Royally Mine: 22 All-New Bad Boy Romance Novellas

by Susan Stoker

  “Are you sure we need to actually be here?” I asked as the limo pulled up in front of the red carpet.

  “Are you feeling ill?” Judd asked, concern in his tone and his eyes.

  “No… I’m horny.”

  His laughter boomed, and he pulled me to him. “God, I adore you,” he said, bending to kiss me, which certainly didn’t help the condition of my panties. “I’d say fuck it and take you home in a heartbeat if I didn’t know that Aaron would be disappointed, not to mention that Cheryl would kick my ass.”

  “What about Evan, isn’t he coming?”

  He chuckled again as his fingertip ran down my cleavage. “Yes, but I believe he’d not only understand, but not fault me for deciding to watch the awards from the comfort of my bed, with my naked wife beside me.”

  I shivered, his touch fanning the flame of desire higher. He’d just bent to kiss me when the door opened and flashes began to go off.

  “Too late,” he said, pulling back and giving me a grin. “Come on, Mrs. Westmoreland, it wouldn’t be fair of me to deny your fans of your presence.” As I rolled my eyes, he bent forward again. “And, I might add, that you look so fucking hot in that dress that I bet they’ll be able to hear the sizzle in the balcony.”

  After another kiss, he stepped from the limo, turning and offering me his hand. I accepted it and we walked hand in hand down the red carpet, stopping when asked to pose for pictures and accept best wishes for the win. I’d never doubted that Judd would be nominated for Best Actor. I’d been thrilled when Aaron had been nominated for Best Director and Peyton for Best Actress. All three deserved the accolades, and I’d been ecstatic when Haven’s Hell was nominated for Best Picture. But I’d been completely and utterly floored when I picked up the phone one morning to hear Cheryl shrieking. My heart had leapt into my throat, thinking something must have happened to little TJ, only to give my own shriek when she informed me that I had been nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay.

  I loved it when Judd accompanied me to the ropes so that I could speak to fans, something I would never have been able to do on my own only a short time ago. I had both Cheryl and Judd to thank for convincing me that I shouldn’t hide behind a pseudonym any longer. I’d been a bit terrified that fans would be upset to learn that I was the one who’d actually written the book. Instead, I discovered they didn’t care who wrote the book… they just loved the story and the movie.

  Together, we spent some time signing autographs inside the cover of book after book. We posed for selfies and finally had to give a final wave when told that we needed to take our seats. Though I tried hard, I knew I’d never remember everything I saw. The women were dressed to the nines, jewels sparkling beneath the lights. The men looked handsome as hell, though, of course, not a single one could hold a candle to Judd.

  I couldn’t stop my head from swiveling, trying to capture every face, seeing stars I’d admired for years.

  “Glad we came?” Judd asked, when I gasped and whispered that Meryl Streep was sitting only a few rows over.

  I blushed and giggled. “Yes, but I still can’t wait to get home. My feet are already killing me.”

  He chuckled, lifted our hands and kissed my knuckles, leaning close to say, “I confess, I was rather hoping you’d keep those ‘fuck me’ shoes on… and only those on.”

  “Judd!” I said, hoping that no one had heard him, but knowing that my feet could hate me for the rest of my life but the stilettos were staying. I was still fantasizing about wrapping my legs around his waist, my silver shoes sparkling as he fucked me when Judd squeezed my hand and said, “This is it.”

  “What?”

  “Smile,” he said and I realized that they were announcing the nominees for my category. I listened to the polite applause as the names were called, clapping along, looking around, ready to congratulate the winner when the unbelievable happened.

  “The Oscar goes to Danielle Connolly for Haven’s Hell.”

  “What?” I said as Judd shouted and jumped to his feet, pulling me to mine. He cupped my face and bent to kiss me, the applause growing louder.

  “I knew it. You did it, Dani. I’m so proud of you.” When I stood there, not believing I’d heard correctly, he chuckled and said, “You won, honey.”

