101 Nights Box Set: Volume One

by SE Reign

  “I feel like I should wrap it in bubble wrap to keep it safe,” I admit.

  They laugh. I’m not expecting the reaction and glance at Elijah.

  He smiles. “It’s the largest, flawless free cut yellow diamond in the world and has been handed down through several generations of Nijalan queens. Trust me – if it survived the wars my kingdom saw at the beginning of the century, it’ll be safe and sound on your finger.”

  Holy shit. I had no idea it was an heirloom, that he’d given me the ring worn by the queens of his maternal line.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I murmur. I don’t know why. Elijah doesn’t deserve to have any sort of kindness from me…

  My super religious grandmother would say a man like him is the one who needs it most.

  “I know you will.” Elijah winks.

  Mr. Jenkins offers another smile then begins discussing the paperwork before me. Just seeing the stack makes me think I’m fucked beyond belief. I glance at Elijah a few times while Mr. Jenkins spends an hour discussing everything from royal succession to the kingdom’s wealth to official titles of nobility to Elijah’s personal fortune.

  These are all things I can’t understand, even if I had the nerve or Elijah’s permission to ask questions. It’s not clicking yet that I’m in line to be a queen, because well, that seems … ridiculous. Like this whole deal to start off with.

  The only time Elijah shows any sign of discomfort: when children are mentioned. There’s about a twenty-page stack dedicated to children. He shifts during this portion, a dark look crossing his features that tells me there’s some horrible history there that’s making him uncomfortable.

  What happened to him as a child? I’m beginning to think I don’t want to know.

  What I understand: If I marry and divorce him, I get nothing. If I marry him, have kids then divorce him … I’m set for life. Starting now, with our engagement, I’m automatically expected to begin taking on official duties of the Kingdom.

  What the fuck does that mean?

  I’m also expected to go through a naturalization ceremony to become a citizen of Nijala before the wedding.

  My hands are shaking and sweating by the time Mr. Jenkins finishes the highlights of the contract. I rub them on my jeans and look again at Elijah.

  “It’s a tightly written, comprehensive contract,” Mr. Jenkins finishes. “I’d advise you to be certain about its provisions, Natalie.” His look tells me he doesn’t think it’s worth becoming a princess to sign away my life.

  He doesn’t realize it’s too late for that. I’m praying silently about the part where I lose my American citizenship. The pre-nup states before the wedding, which will never happen.

  God, please don’t let things get worse!

  “My father asked for ninety nine percent of this,” Elijah explains. “I’d settle for one page that says she won’t take my money and run.”

  Mr. Jenkins chuckles.

  Elijah’s eyes are on me. “Though in truth, I don’t think I’d need a contract at all. I haven’t met many people I’d classify as genuinely good in my life, but Natalie is one of them.”

  Did the jackass just compliment me? There’s no mocking in his tone, but his features aren’t warming either. I study him and smile, feeling the gazes of the others on me.

  “I trust you,” I tell him, in no way believing the words. “I’m happy to sign anything, Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Then let’s get started.” Mr. Jenkins doesn’t even blink at the thought of me signing away my life.

  How much is Elijah paying him?

  I count how many pages I initial until I reach ninety five then lose track. There are at least double – close to triple – that many pages in the stack. I initial and sign everywhere he tells me to without question

  For my family. I chant the words over and over as I sign away my life. Elijah is right again. Sacrificing my life is a small price to pay for helping so many.

  Though right now, it doesn’t feel like enough.

  I reach the end and turn over my driver’s license and passport for one of them to notarize everything. Elijah signs next, followed by the witnesses.

  After three hours, it’s over. Mr. Jenkins gathers the papers with a smile.

  “Congrats. You are now the official fiancée of the Crown Prince of Nijala. I’ll need your passport to turn into the State Department to start your paperwork,” Mr. Jenkins said. “How does it feel?”

  I push the passport to him. “Nerve wracking,” I reply honestly. “I had no idea it was so complex to get married.”

  “When you’re marrying into a trillion dollars, there are a lot of signatures needed,” his son explains.

  “Trillion?” I ask blankly, not even able to imagine the number.

  “The net worth of my father, including the wealth of the kingdom,” Elijah says softly.

  “As long as you can afford my Starbucks habit, I’m happy. I don’t need trillions,” I say with a small laugh, unable to comprehend what the fuck I just heard.

  “You got a good one,” Mr. Jenkins tells Elijah. “During her time at our office, she devoted twenty hours a week of her own time to helping conduct research for pro bono cases.”

  “I always wanted to help people,” I say.

  “You’ll have a better chance of doing that now.” Mr. Jenkins places the paperwork in his briefcase and stands. “There’s a list of charities in this document that Elijah and his family support, many of them here in the States. I imagine he won’t mind you taking over representing the Crown in a few of them.”

  I look at Elijah, surprised. The sensual, sexy man doesn’t seem capable of giving away his money, especially to people he doesn’t respect. But the fact that he does somehow makes this more bearable.

  I won’t be in his life long enough to take on these duties, but it’s nice to know there’s maybe one redeeming quality about him, aside from how much he seems to appreciate my body.

