The King's Secret Bride: A Royal Wedding Novella (Royal Weddings Book 3)

by Alexis Angel

Ready to perform one big, romantic gesture that’ll stun her into silence for long enough to listen to my heartfelt apology.

  She turned me into a fucking lovey-dovey bastard. And I’m surprisingly comfortable in this role. It’s like it’s tailored to me.

  But here goes fucking nothing, standing on the steps of St. James Palace, waiting for the car to pull around and for Vivienne to step out.

  I’m so fucking terrified. My heart is racing in my chest. I almost feel my hands trembling.

  What the fuck’s gotten into me? I’m King David Lockridge! Even when I served, I wasn’t this nervous.

  At least then, I knew who and what I was doing.

  But who am I without Vivienne?

  What am I going to do without her?

  I’ve already seen that I can’t go back to who I was. For better or worse, she’s changed me and made a part of me hers. Whether she wants it or not…well, I guess we’re about to find out.

  Charles winks at me as the car pulls around. As the door slowly opens and out climbs Vivienne—looking like a fucking bombshell as ever—I realize that I don’t need a wink to give me strength.

  She’s my strength.

  “What’s all this?” Viv asks as she walks up the steps towards me, though she keeps her distance. “I told you that I wanted to leave. You’ll make me miss my flight.”

  “If you still want to leave, I’ll buy you a new flight. I’ll buy you your own fucking private plane if you want.”

  A smile flickers across her face, no matter how hard she tries to fight it. God, I just want her to fucking smile at me forever.

  “Viv, I know I fucked up. I don’t know how many more times I can fucking say it. But I fucked up, really badly, and I’m sorry.”

  “Are you looking for a repeat of yesterday?”

  “No. Jesus, fucking God no. But I wanted to tell you that I was sorry, and I wanted to show you just how much I really mean it.”

  “How can I even believe you?”

  “You can’t—or at least, you have every right not to. When I went out and got drunk with those girls, a part of me knew how much it would hurt you, and then I kept drinking and telling myself that I didn’t care.”

  She rolls her eyes and moves one foot up on the steps, so that we’re on an equal level.

  “But I do care. I care so fucking much, Viv. It’s tearing me up inside to know that I hurt you…I realize that I did all that because I was scared. I was so fucking scared that anyone could actually love me for who I really am—and what’s fucking scarier was that I loved you, too.”

  “Loved?” She asks, looking back towards the limousine.

  There’s a coldness in her tone, a level of professionalism that I know she’s using to keep herself distant from me, but I know I can wear her down. I have to.

  “No. Present tense. Now and forever. I love you so fucking much, Vivienne.”

  “And you did all this…for me?”

  “All for you. Only for you. Please Viv, don’t give up on me just yet.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  It’s a valid question, one that I’ve been tormenting myself with over the past twenty-four hours. Why should she give me another chance? What have I ever done to deserve it?

  “Because even if you can’t see it yet, I’ve changed. I want to continue to change so that I can be the man you deserve.”

  I fumble inside my jacket where the velvet box has been burning a hole in my silk-lined pockets. I begin to drop down onto one knee, feeling the rain from last night’s shower soak through my trouser leg. But I don’t care.

  When I pull out the velvet box, Vivienne’s eyes begin to go wide. When I open it up to reveal the glittering diamond that flashes in the mid-morning sun, I think she might faint.

  “You’re a queen, Vivienne. It’s about time I treated you like one.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Vivienne looks around for the paparazzi or for someone to come out and tell her she’s been Punk’d.

  “There’s no one coming. It’s just you and me. No cameras, no pretending for the media… I love you, Vivienne Taylor, so fucking much I think it might kill me.”

  “David, I…”

  “Will you marry me?”

  Chapter 24

  Vivienne

  I can’t believe this is happening. Just moments ago, I was headed to the airport, listening to sad music and moaning about how David will never love me the way I need to be loved. I felt so stupid for allowing myself to believe that changing his image could change his heart.

