Married to the Secret Billionaire

by Wylder, Penny

  They can’t. Nobody could ruin this.

  Because there’s Ankor. Waiting beside the altar and the chaplain the resort loaned us, staring at me as I start down the aisle, looking at me like I’m the sun and it’s the first time he’s ever stepped outside in his life.

  I know how he feels. I’m looking at him the same way right now.

  My stomach does a flip, and I tighten my grip on the passion flowers in my grasp—the perfect symbol for us, the perfect reminder—then keep walking, slow and steady, gaze fixed on my fiancé’s.

  On my future husband’s.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” The chaplain keeps talking. We read his speech ahead of time, and both approved. It’s sweet, a talk about how love endures and overcomes any obstacle. About how it brings hidden things to light.

  It was perfect. But I’m glad I read it ahead of time, because I couldn’t possibly pay attention now. Not with Ankor looking at me like that, his gaze roaming over my dress, his eyes searing hot.

  You look incredible, he mouths, slowly, so I can read every word on his lips. Just looking at them move reminds me of everything he does to me with that mouth, and it sets my face on fire, sends a pulse of desire through my body, and makes me tighten my grip on the flowers again.

  I want to be holding him instead.

  Soon I will be. Soon, we’ll never have to let go again.

  “Do you, Sinclair, take Marco Ankor Helmtree to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  My breath catches in my throat. “I do,” I whisper.

  “And do you, Marco Ankor Helmtree, take Sinclair to be your wife, from now until the end of your days?”

  “I do,” he replies, and I can’t look anywhere but at those searing eyes of his, fixed on me, pinning me in place. Making my heart beat so fast I feel like I could fly right now.

  “You may now kiss the bride,” the chaplain says, somewhere in the distance, but I hardly even hear it. I’m already falling into Ankor.

  Our lips meet, hot and hard and fast. I sink against him, melt into him, my lips parting beneath his as he kisses me deeply, one arm hooked around the small of my back, the other tracing up to cup my cheek, brushing a single curl of my hairdo that escaped behind my ear.

  It’s only when we finally, finally break apart that I even register the cheering and clapping from the rest of the room. We got married in a little side room off the main section of the resort complex, with a stunning view out over the ocean. The resort insisted on catering for us, and as I twine my fingers through Ankor’s and we start down the aisle, unable to look at anyone but each other really, I can already catch the scent of the delicious food wafting in through the double doors at the back of the makeshift chapel into the reception area.

  He squeezes my fingers, and I squeeze back, leaning into him. Soon, the rest of our friends and family will close in. This will turn into celebrations, cheering and toasting and drinking to one another and our story. But for now, for this moment, as we process down the aisle, our hands entwined… It’s just me and him. Only me and Ankor in the whole wide world.

  And right now? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Epilogue

  Sinclair

  I grimace, my forehead beaded with sweat, and grip Ankor’s hand tighter. So tight I swear I’m probably hurting him, but at this point, I don’t care. I let out a low groan through gritted teeth.

  “Almost there,” he whispers against my cheek, and it only makes me clench my fists harder.

  “Dammit, why did I agree to this?” I hiss through my still-clenched teeth, which only makes his smile bigger, damn him.

  “Because you’re my brave warrior,” he points out, kissing my cheek. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I might be tempted to smack him.

  But then the sound stops, and the wave of pain recedes, and I look up with a sharp inhale. “Is it done?” I ask. In the mirror, I can see my reflection, lying prone on the table with Ankor beside me, holding my hand in both of his.

  Behind us stands the tattoo artist. “It’s done. Honestly, that was your first tattoo? Most people cry or faint.” He laughs. “You did great.”

  I blink a few times, shifting my shoulder experimentally. The movement makes me wince a little, but it’s mostly just anticipation. Now that the needle itself isn’t digging under my skin, it doesn’t hurt so bad anymore. In fact, now that I think about it, it was more the anticipation that made it bad, not the actual tattooing itself. “Honestly, it didn’t hurt as much as I expected,” I admit.

