—from getting married. You don’t have this kind of fun with a husband.

  A big ball of foam flies by my face, making me feel like I’ve been slapped in the face with a leather glove.

  I hear music ringing through my ears, but it isn’t what’s being played right now. It’s still Eurotrash music mind you, but that’s beside the point.

  It is the music that was being played when we were all here last night.

  Music that played while...

  13

  Percy

  Friday 9:02 Pm

  I love this fucking music.

  It’s the kind of stuff that you can dance to all night. Or fuck to all night if you’re in the mood for that. Which—let’s be real here—I’m always in the mood for.

  I can’t tell what about this music speaks to me.

  Maybe it has to do with me seeing the notes dancing around me. And I don’t mean seeing them in my mind or imagination. The notes are literally dancing around me right now in rotating neon colors, coming straight from a bag of Skittles.

  Fucking absinthe, man.

  It’s trippy as fuck, especially since I’m watching two bass clefs double team a treble clef like it owes them money.

  Maybe it’s the booze, but it’s actually hot to watch.

  This place may not have been on my list of places to visit here in Amsterdam, but I’m so happy Becky suggested it.

  Between her and Liam, they always know the best places to party, regardless where on the planet we find ourselves.

  Speaking of Becky—or the other girls for that matter—I have no fucking clue if they’re even still here. We showed up as a team, grabbed a couple of drinks, and then split apart like Guns N’ Roses. I’m not overly worried about them though; they’re big girls and more than capable of handling themselves should anything pop up.

  And given Becky’s current situation, I’m sure she’ll be more than capable of keeping Sammi and Mysti May out of too much trouble.

  Not that she really needs to worry about those two.

  Everyone knows I’m the party instigator.

  If anyone is going to start an international fucking incident, it’s going to be me. And it’s going to be a damn good one I can guarantee that.

  Go big or go home I say—and I always like to go big.

  Rough hands reach around and grab my exposed, glitter covered tits.

  I nearly forgot that I hadn’t been dancing alone.

  My mystery man tweaks my nipples between his fingers, and it feels fucking amazing.

  I reach down between my thighs and slip my fingers in myself.

  “Mmmmm yeah,” I moan.

  The man
behind me grinds up against me, as I slide my fingers in and out of my pussy to the tempo of his movements. The scruff of his face tingles along my nape. His teeth pull at my earlobe with a growl that makes my ovaries explode.

  “You’re a naughty girl,” he whispers in a husky European voice. Kind of familiar, but whatever. All Europeans kind of sound the same, right?

  “Oh baby, you have no idea.”

  “How about we play a game?”

  I lift my fingers from between my thighs and slip them into the mouth of the hard bodied stranger behind me.

  He takes them eagerly. His tongue slides over my fingers—like a man who found water in the desert—as the giant cock that he’s packing throbs through the fabric of his pants against me.

  “What kind of game did you have in mind?”

  My fingers are slowly released from his hungry lips. He takes my hand and slips it between my thighs. I don’t fight him as he forces my fingers to rub against my clit.

  “I noticed you have a couple of bracelets.”

  “I do.”

  “How would you like to earn more?”

  I already like where this is going.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Mystery Man’s hand lets go of mine—I still keep rubbing my clit anyway—and I feel his fingers slip into my wet cunt with a hard thrust.

  “Fuck yes,” I hiss through my pursed lips. “So, what is this game of yours?”

  His head moves to the other side of my neck. His lips find my hot flesh. His fingers thrust deeper into me.

  “For every naughty thing you do out here on the dance floor, I’ll give you another bracelet. You collect them all, and you can have the grand prize,” he says suggestively.

  That sound of a grand prize sounds rather enticing. More so since I know exactly what the grand prize is that he’s referring to.

  “Aren’t you afraid that someone will see?”

  “Should I be?”

  I can feel my mystery man’s lips curl upward into a smile against my neck.

  My eyes look around the dance floor, and I can barely make out all the bodies around us.

  It’s not that everyone is dancing too quickly or too close—which they are—but all the foam floating and settling everywhere that is obscuring everything. I can’t tell if the people in front of me are Sammi and Mysti May or a couple of cabana boys.

  Nor can I tell what they’re doing covered in all that foam. They could be giving each other hand jobs, but it would be almost impossible to tell.

  It’s pretty fucking awesome, truth be told.

  Everyone here tonight could strip down and fuck in some massive giant orgy without anyone being the wiser. I’ve never been in a club-sized orgy before, but that’s no reason to stop me. It could be fun.

  Correction, it will be fun.

  Not only do I bring the party; I am the fucking party.

  “So—anything off limits?” I ask.

  My head leans against his chest. I look up at him, but I can’t make out his features.

  I know he has facial hair and a strong jawline—because I can feel it against my skin—but that’s it.

  Maybe it’s the foam or the booze, but everything is like a giant haze. It reminds me of people on those Netflix crime documentaries who have their faces blurred out to protect their identities.

  I don’t really give a shit.

  His body is rock hard—like sculpted fucking granite—and his cock is like a foot-long from Subway.

  “Off limits?” Mystery Man laughs and slips another finger into my hungry cunt. “I have no limits.”

  Honestly, I’m really pleased that I can’t make out this man’s face. To do so would ruin part of the mystery and allure of who he is. His anonymity makes what’s happening between us incredibly fucking hot.

