Saving the Bride: An Accidental Marriage Romance

by Kira Blakely

This man was huge. Everything about him overwhelmed me, wiped my brain clean of thought and reason. He worked his hips back and forth, sliding his shaft against my quivering hole, then dragging it back and slapping it against my clit.

  “Please,” I whispered, locking eyes with him. “Please.”

  Logan gritted his teeth, the veins in his neck cording. “Pill?”

  “Yes.”

  That was all the information he needed. Logan plunged into me, spearing me up against the wall, and groaning, he bowed his head. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Jesus. You’re fucking— god, damn. Fuck!”

  That about summed it up.

  His dick was huge—thick and long. Every thrust brought a little pain with the pleasure.

  I sucked on his neck, his earlobe, any part of him I could get at, the wet slap of our flesh meeting the only noise, except for our frantic breathing, my moans.

  Logan kept me perfectly steady, pounding into me like a beast. He tossed his head back and watched me writhe beneath him. Rail and ache, and oh, god, I was close already. He’d barely touched my clit, and I was close.

  “I want to come so bad,” I whispered.

  “Say it again,” he replied between thrusts, still watching me, his gray eyes ablaze.

  “I want to come,” I repeated.

  “For who?”

  “For you. God, fuck. Please, I need to come.”

  Logan quit thrusting and walked us toward the open door to my room. He strode through it, still inside me, then lowered us both onto the sheets. He adjusted and got onto his knees. I arched my back to meet him, legs wide open, feet braced on the bed.

  “You want to come, gorgeous?” he asked. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

  “I want it all,” I moaned. I couldn’t keep my voice level. “I want it all. I want to come with you inside me. And then I want you to fill me with your hot cum. I want—”

  Logan’s thumb dipped between us. He scooped up our combined fluids—his precum, my juices, and smoothed them over my clit.

  I jerked, my nipples so tight they were a little painful.

  He pressed one hand to my abdomen, keeping the other on my pussy, and worked his shaft inside me with deep, long thrusts.

  “You’re too big,” I said.

  Logan slowed, concern flashing across his gaze. “Katie, am I hurting you?”

  “No,” I replied. “Don’t stop, please.”

  “You want more?”

  “Please,” I repeated. I’d beg if I had to. This man was… everything I shouldn’t want and everything I had to have, right now. “Please don’t stop. Don’t hold back. I want it all.”

  He resumed pounding into me again. He pinched my clit, then circled it, alternating his rhythm until I arched my back. “Just like that!” I hissed. “Just like— I’m going to come.”

  “Come for me.”

  His fingers were my anchor to fucking reality. I squeezed my eyes shut and blanked out, bliss soaring through me, my limbs, my center, my pussy. I crashed over the edge and pulsed around him, wailing.

  “That’s it, Katie. That’s it.” Strain tightened his voice.

  Logan drew out of me and I whined, opening my eyes and honing in on him. “More,” I said.

  “We’re not done yet.” And he smiled. It was the type of grin that could strike a girl dumb. Gorgeous, bright, not fake in the slightest. The stern set of his jaw, the dark eyebrows, the creases in his brow—all of it lightened with that one smile.

  I stared at him, still throbbing from my orgasm, but totally lost again.

  “On your stomach, sexy,” he said.

  A thrill rushed through me, and I tightened up again. I rolled over onto my stomach, tossed my hair over one shoulder, and looked back at him.

  “Legs open.”

  I shifted them apart.

  “Ass up. I want to see all of you. I want to see the cum dribble out when I’m done.”

  I did as I was told, my pussy clenching at the thought of it, of him thrusting into me, filling me up. I wiggled my ass at him, circled my hips, watching the hunger in his eyes, the twitch of a muscle in his jaw.

  Logan reached up and ripped his shirt open, buttons popping off and flying in every direction, exposing— oh holy god—tattoos. An Irish four-leaved clover on his right pec, which melded with other images. A horseshoe, a ladybird, even what looked to be a dreamcatcher, all done in stark black and white and connected by a patchwork of swirls and strokes.