  Then he catches my eye in the mirror with a grin. “Ready to take a look?”

  I inhale sharply and nod. I’m even able to relax my death-grip on Ankor’s hand—although I’m still not quite ready to let him go just yet.

  I keep holding his hand as I move my quivering legs toward the edge of the table, ready to sit up, though I’m nervous about what I’m about to find on my back.

  Ankor, of course, peeks over my shoulder first. I watch in the mirror as his eyes go wide, and he smiles.

  “How does it look?” I ask, worrying my lower lip.

  But he’s not faking that grin. “It’s beautiful, Sinclair. You’re going to love it, trust me.” Then, of course, he has to come and help me finish sitting all the way upright. I slide my hand around to rest on my stomach as he shifts me, letting out a little grunt of discomfort as all the weight I’m not used to carrying shifts. I feel a little wriggle in my belly, and I run my hand over my skin to let the baby know everything’s all right.

  Just another few months, and then I can finally get this kid out of me. Maybe then my lower back will stop its constant low-grade ache.

  “You really are brave as hell,” Ankor murmurs, close to my cheek, before he turns to kiss my jawline lightly. Then he helps me stand, and I lean on him until I catch my balance.

  Nobody warned me about that. About how my center of gravity would change. I was clumsy enough already; now I’m a nightmare. But when I turn around and accept the hand-mirror the tattoo artist passes to me, so I can admire the tattoo on my shoulder, I forget about the pain it took to get here. My lips part, and I can’t hide the smile that breaks across my face.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  On my shoulder, there’s now a cresting blue wave, with a passion flower cupped inside of it. Exactly like the flower Ankor once tucked behind my ear, on our first real date. The first time he risked taking me out to a restaurant in town, so publicly. The first time we were spotted as a couple, which led to everything that followed. It led to him finally deciding that he was ready to stop hiding. It led to him asking me to come back to live his life in New York by his side. It led to me forgetting about my fears and my past—deciding to stop letting them define me.

  It led to me coming here with Ankor, and becoming Mrs. Helmtree, in a small, beautiful private ceremony at his parents’ place in the Hamptons just over a year ago now.

  It led to my whole life. Everything I’d ever dreamed of.

  It led to the baby in my belly now. To our future family.

  Ankor rubs my shoulder gently, careful not to touch the new tattoo, the ink still glistening and fresh. There are a couple of beads of blood around the edges, but aside from some reddish skin, it doesn’t even look that angry. “I love it.” Ankor smiles at me. “Do you?”

  “It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted.” I flash the artist a huge grin. “Thank you again.”

  While Ankor pays the bill, the artist explains aftercare to me. Honestly, after all the books I’ve been reading about all the newborn care I’ll have to be doing for this baby soon, taking care of the tattoo sounds like it will be a piece of cake. Wash it a few times a day, put on proper moisturizer, try not to sleep on it the first few nights.

  Easy.

  When he releases us, we don’t make it even two steps out of the shop before Ankor stops me and turns me around to admire it again. “You took that like a champ, you know.” He leans in to kiss my shoulder gently, just above the cle
ar bandage the artist applied to the tattoo before I left.

  I turn to kiss his mouth. “Hopefully birth will be the same. The anticipation more terrible than actual pain during the event.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Ankor runs a hand over my hair, then kisses my forehead, before we both turn toward the car. “Either way, my warrior can do anything. Or should I start calling you my passion flower now?”

  “Careful.” I spin around to face him, just as we reach the car. I run my hands up his arms before I drape them around his neck. “I hear tattoos are addictive. Maybe next I’ll wind up getting a big ax over my backside.”

  “Mm.” Ankor runs his hands down my sides. “What next, will you get a tramp stamp?” He’s grinning, as he backs me against the car. My ass collides with the door, and he pins me against it, his hands running lower. He runs them over my belly, leaning down to kiss me, hard, as his hands slide back and forth across my belly.

  I moan a little against his lips, loving the feeling of his hands on me. When we break apart, I grin up at him. “Maybe. A tramp stamp that says Brave Warrior.”