  I had always believed the story I’d written was good. I’d seen the movie, knew it was magical. But not once, not for a single moment, had I expected to win. I hadn’t even written an acceptance speech. It took Judd saying, “Go, babe. Go get your little gold man,” to have my feet move. I was in a daze as I climbed the steps and walked across the stage. The presenter handed me the Oscar and somehow the words came. I thanked God, my family and my editor, agent, and incredible friend Cheryl. I thanked Aaron and the entire crew, and then, with my eyes locked onto the only man who mattered, I thanked my husband. When he lifted his hand and placed it over his heart, the tears fell and the applause rolled over me. How I got back to my seat was a little fuzzy, but I did.

  The magic didn’t end there. Aaron took the Oscar for Best Director and when they called Judd’s name, I jumped to my feet, screaming for joy. I must have looked like a fool, but Judd just pulled me to him again, kissed me and as I remained standing, he made his way to the podium. He was far more eloquent in his acceptance speech, but the words that I would never forget for as long as I lived was when he focused on me and paused for a moment and then said, “My wife once said that the only place happily ever after actually happened was in a book. That it was a fantasy. I want to say that I’m going to spend every day of my life proving to her that she is wrong. Dani, you’ve brought more happiness to my life than I could imagine, more than I deserve. I can’t imagine life without you. You own the key to my heart, and I will happily love you until I take my dying breath.”

  I wasn’t the only one moved by his words, but I was the only one who didn’t give a damn that the tears were coursing down my face and most likely ruining my makeup. I wanted to run into his arms and never leave. I got my wish only a short time later. With Peyton’s win for Best Actress and the final award of Best Picture going to Haven’s Hell, we all were on stage. I felt like I was floating outside my body, looking down at something that couldn’t possibly be happening for real. Maybe in a book but not now, not here on this stage because it just seemed too impossible to be anything other than fiction.

  Epilogue

  Judd

  This wasn’t my first Academy Awards; it wasn’t even the first time I’d won an Oscar. But it was by far, the one I’d never forget all because of the woman at my side. Dani was no doubt one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, but tonight, she had a radiance about her that had heads turning to take a second glance. Her joy was infectious. I had to chuckle when an attendant approached her and asked for her Oscar.

  “Why? Oh no, I knew there had to be a mistake!”

  “No, honey,” I said, passing over my statue. “You won. He is going to take it to have the plaque applied.”

  “Are you sure?” When I nodded, she still hesitated. “How do I know I’m going to get the same one back?”

  “They are all the same, Ms. Connolly—”

  “Maybe to you, but not to me!”

  I chuckled again and said, “How about we go watch while they put your name on it?”

  The attendant assured her that it would be all right, and we waited while he applied the plaques to our Oscars, smiling as he handed one back to Dani. “Congratulations, Ms. Connolly.”

  “Thank you,” Dani said and when we walked away, I heard her sigh.

  “What’s the matter? He gave you back the same one.”

  “I know,” she said, looking up at me. “It’s just that it has the wrong name.”

  “Babe, I thought you didn’t mind about not using your pseudonym.”

  “No, not Connor Daniel. I’m Mrs. Westmoreland now. I wanted that name on it.”

  I was touched and bent to kiss her. “I’m honored, but you earned this one as Dani Connolly. If yo
u want another with your new name on it, all you have to do is write another great book and screenplay.”

  “Like that is ever going to happen,” she said, rolling her eyes but doing so with a big smile on her face.

  Any chance of slipping away early had disappeared when Haven’s Hell had practically swept the Oscars. So I did the next best thing. I swept my wife into my arms and around every dance floor at each ball we attended. When she wasn’t in my arms, she was in Aaron’s, Evan’s or Tom’s when I danced with an ecstatic Cheryl.

  It was long past dawn by the time I helped my wife into the limo. She laid her head on my shoulder. “Other than marrying you, this was the most magical night of my life.”

  I pulled her closer, kissing the top of her head, agreeing completely. By the time we arrived at the hotel, I had to give her a little shake to wake her. We accepted congratulations from the staff and once the elevator deposited us on the top floor and I opened the door to the Presidential Suite, I swept her up into my arms and carried her to the bedroom.