  He glances at the two assistants, who rose when Mr. Jenkins did.

  “Congrats to both of you,” Mr. Jenkins’ son says. The three attorneys shake both our hands again before being escorted out by the assistants.

  I wait until the door closes behind them and drop my head to the table, overwhelmed.

  “What the fuck did I just sign?” I ask. There are tears forming in my eyes from the thought of signing away my life, rights … hell, even my nationality!

  “What you had to,” Elijah replies.

  I hear him stand and circle the table. He perches on the table beside me, his thigh brushing my arm. The simple touch and his heated nearness is all it takes for my lower belly to start to burn for him and for my thinking to become confused, caught between exploring the physical reactions his nearness causes and the desire.

  “There was nothing in there that will impede your life when this is over, assuming we don’t end up being forced to the altar by my father,” he adds more quietly. He rests a hand on the back of my head.

  My body responds to his touch, my pulse and blood flying. His husky voice has a way of scattering my thoughts, the memory of how well he gives me pleasure always present.

  “Look at me,” he orders.

  I wipe my eyes quickly and lift my head to meet his gaze.

  “Was he right about the charities?” I ask, needing to know there’s something human about the man before me.

  “Yes. You are also welcome to work with one, if you so choose. Better than hanging out in your underwear watching television all day.”

  I flush. “I was in the middle of changing clothes when I heard my name on television!”

  He cups my cheek with one hand, his thumb grazing my lips.

  “Open,” he whispers.

  I obey. He slides his thumb into my mouth.

  “You want to help people through a local charity?” he says.

  I nod and swirl my tongue around his thumb. Recalling what he taught me upstairs a short time again, I rub his dick through his pants in a silent req
uest.

  “You remember,” he says in approval. “Suck my dick when you want something, bend over and show me your cunt when you want to apologize.”

  With his other hand, he unzips his pants. His dick is bulging already, long and thick, waiting for me.

  “Ask me again. With your hands and mouth.” He pushes my head towards his crotch.

  I’m salivating already before I work his cock free of his pants and boxers. He keeps my head still and pushes his dick down my throat a few times before releasing me and letting me do my thing. He’s huge enough that I have to breathe through my nose, the soft skin of his head completely filling my mouth. He tastes slightly salty, and I marvel at how smooth and delicate the skin of his cock is. It doesn’t seem possible that something that goes through so much can remain so soft.

  He remains perched on the table while I swirl my tongue around his head, take the full length of him into my mouth, use my teeth to make him groan and stroke his shaft and balls with one hand.

  One of his hands goes down my shirt and into my bra, squeezing one of my nipples and pinching it hard enough that I jerk. My panties are soon soaked from the scent and feel of him in my mouth, my desire building fast.

  He comes quickly in my mouth and thrusts one last time, his large cock pumping his seed deep into my throat. I swallow and continue to suck and lick him, until he pulls free from my mouth.

  “Nothing sexier than that,” he says, standing. He gazes down at me and brushes cum away from the corner of my mouth.

  I’m beyond turned on but stay quiet.

  “You can work with a charity of my choosing, and I’ll approve your schedule,” he decides. “Stand up.”

  I do so. He fixes his clothing, and I wait, my body thrumming with need to the point I’m almost trembling.

  “I’ll take care of you later,” he says, and settles a hand against my pussy, rubbing it.

  I sigh and sag against him dramatically. He wraps his arms around me, nipping the delicate skin of my neck.

  “Hush,” he says with a wicked grin. “You’ve got an appointment.”

  “Another one?”

  “I’ve got to turn you from pretty to gorgeous for tonight’s gala,” he explains. “Go upstairs and greet the team that’s going to transform you.”

  He moves away from me, and I breathe in as deeply as possible to make sure I capture the last of his scent.

  “Elijah, were you serious about me being a good person?” I ask without thinking.

  Too late, I realize what I’ve said. What I’ve done. Given him a wedge into my emotions, another way to control me.

  I shouldn’t … I won’t let myself care what he thinks about me. After all, he’s a complete ass.

  “Never mind,” I say quickly.

  He’s reached the door and turns to face me.

  I avert my gaze under his dark look.

  “It’s yet to be seen,” he replies.

  He leaves.

  Asshole. I don’t know what to think about his response, why it makes my heart flutter to think he might actually see me as more than a means to the end.

  Because right now, I can’t handle the idea there’s a good side to him, let alone one that thinks well of me, especially knowing what I’ve got brewing with Alisha and possibly, the mystery texter.

  “I watch movies.” He’s back, standing in the doorway. “That’s my hobby.”

  I’m so shocked he answered that I don’t know what to say.

  “Aside from fucking women,” he adds.

  Just stop while you’re ahead EJ. What is it about him that just makes me so angry then horny then angry again?

  “Do you really like Starbucks?” he asks.

  “Um, yeah,” I reply, startled by the second personal question in a few hours timespan. “Do you?”

  “Not to my knowledge.” He studies me, arms across his chest. “I can buy you one.”

  “I’m okay. Jamil’s mochas are great. He makes me one every morning.”

  “No, I mean a café.”