  Besides, men always make the most fucked up faces when they’re about to shoot their load down the back of my throat.

  Happens every time. One minute they go from looking like they stepped out of Magic Mike to looking like fucking Goofy from Saturday morning cartoons.

  His fingers slip out of my pussy, and I grab his wrist with both hands.

  “All right, hot shot,” I tell him. “I’ll play your game.”

  I move his hand to my mouth, my lips wrapping around his fingers.

  My tongue swirls around and between them as I clean myself off of him. An approving moan slips past his lips and into my ear as I do.

  When I get all these bracelets—and I’m going to collect them all—I’m going to devour my prize. And I’m going to milk every last fucking drop of cum that he has and feel it slide down the back of my throat with a smile of fucking victory on my face.

  Because if there’s one thing I like more than games and a thick cock, it’s winning. Winning comes with prizes. And I’m a slut for prizes and rewards.

  Especially the big cock kind of prizes. Those are the fucking best.

  “Just remember that you’re the one who said there were no limits,” I say with a grin.

  I’m going to rock this fucker’s world like a hurricane.

  By the time I’m done with him, he’s going to be a drooling wreck covered in foam on this club’s floor.

  14

  Anton

  Friday 9:12 Pm

  The way she’s wiggling her plump, firm ass against my cock makes me want to bend her over right here and now.

  But to do that means I lose the game. And watching her do naughtier and naughtier things for bracelet after bracelet is the most erotic fucking thing on the planet.

  Percy is a woman with no shame. That’s always been her thing. She owns it and wears it like a badge of honor.

  It’s part of her charm.

  It’s part of why I find myself so completely—and without reservation—in love and in awe of her. And it’s why she’s the perfect woman to be my future queen.

  She turns around to face me. Her hands begin to unzip my pants.

  I don’t stop her. This is her show. And—if I’m being completely honest—I’m curious to see where this is leading.

  But when she looks up at me I don’t see a look of recognition. I see lust, hunger, and want—hard to miss with eyes as expressive as hers—but she doesn’t look at me like a familiar lover or husband. She looks at me as if I’m a stranger.

  I should care that she’s so drunk she doesn’t realize it’s me—I know that I should—but that’s not who Percy and I are.

  In the end, it doesn’t matter how wasted she gets. If I’m in the room, she gravitates to me.

  Nobody else in the world can deliver what we crave. If she’s trashed—if I’m trashed—if we’re both drunk out of our minds—we want each other. We always have, we always will.

  It’s not just lust.

  That’s fucking love. Real love.

  You can’t find something like that in the bottom of a bottle—that’s for sure.

  Percy’s hand reaches into the opening of my pants. Her fingers reach under the waistband of my underwear and she pulls it down to free my cock.

  “Ohhhh, you weren’t kidding about a grand prize at all, were you?” she says with delight.

  “I’m not a man prone to exaggeration.”

  Her fingers wrap around the base of my cock. She squeezes her hand firmly in a vain attempt to make her fingers touch around my girth.

  They don’t.

  Percy’s hand moves along the length of my cock and squeezes out a large helping of precum. Her palm slides over the velvet head, and massages all that warm fluid over the length with another firm stroke.

  Her tongue glides along her pink, pouty lips as my cock begins to glisten in the neon-colored lights.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  “Do you always ruin moments like this by asking such an obvious question?”

  I reach into my pocket and pull out a new bracelet for her wrist.

  She slips it on with the others and drops down to her knees before me.

 
; My hand grabs her hair and wraps it around my fist—as a proper gentleman would.

  Percy spits on the head and shaft of my cock.

  With both hands, she guides my cock between her tits. She presses them together and bounces them back and forth over my spit-lubed shaft.

  Percy’s lips pucker against the head of my cock. Her tongue slides against the slit and licks the precum that rushes out.

  My tightened fist pulls at her hair. I let out a low growl, and my knees falter for a moment.

  My eyes look at the ceiling. The neon-colored lights flash and pulsate to the beat of the music—as does my cock—through the haze of foam that covers them.

  I’m close to unloading my cum all over her lips and tits.

  And that’s when Percy stops.

  My eyes go wide—as if they’re about to pop out of my fucking head—and I look down at the blonde at my feet.

  She’s smirking at me as if she just made the Devil her bitch.

  “Bracelet,” she demands.

  Every muscle in my body is tense and stiff—stuck in the moment just before the point of no return—and it takes more energy than I realize to pull another bracelet from my pocket.

  She more than earned that one.

  Percy stands up. Her hand finds my aching cock again and squeezes it—hard.

  I groan—loudly—as a jolt of electricity runs from the tip of my dick to the base of my spine.

  “You want to come all over me, don’t you?” she coos with that mischievous smile of hers.

  “Do you always ruin moments like this by asking such obvious questions?” I tease back.

  I’m rewarded with a firm two-handed stroke.

  Percy’s hands guide my cock to the gap between her thighs. The warmth of her wet cunt makes me twitch from head to toe. Every muscle in my body flexes and stiffens at the feel of her.

  She grinds her pussy along the length of my shaft—coating me in her sweet juices—as her fingers pull and tweak at her nipples.

  Her eyes look at me and dance with wicked playfulness.

  “So, just many bracelets do you have left?” she asks.