  His muscles rippled underneath the ink as he stripped off his belt and pants, freeing himself completely, at last. “Fuck, that’s better.” He got on the bed behind me, tapping the insides of my thighs once to part them, then lay down on top of me, bracing himself on the mattress with his forearms.

  Logan entered me in one swift thrust again, and it was as if my body had never felt anything other than his dick. It was too good. I squirmed, looking back at him, my neck hurting. I had to see him, had to breathe him in.

  He slowed the pace, groaning with each sweep, and leaned in. He caught my lips and kissed me, deep and slow, his muscles trembling now.

  “I want you to fill me,” I whispered. “Now.”

  He nipped my bottom lip, sucked it between his teeth as he pounded, grew even larger if that was possible.

  “Yes,” I moaned, the friction too much. Another orgasm swelled within me, different from the last, driven by the pressure inside rather than on my clit. “Yes, oh my— oh my god. Oh my—”

  The rush took me and shuttled me over the edge again, and this time, Logan joined me. He rammed into me, sweating, cursing, his cock so thick it felt like he’d split me in half even as he lashed my walls with his cum.

  It was never-ending perfection.

  Logan collapsed to one side and lay on his back, breathing hard.

  My forehead hit the sheets, and I inhaled the scent of freshly laundered linen. Sanity returned slowly, piece by piece, and the reality of what had happened. What I’d just done dropped down on me like a ton of shit.

  That was exactly what I was in: a metric ton of shit.

  Idiot, what were you thinking? What the hell were you thinking? This is not you! But that was just the thing—I hadn’t been thinking. I’d been totally lost in his scent, his stare, and the way my body responded to him when he was close.

  I wasn’t the romantic type. I didn’t swoon over mushy songs or during romantic movies… okay, maybe in P.S. I Love You because I wasn’t heartless. I just wasn’t ready for anything emotional.

  “Hey,” Logan said and nudged me.

  I raised my head and looked at him askance. “Hey,” I said.

  “That was…”

  “Unexpected?”

  “Fucking hot,” he replied, and, to my everlasting shame, I squirmed a little at that too.

  What was it about this dude? It wasn’t the billionaire thing—I’d interviewed wealthy and powerful men before in my line of work. It was something else… a quality, a grit.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen,” I announced. “That was what it was.”

  Logan chuckled. “Don’t pretend you regret it, Katie. I can see that you don’t.”

  “What? How?”

  “Your nipple’s showing.” He gestured to the puckered up tattle-tale on my breast, and I flopped back down again and covered it.

  “You didn’t see that.”

  “Oh, but I did.” He shifted onto his side and dragged a finger down my arm. “I’d love to see more.”

  I didn’t dare check if he was hard again. If I did, I’d lose the smidgeon of self-control I’d scraped from the bottom of my conscience. I shivered under his touch, shifted, and forced myself not to whimper. I’m thirty, not eighteen for fuck’s sake. Get it together!

  Logan opened that sinfully attractive mouth to say something else, but the tinkle of a phone ringing interrupted him. His smile turned down, his brow wrinkled. “Shit,” he said. “Shit.” He shoved himself up from the bed. “I’d better get that.” The sound of a zipper fol
lowed. “Don’t move,” he said, behind me. “I’ll be right back.”

  His footsteps receded, echoing in the bathroom. A door opened then creaked, and I was alone again. The ringing cut off, and the muted rumble of conversation followed.

  My mother’s words rang in my mind: “This was your choice. Just do what it takes. Get the inside scoop. Stay as close to him as possible. The closer you get to the truth, and the quicker you do it, the sooner you get to come back and this will all be over. The threat will be gone.”

  Don’t do it. You can’t. This is the wrong thing to do, Katie. If you don’t have your integrity, what do you have? Don’t. Do. It.

  But I had to. What choice did I have? If I didn’t find out more about Logan Wright, what was left of my family would suffer.

  I forced myself off the bed, silently detesting what I was about to do, and tiptoed toward the source of the noise.

  Chapter 5

  Logan

  The bastards had put me on hold.