  “Perfect.” He’s smirking. His hands are still pressed against my belly. He leans down to nip at my earlobe gently, his teeth grazing my skin, pinching just hard enough to make me gasp, as he whispers, “I put that baby in you.” His breath is hot against my ear, making my skin tingle, my nerves catch on fire.

  I arch up against him, pulling him closer to me, suddenly unable to get enough of his hands all over me. “You put a baby in my belly,” I agree, before I turn to gently nip and suck at the spot where his neck meets his jawline. It always drives him wild. Sure enough, I can feel him press against me, feel the hard shaft of his cock start to grow against the side of my belly. Especially once I shift in front of him, making sure to rub against his crotch, slow, back and forth, pressing just hard enough to make him sigh with desire.

  But we’re still standing in the middle of the street in front of the tattoo shop, so.

  I expect him to pull away, slide behind the wheel. Tease and torment me the whole car ride home. Instead, he opens the backdoor and pushes me down along the seats.

  I gasp, still smirking. “Are you going to deflower me right here, sir?”

  He grins and leans down, pushing up my shirt just far enough to reveal my bump, and leaning in to kiss every inch of it, slowly, making sure to take his time and drag his tongue along the soft expanse of my skin here and there, his teeth lightly grazing me now and again. “I’m pretty sure I already deflowered you once.” He winks at me.

  “Better try it again just to make sure,” I tell him.

  He glances at the street around us. It’s dusk, and we’re off to the side of the road. Still, we’re pretty visible. But he climbs into the backseat with me and slams the door behind himself. Good thing we already upgraded to the family size car. And good thing he always insists on tinted windows.

  Triply good thing that Jonathan has the night off, and Ankor and I decided to drive out to this tattoo parlor ourselves, mostly because the artist is an old friend, who Ankor knew he could count on to keep any sightings of us quiet.

  Still, it makes my heart race faster to be risking things like this, in a semi-public place. Especially with me expecting and the gossip rags running every insane story they can come up with based on the few scant details they’ve been able to scrounge up about who I am and how I caught the notoriously hard-to-land Mr. Helmtree’s eye, while he was determined to hide away, no less.

  But when Ankor’s hands are on me, I can’t resist him. I can’t make myself worry about anything but getting more of him.

  He leans down to kiss the inside of my knees, one at a time, before he spreads them wide to either side of his waist, pushing my skirt up around my hips at the same time. “You’re mine, Sinclair,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss my belly, his hands wrapped around my hips, possessive and protective all at the same time.

  I arch up against him with a sigh of pleasure. “I’m yours. All yours.”

  His hands slide lower. One slips between my legs, and he runs a finger along my slit, roughly. “Someone’s already wet for me.”

  In response, I slide my hand down to his pants, tracing my fingers over the thick, large bulge in his jeans. “Someone’s already hard for me.”

  “Every time I think about you,” he says, eyes catching mine. “It’s really a problem at work.”

  “You might have mentioned that before.” I grin evilly, not caring much. I may or may not have a tendency to send him the kind of dirty texts in the middle of his work day that distract him even worse.

  He seems to enjoy it. At least he never complains.

  My hands finally reach the clasp of his jeans, and I start to undo it, impatient. He sits back a little, watching me with a smirk. I hesitate for a second, feeling his gaze on my face, and look up to find him staring. “What?” I ask, still smiling.

  “Nothing. Just, when did my good girl turn into such a dirty woman?” He winks.

  “Probably when you corrupted her for the first time in that pool house,” I reply, suppressing a grin of my own.

  “Mm. Now that, I remember. Frequently.” His eyes bore into mine, his gaze hot and hungry. I love when he looks at me like that, like he could devour me whole.

  It makes the fire in my belly grow even hotter. I push his boxers down, and his cock stands at attention, hard as a rock. I run my hands over him, savoring the velvety smooth feel of his skin, and the hard feeling of his shaft underneath. I run my hands back and forth, tightening them slowly, watching his face for the way his eyes go hooded and dark with desire.