  But here he is, bent on one knee, finally baring his soul to me instead of just his assets. I don’t know where he got the courage to open up like this, but I think it’s safe to say that his transformation from the Debaucherous Prince to a more respectable King David is complete.

  No offense to the tabloids, but I believe this is the first year he has truly earned his reputation as the Sexiest Man Alive.

  This is what I’ve wanted for him all along—emotional integrity. My job was never to stop him from having fun or being himself. It was to help him find out who he really is so he can find lasting happiness as well as fleeting pleasure.

  That’s my professional opinion anyway.

  On a more personal note, now that I’ve seen the real King David, I’m hopelessly, madly in love with him. I mean, look at him: a big, strong king who’s practically in tears as he kneels on the palace steps, holding out a ring box and begging for my hand. It doesn’t get any sexier than that.

  I drop my suitcase on the steps, and with it, all my doubts and fears. So what if I can’t keep David under control?

  Real love can’t be tamed. It needs the freedom to speak its truth.

  Fuck expectations. I’m going to give in to my desire and fling myself into David’s arms right here, right now.

  “Yes, David. I love you so much—now and forever. Of course, I’ll marry you!”

  He hugs me back for a moment and then pulls away, incredulous. “You’re sure about this? You really think you can love me forever?”

  I nod, wiping tears away from my eyes. “Every fucking day. All the fucking time.”

  “Even if I forget my language and you have to beg the fucking news stations to edit all the fucking fucks out of my fucking interviews?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even when you see my unauthorized biopic, which went into production long before I met you but should be aired on television any day now? But hopefully not until after the wedding?”

  “Yes. I’ll close my eyes.”

  “Even if I never make it through a single charity tea, holiday party, or press conference without putting my hand up your skirt?”

  “Yes. Especially then.”

  “Well, in that case...” David takes the ring from the box and slides it on my finger.

  It’s a family heirloom, one I recognize, and I can’t believe I’m watching it sparkle on my own hand rather than seeing it in the pages of a magazine.

  “I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” he says. “I’ve never been this happy in my entire life.”

  For the first time since I’ve met him, I lose all sense of decorum. I press his back to the ground, lower myself on top of him, and kiss him right on the palace steps for all the world to see.

  Luckily, no one is around right now but a couple of pigeons hopping along the steps, looking for crumbs. And they don’t seem to be too interested in our love life.

  After a few minutes of passionate kissing, David finally pulls away, gasping for air. “Vivienne, now that I have you here at the palace, may I show you something?”

  “No, you may not,” I scold him, vigorously shaking my head. “You’ll scare the pigeons. Let’s wait until we get home.”

  He laughs. “No, not that. I want to show you something in the ballroom. I have a surprise for you.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, yes. Lead the way.”

  David insists that I put my hand over my eyes before we enter
the palace. I can’t see anything, but I believe the ballroom is empty. I can hear only the click of my high heels and the pounding of my heart as I wait to remove my hand and see what he has planned.

  Whatever it is, it couldn’t possibly top the sight of him waiting for me on the palace steps, holding out an engagement ring.

  “You can look now, love.”

  I pull my hand away and smile. I take back everything I just said. In front of me are the most beautiful wedding decorations I’ve ever seen.

  He’s executed every last detail of my plans for the reception, right down to the white roses and hydrangeas. The candles are white to match the flowers, and the tablecloths look sufficiently strong and absorbent.

  “David, this is beautiful! I didn’t even think you were listening to me that day when I was telling you what I wanted!”

  “Then, I tricked you,” he says, beaming. “I’d never forget something like that. Although, I’m embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know what hydrangeas looked like before you mentioned them. I had to look them up. I think they’re my favorite flower now.”

  “You have a favorite flower?”

  I never thought I’d see David get so excited about floral arrangements. I can’t wait to hear his opinion on the napkin rings.