  I didn’t fucking hold for anyone. Not a king, and certainly not a wannabe mafioso. But I didn’t have a choice in this. The sooner I got Marino off my back, the sooner I could return to New York and my business.

  That business was all I had. It possessed me. It kept me busy. It kept me from dwelling on emptiness and the past. And this criminal fucker had threatened to take it all away.

  I glanced toward my door, the very same which led into the adjoined bathroom between the two rooms in the bungalow and frowned. It was ajar. The last thing I needed was for Katie to hear this and get spooked.

  Spooked? Who cares if she runs? She’s a complication. The sooner she’s out of here, the better. One night was fun. That’s all it has to be.

  But I wasn’t wired that way, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t do the “wham, bam, thank you, ma’am” shit. Sex was overrated when it was cheap, and what I’d just done with Katie was anything but. Just the thought had my dick stiff in my pants yet again, and her fluids still moistened the fabric at my crotch.

  The minute I’d spotted her at the bar, I’d wanted her underneath me and that never happened.

  The phone line clicked and my focus shifted immediately. I turned my back on the bathroom door and walked to my bed, resting my forearm against it. “Speak, for fuck’s sake,” I said.

  Silence followed by a dull, rasping chuckle.

  Oh yeah, that was Marino all right. He’d worn away his voice box with cigarettes and Cubans. That distinctive sound had been lodged in my memory since our first meeting half a year ago.

  “I don’t have time to waste on this shit, Marino,” I growled. “Speak.”

  “For a man in your position, Mr. Wright, you sure are cocky,” Marino said, that confidence brought on by being feared and loathed crackling through the speaker. “I’d curb my enthusiasm if I were you.”

  “Why don’t you curb the crap and get to the point,” I snapped. “I’m not one of your lackeys. You don’t boss me around.”

  The bastard didn’t chuckle now. The background on his side was totally silent. Where was he? Christ, I’d vowed I’d go through with this, but it still made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Especially now that there was a woman here with me.

  Complication, that’s all it is. You’re good at dealing with complications.

  “Speaking of lackeys,” I said, since Marino still hadn’t spoken. Perhaps I’d stunned the fucker into silence with my attitude. He was used to people rolling over and kicking their legs in the air when he expressed the smallest measure of dissatisfaction. “If your emissary had actually fucking turned up at El Toro, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “My emissary,” Marino replied, almost purring the phrase, “was there. You just didn’t know it. You businessmen are so blind to the world around you, and that, Mr. Wright, will be your downfall.”

  I sifted through the crap he’d just fed me. “Fine. If he was there, why didn’t he come forward? Why waste my damn time? We agreed we’d come to an amicable arrangement.”

  “No, that was what you hoped. Yesterday I felt amicable, today…” Marino trailed off into another of his raspy chuckles. “You realize you made this more difficult for yourself, Mr. Wright. If you had met with me in New York, all of this would’ve been handled much sooner.”

  “Handled? I know what your version of ‘handled’ means, Marino, and excuse me, but I’m not keen on being thrown into the East River with a cinderblock tied to my ankles.”

  “Tsk, tsk, no need to be barbaric,” the gangster replied. “You chose this course of action. You assumed you would be safe on that little island, that you would have a point of strength to work from, a method of bargaining without the threat of my men breathing down your neck. You were wrong.”

  “I own half this fucking island,” I growled. “If you try anything I’ll hear about it before the command’s left your mouth.”

  “Oh? Interesting, Mr. Wright. Isn’t it true you have just as many connections in New York?” he asked. “But you didn’t feel safe there.”

  I hadn’t, and only because Marino had more connections, dirty cops watching his back, people spying day and night. No one could be trusted. Here, I had some grasp of the situation. I knew the local wildlife, the people, the places—even in the seedier areas—like the back of my hand.

  This island had been the sight of my recovery years ago after I’d left prison, before I’d become the man I was today.

  “I’m here because I want to give you a chance,” I said, bluffing so hard my skin hurt. “I could turn you in, now, if I wanted to.”

