By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

I awake with a start. My heart is racing, my skin is clammy, and between my legs throbs.

“Oh my god,” I whisper as I press my face into the pillow.

There is only one man’s face in my mind, and from the way my body is singing, I know exactly what I was dreaming.

Stupid, traitorous body.

We hate him, remember? I silently fume at myself.

I draw in a deep, hopefully calming breath, but the scent that fills my nose isn’t familiar.

I sit up quickly and look around. It’s dark. So dark I can barely see anything. But it’s enough to confirm that I don’t know where I am.

Reaching out, I find the other side of the bed empty.

What the fuck is going on?

The last thing I remember was being in Kingston’s fancy-ass car.

I vaguely remember my eyes getting heavy as the gentle purr of his engine lulled me to slumber.

Surely, I didn’t fall asleep so hard that I have no memory of getting in here?

Oh my god. I lift my hand to discover what I’m wearing.

A t-shirt and…

Fucking hell.

My heart continues to race but for an entirely different reason from when I first woke.

Not willing to sit here in the dark, silently freaking out, I slide my hand toward what I hope is a nightstand and possibly a lamp.

I feel around until I find it, and to my relief, soft light fills the room.

“Oh my god,” I breathe. The bedroom is stunning. It’s all cream and gold and soft fabrics.

I don’t need to catch sight of the branding on the bottle of water next to me to know who this place belongs to.

I shake my head as the soft sound of water fills the room.

A shower.

Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I go in search of the man who brought me here.

My search takes me to an enormous walk-in before I find a half-open door.

As I close in on him, the sound of the shower gets louder.

It should be enough to stop me, but seeing as he must have carried me out of the car and then stripped me—again—I’m not feeling too worried about overstepping where privacy is concerned.

Pressing my hand to the door, I slowly push it open.

The bathroom is just as stunning as the bedroom with huge white marble tiles and gold accents, but it’s not the decoration that captures my attention. That is the god-like man standing under the rainfall shower.

He has his head tipped back, his eyes tightly closed. Every single muscle in his chest and stomach are tense, allowing the torrent of water to rush over the deep lines and ridges. One of his fists is curled tight by his side, exposing the thick veins that run down the length of his forearms but it’s where his other hand is that mesmerizes me.

All the air rushes from my lungs as I watch him stroke himself.

Holy shit, he’s…impressive.

His hand is pretty big. Every time he’s held mine, it’s totally engulfed my smaller one. But compared to his dick…

Holy freaking baby Jesus.

No wonder this man is the cockiest motherfucker I’ve ever met.

Heat surges through my body, the lingering desire from my dirty dream about this very fine man returning in full force.

Reaching out, I grasp the doorframe as my knees threaten to buckle beneath me.

He has no idea I’m here.

I should back away and leave him to his…self-care.

I’m about to do the right thing when he lets out the most erotic moan I’ve ever heard in my life.

Liquid lust pools between my thighs and my knees become weak all over again.

I’m not a huge porn watcher; I’ve indulged on occasion, but I mostly find it unfulfilling. But this…this is the most erotic, sexiest thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.

My grip on the doorframe tightens as his pace increases with every second that passes.

He strokes himself almost violently, his muscles pulling even tighter.

Another groan slips free as his release approaches.

My heart pounds and my body temperature is at melting point as I find myself along for the ride with him.

I’m pretty sure it would only take one light touch to my aching clit and I’d go off like a rocket.

Suddenly, his movements falter and I know he’s there, finding the ultimate pleasure while he thinks he’s alone.

I need to run.

In only seconds he’s going to open his eyes and find me standing here like a creep.

But my legs refuse to follow orders. My feet are glued to the floor.

“Tatum,” he groans, and fuck, am I glad I stayed put.

My hand lifts and claps over my mouth to keep the loud gasp that wants to break free.

He’s thinking about me…

His chest heaves as he rides out every second of his release.

He lets himself go, leaving his still semi-hard dick standing proud of his body.

My mouth waters as I fight to rip my eyes away from it.

“I know you’re there,” he suddenly says, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.

Fuck. Fuck. FUUUUUCK.

I take a hesitant step back, desperately wanting to believe that I imagined him saying those words and that I wasn’t just caught shamelessly watching him jerk off in the shower like a creep.

Newsflash, Tatum. You are a massive creep.

Shit.

I take another step back before I risk looking up.

He’s looking at me, I know he is. My skin is burning with its attention, but I can’t face him.

Embarrassment and desire heat my cheeks as I shift on my feet, conflicted about what to do next.

“Look at me.” His demand cracks through the air like a whip, and I’m powerless but to follow orders.