  David nods. “Now I have something to talk about with the magazine reporters who are covering our wedding,” he says without a trace of irony. “I might even mention the color scheme.”

  I burst out laughing. “How are we going to spin this one? No one will be expecting a white wedding from you, that’s for sure.”

  David thinks for a moment. Then he turns serious.

  “Did you know that there’s more than one shade of white?” he says as if he’s revealing a shocking scientific discovery. “The decorator told me this when I called to order the linens for the table. There’s ivory, there’s eggshell, there’s cream...”

  “Perfect,” I reply, patting his arm. “We’ll tell them we’re having an eggshell wedding and let them try to figure out what the fuck that means.”

  Chapter 25

  David

  It’s just like that scene from Beauty and the Beast with the golden ball gown and ‘Tale as old as time…’ Or at least, it would be if the Beast was ripping that pretty little ball gown to shreds and diving snout-first into Belle’s dripping wet French muff.

  What can I say? A man wants what a man wants. So, when I decide that I want Vivienne Taylor—my fiancée, my bride, and my future queen—bare-ass naked on my ballroom floor…

  It’s like a fucking magic act. One minute, she’s in my arms, fully clothed; the next, she’s writhing beneath me on the cold, sleek marble without a stitch of clothing on her body, and her little lace panties stuffed in her mouth.

  “That’s better,” I growl, tucking the last bit of lace between her soft pink lips.

  I wonder for a moment what color my interior decorator would call the lipstick she’s wearing—rose, blush, or rouge?

  Fuck it. I might still be learning the nuances of color names—but what I can tell you is that Vivienne’s lipstick color isn’t going to matter for much longer.

  I capture her lips with mine, nice and hard. When I pull away, that same lipstick is smeared from the corner of her mouth all the way across her cheek.

  Just like her clothes—whatever lipstick she’s wearing, she won’t be wearing it for long.

  “Let’s spread you open, love,” I suggest next, and Vivienne moans deeply into the lace of her panties as I take her knees in my broad, strong palms and separate them roughly. “Christ…you smell incredible.”

  Like jasmine and honeysuckle. Sweet, heady musk on a late spring day.

  She’s fucking ripe for me.

  I dive in like a debutante dives into bottomless mimosas at Sunday brunch.

  “I love you,” I snarl against the soft pink lips of Vivienne’s cunt. They’re already slick and sticky with want, and they’re about to get even stickier. “I love you. I fucking love you.”

  Vivienne moans something that sounds like it might be a profession of love of her own—not that there’s any way of telling. I’ve got her panties stuffed in her mouth for a reason—this isn’t about what she wants or how she feels right now.

  Whether she believes it or not, Vivienne has always worn her sweet little heart on her sleeve. Maybe other people can’t see it—but this woman was made for me. I’ve had her figured out from day one.

  If I didn’t believe it back then, I sure as fuck know it now.

  Of course, she fucking loves me. I don’t need her to verify what’s been written in the stars, between her legs and all over her gorgeous, perfect face all along.

  But after some of the shit I’ve pulled…

  “I fucking love you,” I repeat one last time—just so she can be sure of it, too.

  And then, my mouth is too busy to say anything at all. Exactly as it fucking should be.

  I suck her clit between my lips, lashing at it with my tongue and reveling in the way it makes her coo and hiss and thrash. Her hips buck against me so hard, it’s almost as if she wants me to stop; but then her fingers wrap around the back of my head, pulling my mouth harder against her sensitive, swollen clit. I reward her by licking her even harder.

  Faster. With even more feeling.

  My fingers curl around Vivienne’s perfect hips and press them down roughly. If she wants to fucking come, then she’ll have to forgive me the manhandling.

  I’ll be damned if I have to pose for our next round of engagement photos with a swollen lip from making her orgasm too hard—although, I still have to admit that I’d enjoy the heyday the press would have with that story.

  I enjoy everything with Vivienne, though. Scandal or no.