  Finally, he catches my wrists and pins them over my head in one of his hands, before he reaches down to grip his cock himself, and guide it toward my entrance. When he pushes inside me, it’s with a low groan that I barely hear, because I’m letting out a long moan of my own.

  “God, I love your fucking pussy,” he murmurs, once he’s thrust completely inside me, his cock buried all the way in me, stretching my walls around him, making me feel totally full. “You still feel just as tight as that first time, even now.”

  I wrap my legs around his waist, angling my hips up toward him so he can drive into me. But for a moment, we just lie there, our eyes locked. I squeeze my muscles, making my pussy tighten around him, and his grin widens. “It’s probably because your cock is so goddamn big,” I murmur in response, and he turns to kiss my neck, before he bites me, just hard enough to make me gasp.

  “You like that, hmm?” He rocks back out of me, then thrusts back in, a little harder. “You like feeling my fat cock inside you?”

  “Fuck yes,” I breathe, tightening my grip with my thighs, my hands still pinned over my head.

  He tightens his grip on my wrists, his other hand going around my hip to brace himself. He rocks out, thrusts in again. “You like when I make you come on my cock?”

  “Yes,” I moan, my voice getting breathier as he picks up the pace, starting to thrust into me over and over. “Yes, yes…”

  “You like when I pump your belly full of my cum, is that it, dirty girl?” He runs his hand up from my hip over the smooth expanse of my belly, and I shiver at his touch, at the reminder that he put a baby inside me.

  “Fuck yes,” I reply again, locking eyes with him, knowing my gaze is scorching hot. “I want you to fill me up, Ankor. Fuck me hard.”

  It’s enough to push him into abandon mode. He lowers his hand back to my hip, braces himself and starts to fuck me harder, his balls slapping against my pussy as he drives into me so roughly, again and again. “You like it rough, dirty girl?” he asks, his voice a low growl as he gazes down at me, hot with desire.

  “God, yes,” I moan, and he releases my wrists then so he can grab both of my hips and angle me toward him.

  He arches his hips so the tip of his cock drags along my inner wall with each thrust, adding to the sensation, driving me wild. It doesn’t take long before I’m close.

  “Fuck, I’m goi
ng to come,” I gasp, hardly able to get the words out.

  “That’s it. Come for me, like a good girl.” He drives into me again and again, and I can’t hold it back any longer.

  I cry aloud as the orgasm sweeps through me, making my whole body shake. I can feel my pussy convulsing around his shaft, squeezing him hard. He tightens his hands around me, fucks harder, faster, and before long, I can feel him finishing inside me, his cum hot and wet, coating my pussy.

  When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, grinning. He pulls out of me and draws me against him, leaning in to kiss my cheek, my jaw, the edge of my mouth. “I love you, Sinclair,” he murmurs.

  I reach up to wrap my hands around his, where they’re looped around my shoulders. “I love you, Ankor.” I grin a little. “How did we get such a wonderful life, again?”

  “Lucky, I guess.” He arches an eyebrow. Then his hand drops between us to rest on my belly. “And soon, when our family is complete… it will be absolutely perfect.” He leans down to kiss my belly, and I smile so hard it actually hurts.

  When I ran away to Maui, I thought I was fleeing my old life. But what I didn’t know was that I was actually running straight toward my new one. Straight toward the kind of life I’d always dreamt of having, but never really believed I could, because I didn’t think girls like me got happy endings.

  Who knew? But if this is what it feels like to have it all… I could get used to this.

  * * *

  I hope you enjoyed MARRIED TO THE SECRET BILLIONAIRE! Keep reading for a special preview of QUICKIE!

  It was supposed to be a quickie. Now there's a ring on my finger.

  Check out the first chapter of my other book, QUICKIE. One click on Amazon now! FREE on KU!

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  This is a terrible idea. I know it the moment the newly refilled drink is put in front of me, but I pick it up and down it anyway, grimacing at the sharp taste of vodka contrasted with the sweetness of cranberry. I should sip it, slow down. But fuck it, this is Vegas, right?