The King's Virgin Bride: A Royal Wedding Novella (Royal Weddings Book 1)

by Natalie Knight

  “You’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony,” I cry. “It’s tradition.”

  “Well, then,” Edward says, looking dashing in his morning coat. “Since we’re anything but a traditional couple, we’re fine.”

  Edward wraps his hands around my waist, pulling me in close. I can feel his hard cock, even through layers and layers of tulle skirt.

  “Edward! We’re getting married today,” I say, playfully pushing him away. “We can’t have sex right now.”

  Or can we? I want to. God, I’ve wanted him for so long.

  “Princess Gwen,” Edward explains while carefully removing his coat, “as of three o’clock today, you will be Queen Gwen. We can do whatever we fucking want.”

  I slowly back up, with Edward matching me step by step until I feel the mattress hit my ass.

  “And what do you fucking want to do?”

  I help Edward remove his formal wear. With every button unbuttoned and zipper unzipped, our desire grows exponentially.

  Soon, Edward is standing before me stark naked, hard and gorgeous.

  “Clearly, my dear,” Edward says with a glance down at his rock-hard cock, “what I want is to fuck you.”

  Staring straight at his massive length, I’m suddenly a little apprehensive. I’m willing and eager to lose my virginity to my soon-to-be husband, but the thought of all that fitting in me is daunting to say the least.

  Edward seems to understand my change in mood.

  He caresses my cheek and says, “Don’t worry, love. By the time I enter you, you’ll be more than ready for me.”

  If I wasn’t completely at ease before, Edward’s toe-curling kiss certainly relaxes me. Enough that I drop to my knees, slowly taking him into my mouth. I wrap my hand around his cock and, together with my mouth, I have him moaning and rocking his hips in no time.

  The power I feel over him right now is heady. He’s the king, after all. He rules over the entire nation.

  But I’m the one in control right now. He’s putty in my hands.

  And I want to bring him this pleasure every day for the rest of our lives.

  “God, Gwen,” Edward moans. “Take all of me. I want to fill your mouth with me.”

  I continue working up and down his shaft, cupping and massaging his balls with my other hand. As I begin to increase my speed, I feel him start to twitch in my mouth.

  With a wink up at him, I take his entire length in my mouth just as he explodes into it. I hold on, swallowing as much as I can, but Edward excels at everything. A stream of cum overflows from my mouth, sliding down my chin.

  Slowly pulling Edward’s cock from my mouth, I lean back and show my future husband his handiwork before using my finger to lap it up.

  “You are the most beautiful creature ever,” Edward says, pulling me off the floor and back onto the bed.

  “Compliments are nice, but I’d rather you show me how much you love me.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Edward throws the voluminous skirt of my wedding dress over my head to expose my bare legs and cunt.

  He lets out a slow whistle. “Princess Gwen, you are not wearing the approved royal wedding lingerie. In fact, you’re wearing nothing at all.”

  “You did say we were untraditional,” I tease, although covered in all this fabric, my voice is a little muffled.

  “A fact I will forever be grateful for,” Edward says before practically diving between my legs, wasting no time in licking and sucking my pussy.

  The sensory deprivation provided by the fabric heightens the effect of Edward’s fingers and tongue.

  I open my legs to him more, feeling myself get wetter and slicker with every stroke of his finger or flick of his tongue.

  “Now, Edward,” I pant. “I want you now.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Edward says, joining me on the bed and moving the fabric away from my face.

  As soon as I feel the tip of his cock hit my inner cunt lips, I place my hands on his chest in a futile effort to prevent a pain that I’m instantly sure I will feel.

  Edward kisses my skin from my neck down to where lace is still covering my tits, all while using one hand to massage my cunt into relaxation.

  “It’ll only hurt for a second,” Edward says with a kiss on my left eyelid. “I promise.”

  He moves to kiss me on my right eyelid, followed by a gentle kiss on my lips. Then, he begins to enter me slowly.

  We’re staring into each other’s eyes, and as the pain gives way to the most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt, I think that it’s just like us.

  We had to go through the pain of being with the wrong people—and the unraveling of those promises—in order to find our way to each other and our future together.

  Our blissful, charmed future.

  The pain having long subsided, I feel my body begin to move with Edward’s, our hips meeting in the most natural of rhythms.

  Each time he pulls out of me, it feels like a part of me is missing. But when he plunges back in, it’s like a million stars explode every time I feel his cock fill my cunt.

  “Promise me you’ll fuck me every night, in every town and village we visit,” I say, stroking his face.

  “That’s a promise I’ll have no problem keeping,” Edward says, shifting himself so that he hits my clit, sending pleasure shivers up my spine.

  Suddenly, words are no longer possible.

  We devolve into moans and gasps and deep looks that seem to permeate our very soul.

  I cling to him as I feel the pressure start to build. I never want this feeling to end. It’s like I’m working my way up to the top of the tallest waterfall, but I also can’t wait to feel the explosion when I go over the edge.

  I feel Edward begin to come inside me. The feel of his cum in me fills my entire body with a warmth I’ve never experienced before.