  I unzipped her dress, watching the blue silk slide down her body, and though I wanted nothing more than to make love to her, I knew she was exhausted. “Do you need help with your hair?” Her gorgeous mane was in an elaborate coiffure with glittering diamond pins holding the tresses in place.

  “No, I can do it.”

  “All right, I’ll join you in a minute.” She nodded and I went into the bathroom, removed my tux and brushed my teeth. Fully expecting to find Dani sound asleep, I stopped abruptly when I opened the door and saw her.

  She was not only awake, she was lying on the bed on her stomach, her head facing the foot of the bed, wearing nothing but the golden key and silver stilettos. My cock instantly went hard as she gave me a sexy smile.

  “How does it feel to be ‘King’ of the silver screen, Mr. West?”

  I grinned and though I appreciated the accolades my peers had given me throughout the night, I knew that one day, I would be dethroned. And yet, looking at my wife, I knew it didn’t matter. Dani was the only one who mattered, and after I placed my palm over my heart and gave her a little bow, I went to worship my queen.

  ~The End~

  About Maggie Ryan

  USA Today and #1 International Best Selling and Multi-award Winning Author in Victorian/ Historical, Contemporary and Western Erotic Romance

  Fantasy is a world that offers endless possibilities. Whether you travel back in time to when the plains were open, take a journey to the cobblestone streets of London, take a stroll along the beach or walk through the streets of some foreign country, every letter of every word offers infinite possibilities. I love to write stories that take a reader on a journey, one they can disappear into and experience what might have been or what is to come. I never try to restrict myself to any one genre because there are just too many delicious possibilities out there and inside my head. I hope you will curl up in your favorite chair and take the journey with me. Happy Reading!

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  maggie.ryan.writes@ gmail.com

  Royally Fucked by Lee Savino

  Chapter One

  “He has a dick the size of the Empire State building—and an ego to match,” the blonde on screen says with a perfectly arched eyebrow. The gossip newscaster across from her nods.

  I hit pause and the video stops just as the blonde leans forward to impart another juicy secret about Theodore Kensington’s dick. Her boobs look like they’re going to topple out of her shiny pink blouse.

  “Someone’s already got a book deal to kiss-and-tell,” I murmur to the frozen blonde on my phone screen. “No way you came up with that line on your own.”

  I press play again, bracing myself for more drama. I shift to ease the pinch of my high heels, this fancy marble porch isn’t helping my feet any. I’ve been up since five a.m. to dress and check out of the hotel, and take a cab to this modern palace north of New York City. The driver had just pulled through the opulent gates when my Google feed started going nuts. I always set up a news alert so I can stay up-to-date with what the media is saying about my public relations clients.

  “Theo Kensington has a long history of loving and leaving a trail of broken hearts. He’s the son of a Swedish princess and an American businessman. Heir to the Kensington fortune. Kensington, Inc. alone is valued at $400 billion.”

  “He has incredible... assets,” the blonde cackles.

  “He’s actually a prince, right?”

  “That’s right. But he doesn’t like to talk about it. Prince or not, doesn’t matter. In the bedroom, he’s a god.”

  I pause the video again. The blonde on screen isn’t the first to call Theo Kensington a god. Last year, a popular Hollywood darling tweeted, ‘Prince in the streets, god in the sheets,’ accompanied by a picture of the ‘god’ in her bedroom. A very naked god. The tweet was deleted, but not until after it got seven thousand likes and retweets.

  And now he’s in the media again. Prince or god, he’s my new PR nightmare.

  I pocket my phone and ring the doorbell again, but I’m not surprised no one is here to greet me. Mr. Kensington’s staff is probably watching the same media channels I am.

  A shadow rises in the stained glass on either side of the door, and then the lock clicks open. A bear of a man with a shaved head and muscles straining his button-down shirt stands in the doorway.

  Mr. Evans, head of security for Theodore Kensington.