  What the hell? “You want to buy me a Starbucks?”

  “If you want one. Chump change to me.” He shrugs.

  I stare at him, trying to understand what it is he’s doing. He seems earnest yet flippant, as if buying a café is no big deal. There’s no mocking or amusement on his gorgeous features.

  “I don’t need to own a coffee shop to enjoy an occasional mocha,” I say with a puzzled smile.

  He gives me the same look as he did talking about hobbies – like he’s trying to understand something he’s never heard before.

  “You know that, right? Normal people don’t have to possess things to be able to appreciate them or enjoy them,” I add.

  “But if you can own one, why not?”

  It starts to dawn on me just how different his life has been from mine. He’s not poking at me – he’s genuinely convinced that owning and taking pleasure from something is the same. Seeing as how I grew up too poor to own much at all, I start to understand better how his world operates so differently from mine. He collects treasures, things he likes and that brings him pleasure or money – from real estate to women to now, apparently Starbucks, because he thinks it’ll please me.

  He wants to do it for me. This thought leaves me reeling. Who does that? And what does it mean? Is this his way of saying he likes me? Because if so, it’s insane to buy someone a store and even crazier to think he has the capacity to care for someone else.

  “You can get me a gift card,” I recommend, after a long moment to collect my thoughts. “I don’t need a store.”

  “Gift card.”

  It’s taking all my control not to laugh. A man capable of buying anything on the planet clearly has never thought to use a gift card.

  “It’s, um, like you buying me a couple mochas. You buy a gift card for a certain amount, then give the card to me,” I explain. “Not that you have to, but it’ll be a lot cheaper than a store.”

  He doesn’t appear to be pleased. I have no idea what to think of the look on his face.

  “I’m not buying you a gift card,” he says in a way that makes me think I offended him somehow.

  “Okay.” I clear my throat. I have no idea what to say right now.

  He lingers then turns and walks away once more.

  I sigh, not about to try to figure out what just happened.

  I’m not stupid enough to risk taking out the phone to check it for any responses from my mystery friend.

  Straightening my clothing, I make sure I haven’t made any sort of mess after sucking him off and then leave the conference room. I’m praying that what he told me - that the contract means nothing if we don’t get married – is true.

  What about the charity in town? I’m almost curious enough to find him and ask him. If he’s serious about letting me help people …

  Don’t get pulled in, Natty!

  I can’t shake the feeling that there are things he’s not telling me. Like that three months is just the beginning of this nightmare instead of the end or that there was something in the contract that’ll fuck me over harder than he does.

  I reach our bedroom and stop, startled. He wasn’t joking about a team.

  There are five people waiting for me, to include a man with a seamstress tape draped over one shoulder and two women who look like the beauticians at an upscale salon.

  “Are you ready for us to turn you into a princess?” their leader, a short blonde with a pretty bob and green eyes, asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I reply honestly.

  “Too bad,” replies the man with the seamstress tape.

  The others laugh, and their excitement puts me at ease. It’s the opposite of Elijah, whose intensity never disappears.

  “Well, you guys can give it a go,” I say cheerfully.

  Chapter Three: Elijah

  Gift card? I can’t remember the last time someone had the nerve to talk down to me like that. What the fuck is she implying? That I can’t afford a cof
fee shop? That I wouldn’t buy one?

  I stride away from the conference room, pissed, and go to my favorite seat along the windows overlooking the city.

  Who gives a gift card? How insensitive can you get? Buying one or two mochas instead of ensuring an unlimited supply of something that brings you pleasure? It’s why I have my own sex-toy manufacturing shop. I throw them away after one use. If I had to buy them two at a time …

  It’s absurd.

  We’re different. Every once in a while, I realize this about her. It’s not the way we see investments – like my desire to tear down Tenley block to make the real estate insanely profitable – but the little things, too. Like a café. Or owning whatever the fuck I want, because I have every right to do so.

  I’ve also never had anyone turn down a gift from me, especially not a lover. I don’t know why I’m so furious she did, but I think it ties to the part of her I don’t yet understand.

  I can’t buy her. Money truly means nothing to her, except as a means of helping others. I’ve never thought it possible that someone couldn’t be bought.

  “Jamil,” I say over my shoulder.

  He’s never far away, even if I don’t always hear him.

  “Yes, sir,” he replies instantly.

  “Have you ever heard of a gift card?” I ask.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is it the most insulting thing someone can buy for another?”

  There’s a pause, then, “Sir, it’s considered polite, when you want to get someone a present but want them to have the ability to pick it out.”

  Hmm. Interesting. I hadn’t thought of that angle. I’d just been insulted that she’d think I was cheap or maybe insincere about buying her something that she likes.

  Or that she flat out rejected me. No one rejects me.

  “Do you like them, then?” I ask.

  “I see no harm in them,” he replies.

  I say nothing, displeased. At least the pre-nup signing went well. I can tell she’s worried about what happens if we have to go farther than an engagement.

  “Your security team is reporting a visitor for Ms. Hanover,” Jamil says when certain I’m done with the discussion.

  “No visitors.”

  “She’s refusing to leave.”