  Like the first domino that falls, it sets off a chain reaction, and soon, I’m pushed over the edge, my cunt spasming and contracting around Edward’s cock, milking him of every last drop of precious fluid he’s willing to give me.

  Spent, Edward collapses on the bed beside me. He takes me in his arms as we slowly come back down to Earth.

  “Why did I wait so long to do that?” I ask, running my hands along Edward’s muscular chest.

  “Because I would have killed any other man you slept with?” Edward suggests, kissing the top of my head.

  “I’d only want to do that with you,” I say. “After all, you’ll soon be my husband.”

  “I am your husband,” Edward says, sitting up on one elbow to look at me. “And you are my wife. The ceremony is just ceremonial at this point.”

  “But what a wonderful ceremony it will be,” I say. “We’ll get to stand up in front of everyone and express how much we love each other.”

  “And I do, you know. More than I ever thought possible. I love you with all my heart and soul.”

  “That’s good to hear,” I say. “Because you’re everything to me. Everything I never knew I wanted, everything I’ve always been searching for.”

  Edward pulls me to him, his lips covering mine. As long as Edward is standing beside me for the rest of our lives, I’ll go through with any ceremonial ceremony necessary.

  Author’s Note

  Hola, Vixens!

  Do you have Royal Fever? The other Crimson Vixens and I have a raging case of it. So much so that we couldn’t contain ourselves—we just had to sit down and write some novellas just for you, dear readers!

  This story is as old as time, really. What do you do when obligation is in conflict with your heart? Do you follow your heart, consequences be damned? Or do you do the honorable thing and keep your promised word—breaking your heart in the process.

  This is the dilemma facing Edward and Gwen, two childhood friends brought back together. Their attraction is undeniable, but they have just about every obstacle thrown in their path. Will they find their way to each other and their happily ever after? This story
is for all our readers who have had to fight for love, who know that love truly can conquer all.

  Wishing you a royal-sized love!

  Love,

  Nat

  P.S. I have some special treats for you included in this book as bonuses!! If you love these wild rides I love to take you on, there’s nothing better than The Other Brother and The Marriage Mistake, which you can check out next. Then my love Daph has included three times the super naughty fun with 3 Men of the House and Triple Taught, and of course there’s the forbidden relationship in Wanted: Big Bad Brother that I had so much fun writing with Viv. If you loved this taste of royal fun, then I know you’re going to love these!

  Take A Sneak Peek Of...

  The Other Brother

  A Billionaire Hangover Romance

  By Natalie Knight & Daphne Dawn

  Copyright 2018 by Crimson Vixens

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

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  Prologue - Liam

  7:51 PM WEDNESDAY

  If there’s but one universal truth in this wild world we live in, it’s this:

  Hearing your fiancée yell out, “Hey, fucker!” while you’re shuffling into an elevator full of Russian prostitutes with your manhood cupped in your hands is generally a bad sign.

  I know what you’re thinking—but let’s get one thing straight here and now.

  That’s not me shuffling into the elevator with the saucy Russian whores.

  No, that’s my idiot step-brother, along with his three best friends and half a dozen women of questionable moral values.

  The whores, I can approve of. The cheating? I just can’t.

  My mother married Dan’s father when we were both just lads. It was the worst fucking mistake of her life, and I’ve hated my shitty American step-brother ever since. If he’d been calling himself Dan the Man back across the pond in London where I grew up, he would have been punched so hard in the fucking mouth that he would have shat his own teeth for a week.

  Instead, Dan the Man grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and a stiff steel rod up his arse. Being boring as sin never seemed to warrant his nickname, no matter how much money his bastard of a father left him.

  But that’s Dan the Man’s secret, really. He’s so fucking dull, no one would ever imagine his voracious appetite for Soviet bloc hookers or Colombian cocaine. Even I bought the charade for a while—until the first time he called begging for me to bring money to Tijuana, or else his coke dealer Alfonso was going to murder him.

  When I see the way he’s made his poor, gorgeous fiancée cry, I almost wish I would have left him with the drug lord.

  Becky Brooks, the woman Dan the Man somehow—against all odds—convinced to be his wife.

  It’s three days before the wedding, and from the way she’s holding the million-dollar engagement ring he bought for her in his fist, I think they might need to cancel the caterer.

  “You bastard,” Becky snarls. “You cheating fucking bastard. You are dead to me.”

  “B-becky-beans,” Dan the Man stutters, and I cringe.

  Oh fuck. That is not an attractive nickname.

  I know the reason that Dan the Man was able to afford such an expensive wedding band, and it’s not through anything good he’s done of his own. No, his father left him a fortune and left me nothing. After all, I’m not a Hardbottom of the illustrious Hardbottom family like Dan is—I’m Liam fucking Black, an actual bastard. All my father left me was his last name—and he hardly even left me that.

  I used to be a little bitter about it. But now that we’re older, bitterness has been washed away by success.

  I made a fortune out of nothing—out of counting cards and being so damn good at it, now I own my own casino: the Royale.

  And here Dan the Man is, standing in the Royale’s elevator dripping with lube and begging his fiancée not to kill him—or at least not to cancel the wedding.

  “Remember the good times, Becky-beans,” Dan pleads from the elevator.