  “Have you seen it?” Evans says without preamble. “The sex tape?”

  “Yes, I was just watching the interview...” I rewind what he said. "Wait, there's a second sex tape? Another one?"

  “Just hit this morning.”

  Shit. I fumble with my phone. “I thought they were referring to the last one, the one with the porn star,” I wrack my brain for the name of the blonde in the interview. “Pepper something.”

  “Pepper Spice. And no. This is a new one. A redhead. At least, I think that’s what she is. She’s not too clear in the video. Mr. Kensington, however…”

  “Shit.” This time I say it out loud.

  “Exactly,” Evans answers, grim-faced. He leans down and picks up my suitcase. “Normally I’d let you get settled in but—”

  “We need to get ahead of this,” I interrupt. “Where is—”

  A bright orange Maserati roars down the drive. Bass on full blast, it zooms around the fountain accompanied by Metallica and squeals of delight. The air shudders as the car slides to a stop.

  Three ladies trip out of the convertible, laughing. Sleek hair, huge boobs, and tiny handbags. They barely look at us as they head down a manicured walkway towards the pool.

  A dark-haired man unfolds from the car, heavy metal still blasting from the stereo like a theme song. He doesn’t bother to turn off the car, or shut the door before he tosses the keys to Evans, who catches them with a blank expression.

  “Park it out back for me, Evans? Thanks, man,” the new arrival says, and turns his smirk on me. I recognize him right away—the gorgeous, tanned face from this morning’s tabloids.

  Theo Kensington. Billionaire. Playboy. Prince.

  My new boss.

  Chapter Two

  He’s not wearing a shirt. He. Is. Not. Wearing. A. Shirt. Who joyrides around the North Shore on a Wednesday morning without a shirt?

  Prince Theo, that’s who.

  He strolls closer, chest muscles flexing. His muscles aren’t the only yummy thing about him. He’s got the best of his Scandinavian mother and striking father, perfect bone structure and bronze skin. Heavy brows over come-to-bed brown eyes. Black lashes long and thick enough to make any woman jealous. There isn’t an adjective good enough to describe a man as pretty as him. Even the tattoos slinking up and down his torso and wrapping around most of his right arm don’t detract from his prettiness. A panther tattoo prowls down his hip disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

  “Hey, babe,” Theo says to me with a smi
le aimed to melt all the panties in the vicinity. Or maybe just mine because I’m pretty sure Theo’s lady friends aren’t wearing any.

  My eyes hit the sleek V etched into his lower torso that leads to his groin. My girl parts roar to life like the engine of a Maserati. A smooth sleek purr, right between my thighs.

  Shit. Ten minutes on the job, and I’m making eyes at my boss. Never mind he’s the most eligible—or ineligible—bachelor on the East Coast… probably the entire world. Theo Kensington isn’t a guy you take home to your parents. He’s the guy you take to bed and gossip about him with your girlfriends after, in hushed, reverent tones, as the fuck of your life.

  Or, like a bottle-blonde hussy with a book deal on today’s entertainment news, tell the whole fucking world.

  “Mr. Kensington.” I extend my hand. He ignores it, and moves in closer. I’m wearing my tallest, most professional pumps and Theo still towers over me. There’s an intensity about him, a hungry energy, some sort of powerful force field that would drag off my panties if they hadn’t already melted.

  No wonder all these women go to bed with him. No wonder celebrities star in his private sex tapes.

  No wonder the board of his father’s company wants him gone.

  “I’m Vesper Smith,” I withdraw my hand, because he’s too busy undressing me with his eyes to shake it. “Your new media consultant.”

  “Nice,” he drawls to my boobs. “I’m looking forward to you working under me.”

  I stiffen. I know I look good. I’m wearing a grey business suit that sets off my eyes, even hidden behind black-framed glasses. My heels make my legs look killer and give me a few inches of extra height. I look good, not slutty, yet my new boss is looking me up and down like I’m a pin-up model and he’d like to nail me on the hood of his car.