My eyes jump to his and I audibly gasp. I swear I must suck all the air from the room, because it’s impossible to breathe again while I’m ensnared in his trap.

“King,” I whisper, not knowing if I want to run in the shower and demand he show me what else he’s capable of with that body, or spin on my heels and sprint as far and as fast as I can away from him.

His eyes crinkle with amusement; it’s the only way I know he’s smirking, because I can’t look away from his dark green orbs.

“Go back to bed, Tatum.”

“W-what?” I breathe.

“Go back to bed. It’s the middle of the night and you need to rest.”

Rest?

Rest is the very last thing I need right now.

“Do as you’re told, baby.”

“Why?” I sass. “Will you punish me if I don’t?”

His eyes darken dangerously and my stomach knots.

“Don’t push me right now, Tatum.”

“What if I want to?” I taunt, jutting my chin out in defiance.

His jaw ticks in irritation.

I shriek as he suddenly surges forward.

In a heartbeat, he’s standing right in front of me, still gloriously naked, and from the way something brushes my hip, I’d say he’s fully hard again.

His fingers grip my jaw. It’s not painful, but the threat of it being so is right there.

He lowers his head until his nose almost brushes mine.Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“It’s late, baby,” he says, his voice softer than his actions. “Let’s go to bed.”

His eyes bounce between mine for a few seconds before he lets me go as quickly as he grabbed me, snatches up my hand and marches toward the bedroom, towing me behind him.

The sheets are still pulled back from when I got up and he pulls me onto the mattress, gets in behind me—still freaking naked—and flips the covers over us.

“Kingston, I⁠—”

His arm snakes around my waist, dragging me back against his hard, and still wet, body.

“Sleep, Tatum.”

I fall silent for a moment, too shocked by the turn of events to find any words.

“Where are we?”

“Surprise, remember? You can find out in the morning.”

“Why are we here?”

“So you can watch me jerk off in the shower every chance you get,” he jokes, letting me see a side of him that not many others do.

“You loved it.” I giggle.

His grip on me tightens, the thickness of his cock impossible to ignore as it presses against my ass.

I’m not wearing any panties; it would be so easy for him to…

“Get those thoughts out of your head, Tatum,” he orders like the demanding asshole that he is.

“I’m thinking of all the ways I can kill you in your sleep,” I lie.

“No, you’re not. You’re trying to scheme up the best way to ride my dick.”

I hmpf, which totally gives away that he’s right. But I’m so horny I can barely think straight.

“Sleep, Tatum. It’ll be worth it.”

Rejection sits heavy in my gut.

“Don’t you think I’m hot?” I blurt like a moron.

He chuckles. Fucking chuckles.

The warmth of his breath tickles over my neck and makes my already pebbled nipples press harder against the fabric of the shirt I’m wearing.

“Baby, you already know the answer to that.”

“So why aren’t you interested in—” I cut myself off as I hear my own words.

What the fuck am I doing?

I’m practically begging the manwhore that is Kingston Callahan to fuck me.

Jesus. Have some fucking self-respect, woman.

“Do you know what? Fuck it. Do whatever you want. I’ll just have my own shower tomorrow.”

A beat of silence passes.

“Do I get to watch?”

“You’re infuriating,” I hiss.

“So are you. Maybe we are a match made in heaven after all.”

“No, we’re a match made in hell,” I spit bitterly.

I’ve no idea what my father was thinking.

Punishment.

And from the way Kingston is punishing me right now, I’d hazard a guess that the two of them were in it together.

What did I ever do for him to hate me so much?

Just because I was born with a vagina, not a dick swinging between my legs, it doesn’t make me a lesser person.

I am capable of all the same things that Miles and Kingston are. But no.

My importance has been reduced to nothing but a business transaction.

My only use is to become a fake wife.

I guess I should be thanking my lucky stars that there was no stipulation of popping out little heirs.

Acid burns up my throat at the thought of being forced to reproduce under these conditions.

The emotions I was battling with earlier in the evening come bubbling back up and a single tear slips from my eye, instantly soaking into the pillow.

Maybe Kingston is right. What I really need is to sleep, not to ride his dick.

But the latter would be so much fun…His dick is so pretty, and big, and…

His snore fills the room and I blow out a slow breath as I try to calm the raging emotions swirling within me.

He shifts and his hand slides up, cupping my breast.

There’s a part of me that loves it. Being in his arms, protected by him. It’s…overwhelming. But there’s also a huge part of me that hates it.

It’s only been a few days, but I’m getting too used to having him in my life, and I fear that as time goes on, it’s only going to get worse.

It’s why I never should have signed that contract in my father’s office.

I should have thought of myself more. The cottage is just a house, at the end of the day. There will be others.

But I only have one heart…