  This time Marino’s laugh was a roar of mirth. “Sure, buddy,” he said. “Sure. Listen, I know you’re there with a woman, that fox you picked up from the bar.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, ice dropping down my spine.

  “The lady in the blue dress with the matching eyes and the fuckable tits,” Marino said easily. “I believe that’s how Julio described her. ‘Fuckable.’ I assume you’ve already had your taste. I hear you were very concerned about her wellbeing, that you took her back to your apartment.”

  I refrained from answering. What was his ploy? Use the gorgeous girl against me?

  “I’ve been watching you for a long time, Mr. Wright,” Marino continued. “Months before we first made contact, I had my eye on you. I wanted to ensure that any work you had done for me would be of the highest distraction. I admire a man who’s never distracted.”

  The last thing I wanted was this criminal fuckhead’s admiration.

  “One of the things I admired about you was that you were never seen with women. No one night stands, no interest. In fact, I wondered if perhaps women weren’t in your interest at all, but some research put that idea to rest. You were engaged once, yes?”

  A lifetime ago I’d been engaged. Young, stupid, engaged, ultimately betrayed. The catalyst for my initial track to demise and then recovery. I kept thoughts of that time far from my mind, focusing on the present.

  “My personal life has nothing to do with our business dealings,” I said, the phrase sour on my tongue. Had I known from the start exactly who Marino was, I’d never have gotten involved with him. Never have accepted his order.

  “So, you see,” the man continued, ignoring my interruption, “it is very interesting to see you with a woman. She must mean something to you, yes?”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Understand that I can take many things away from you, anything I want. And if you want that girl to survive this little seven-day trip to paradise you’ve taken, you’d better do exactly as I say.”

  I railed against taking commands. I gave the commands.

  “Julio will meet you on the beach tomorrow morning at 5 a.m. You will come alone. You will not bring the girl. And you will agree to his terms, or you will regret it.”

  “Terms?”

  “Yes, terms for the delivery of my jets, Mr. Wright. You haven’t fulfilled your side of
the bargain, yet. You do that, and I will consider leaving your home intact for your return to New York.”

  I couldn’t do what Marino wanted. I couldn’t give him the planes to his specifications, simply because it was fucking illegal, and I wouldn’t help the man smuggle drugs across the border.

  “Have a good evening, Mr. Wright.” The phone beeped.

  He’d hung up and left me here with my proverbial cock in my hand.

  “Fuck,” I grunted. “Fuck!” I pulled the cell from my ear and opened up my contacts list, scrolling through them until I found Jessica’s and hit Dial. I waited for it to ring, tapping my heel impatiently.

  It was evening in New York, by my calculation, but Jessica worked overtime for me and she was compensated handsomely for it.

  “Mr. Wright,” she answered, her voice stronger than it’d been earlier in the night.

  “Did they get that?” I asked, softly. “Five a.m. tomorrow morning on the beach. The emissary will be there, Julio.”

  “They got it,” she replied. “I’ve got a thumbs up from the guy sitting across from me. Hold on a sec, Mr. Wright.” Her footsteps clacked on tiles, followed by the interference of fabric against her cell phone’s speaker.

  I fixated on the painting on the wall, another oil work of the ocean and the sands, a cabana, and the shapes of people sunning themselves—”Paradise,” as Marino had called it. Since when had paradise become hell?

  “Sorry, sir, I wanted to get away from the suits. It’s pretty irritating having them listening in on everything, I— You know what? Never mind. They tapped this phone, so why do I even bother?”

  “What is it, Jessica?”

  “I’m concerned, sir. Marino’s behavior is erratic at best, and the feds aren’t exactly going to let you have any inside information until it suits them. I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation. Don’t do anything dangerous. This meeting with the emissary sounds risky.”

  Jessica hardly ever spoke out of turn. That she had this time meant she was truly worried. “It will be fine,” I replied and resisted the urge to grind my teeth. “What do they want me to do?” It ate at me to say it, but like it or not, I was caught between a rock and a hard place—between Marino and the FBI.