  My hands slide up her stomach as I suck and lick and nibble her closer and closer to the explosion of pleasure I know we both want her sweet little pussy to feel. I tease her nipples with my fingers, massage her tits, make love to her with my hands—

  But when the time comes and I feel her getting close, I can’t fucking help myself.

  I make Vivienne Taylor’s hot, soaking wet pussy come in trembling, body-shaking waves against my mouth while I wrap my royal fingers around her slutty little throat.

  “I love you,” I growl again, replacing my mouth with the fingers of my free hand while I watch her ride the orgasm out. “I fucking love you—I love you—I love you!”

  My fingers plunge into her pussy, stroking her g-spot in a devilish come-hither motion, and her eyes go wide—just before they roll back in her skull.

  She’s fucking perfect. And now, more than ever, I want her to know it.

  “This is your life now,” I warn her.

  It might be a little too late for a warning, actually—but if she’s going to be mine, she should be fucking aware of how things are going to be.

  “Every fucking morning, you’re going to wake up to my hot, slick tongue between your thighs on our silken sheets…”

  “Mmmmm,” Vivienne moans—and it’s not just the panties gagging her anymore.

  For what might be the first time in her life, I think I’ve actually left her at a loss for words.

  “Every afternoon, you’re going suck my fucking cock and swallow my cum…”

  “Mmmm! Mmmmmmmm,” Vivienne agrees. It’s very possibly the most agreeable she’s been for the entirety of our relationship. I’ll miss the back sassing, of course…but I could get used to this.

  “And every night…” I rasp, removing my fingers from her cunt.

  I pluck the panties from her lips and throw them across the floor with what’s left of her clothes—then, before she can say anything, I make her suck my fingers clean of her sweet, sticky honey. The very same honey, mind you, that’s currently smeared all over my own lips.

  “Every night, I’m going to carry you to bed like a fucking war prize.”

  Vivienne smiles in ecstasy as she sucks my fingers clean.

  “And I’ll bree
d you like the bitch you are,” I say softly—lovingly.

  Her eyes go fucking wide again at that. It’s so damn cute, I can’t help laughing.

  “David…” Vivienne begins.

  This time, I shut her up with a kiss.

  She’ll have plenty of time to moan my name in just a bit.

  Chapter 26

  Vivienne

  Tasting me on him sends me fucking spiraling. It’s an erotic mixture of salty, sweet, and sex. A guilty pleasure I’ll never want to give up.

  And I don’t have to.

  This new sensuous aroma that makes my pussy throb can be my forever aphrodisiac. Though I don’t need any assistance in that department, especially with David and his fucking tongue.

  He kisses me and cradles my head in his hands, our tongues intertwining, and I continue to lather in our concoction, not getting enough of it.

  I can’t fucking believe this.

  No matter how many times he tells me, I’m still in shock.

  It’s my twisted fairytale come true. One with a sex-crazed King and a voracious American woman. I doubt you’ll be able to find my version on the Disney channel…

  And I’m more than okay with that. Because King David Lockridge loves me. He wants me. And not for some sham wedding, or as an employee…but as his wife.

  As his Queen.

  Not even in my wildest dreams would I have thought I’d become Queen Vivienne Lockridge. Shit, that name doesn’t even sound real to me.

  But I’m sure I’ll get used to it.

  “Make love to me, David.” I moan hastily between kisses.

  “I’ll do way more than fucking make love to you.” He chuckles cunningly.

  I don’t know what he has planned, but sign me the fuck up. After the first round of lovemaking, you bet your ass that I’m in for another round. But this time, I want his dick.

  I coil around him, eagerly wrapping myself around his neck and waist, and he places his hand on my back.

  Lowering me to the marble floor, he spreads me beneath him, his weight crushing me. It’s not overpowering. If anything, it feels like my very own King David snuggie.

  But, like, ridiculously more attractive. I’m sure you know that by now, babes.