  “Fuck that,” Becky spits at him. “I don’t even want to remember you exist. I’m going to forget everything, Dan. Every single fucking thing about you—and you can just fucking wallow in obscurity.”

  “Becky-beans, please!” Dan wails, but it’s too late.

  She’s already flung that million-dollar engagement ring at him and the elevator doors close up right behind it.

  Becky Brooks.

  She’s bubbly, bright and—even I have to admit—more beautiful than any man deserves. Green eyes like an Irish morning and an ass so tight, you could bounce fifty pence off of it.

  When she turns to me, I open my arms to her. She might have put on a brave face before Dan the Man and his goons and his whores, but there’s no shame in crying now.

  She nestles her pretty little red head against my broad, muscled shoulder while she sobs.

  “There there, love,” I say, stroking her fiery, silken hair. “Let it out.”

  “No, fuck that.” Becky sniffles, burrowing her face deeper in my chest. “I’ve given up everything for Dan. He’s…he’s…”

  “An arsehole so great, gaping and wide that even a Clydesdale’s dick could find wiggle room,” I suggest.

  “Yeah,” Becky agrees. “That.”

  “Why don’t I order you up some room service, love?” I say, even though I don’t want to part myself from her for a moment. But this isn’t the right time—the poor kitten has just had her heart broken, though the idea of Dan the Man breaking anyone’s heart is absurd to me. “You and your bridesmaids should still enjoy your night.”

  “No,” Becky protests, pulling away. “I want to do something crazy, Liam. Something…something that would piss Dan the Man off.”

  “Like crowd surfing at a Celine Dion concert?”

  Becky’s eyes narrow with wickedness. “That’s a start.”

  This is a pretty high-profile cock-up, even for Dan “The Man”. For a bloke who bills himself as so fucking boring, he’s as dodgy as they come. If I’d been across the pond when Becky Brooks agreed to marry the bugger, I would have told her then and there: this man is not the kind of chap you want to marry.

  My only regret is that I didn’t get a ring on this perfect, saucy little creature’s finger first…

  Which isn’t to say that I won’t.

  After all, anything can happen in Vegas…

  And we’ve got all night to forget.

  Becky

  10:01 AM THURSDAY

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

  When I wake up, it takes all the pluck and determination of a Bob the Builder crowbar to get my stupid fucking eyes open.

  When I come to, I immediately decide it wasn’t worth the effort.

  The Royale Casino, Viva Las Vegas.

  Maybe you’ve heard of it? Opulence out the ass. Costs an arm and a leg to book a standard room. Fancy ordering room service? Hope you’re prepared to sign away your firstborn.

  And my fiancé, Dan the Man? He booked me the bridal suite. His brother—sorry, step-brother—owns the place. Family discount, I guess. They let him keep his good arm.

  So. Here I am, hungover as fuck in the most expensive hotel in Las Vegas, a city known for money, sex, and sin.

  But I’m not here to sin.

  I’m here to get married. Hitched. I’m here to tie the knot, settle down, and make an honest woman of myself once and for all.

  So when I open my eyes on the first morning of my three-day bachelorette party in Vegas, I ought to be thinking about bride stuff. Roses. Hors d’oeuvres.

  I shoul
d be peeling off an organic cucumber-placenta facial rejuvenation mask, gently fretting about whether there will be enough beluga caviar at the wedding reception and ruminating on how fucking much I love my husband-to-be.

  When I actually open my eyes, what really happens is I peel my tongue off the roof of my dry-mouth and realize that Dan is not getting his fucking deposit back.

  Broken bottles. Shattered glass. Smoke. Feathers. Whipped cream. And that noise—an incessant vibrating that strikes fear in my loins and sends a pang of guilt shooting through my very soul, though I know not why.

  Bzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

  A bedazzled rogue vibrator chugs across the floor of the lounge. It smears blue raspberry lube behind it like a snail trail until it jams up, sputters and dies tangled in the shag of the white lounge rug.

  The smell hits me next, so dark and pungent that I’m not entirely sure I’m not having a stroke. It’s eau de burnt condoms and splattered wine, with maybe a hint of breakfast. There’s no use crying over spilled Merlot, but I almost shed a tear when I realize it’s been splashed across the Banksy mural in the foyer.

  I’m vaguely aware that something’s on fire, but when I try to muster up the courage to go grab an extinguisher, I can’t.

  Hangovers, man.

  What the fuck did I do last night?

  The late-morning sun pours in from the patio. It’s like getting LASIK from a flamethrower. I whimper pathetically from the place where I must have passed out last night: naked, upside down and reeking of tequila on a white velvet sofa worth more than my parents’ mortgage.

  I squint, still a little drunk, and raise my hand to shield my eyes. But before I can, something moves in front me, eclipsing the light.

  A thigh. A thick, muscular thigh with blonde hairs that glisten, back-lit by sunshine, like spun gold. Naked. Bulging with sinew.

  In awe, I follow the line of that thigh up to a hip. A manly fucking hip. A hip which has no doubt powered thrusts that have facilitated a thousand orgasms.

  Oh.

  Make that a million orgasms.