By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

“Oh god.”

Kingston’s tongue licks up the length of my pussy, making my hips lift from the couch in my need for more.

More.

I always need more.

The weekend at the cabin was nowhere near enough.

I’ve missed this.

Missed this so much I want to sob in relief as he sucks on my clit, swirling the tip of his tongue around the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves.

Heat seeps through my limbs as my release makes itself known all too soon.

I’m not ready.

More. I need more.

“Open for me, brat,” he growls when my thighs clamp tight, pinning his ears.

A rush of desire heads straight toward my core at his demand and my legs fall open, giving him the space he needs to work.

Reaching out, I thread my fingers through his hair and pull tight, ensuring he isn’t going to leave me high and dry.

“Fuck. Kingston. Yes,” I cry, my back arching off the couch when he pushes two fingers deep inside me.

My pussy clamps down on those digits, desperately trying to suck them deeper.

More.

With my free hand, I drag my tank down and cup one of my heavy breasts.

Kingston’s eyes widen as he watches me, his pupils almost black with desire as I pluck my nipple, adding to the overload of sensation he’s delivering with such precision.

“Perfect. So fucking perfect,” he groans against me. “Addicted to this pussy, baby. Fucking addicted.”

His words and the vibrations his deep voice sends through me push me even closer.

“Fucking need you, Tatum. Been so fucking hard all week.”

Another surge of heat rushes to my core.

“You like that, baby?” he asks, pulling back slightly, ensuring the point of no return is just out of reach. “You like hearing how hot you get me?”

“Yes, yes,” I cry, lifting my ass and trying to force his mouth back on me.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters before diving for me as if he needs the taste of my pussy on his tongue more than he needs his next breath.

He shifts between my thighs, and for a moment I think he’s going to sit up and slide that beautiful cock inside me, but then I realize that he’s not releasing me. Instead, he’s working himself.

Oh god.

The image of him with his hand wrapped around his hard dick fills my head and my body quakes.

“Not yet,” he growls. “You come when I tell you that you can come.”

“Oh my god,” I cry, both beyond turned on and desperate as I am frustrated. “Please, King. Please,” I whimper, hoping he’ll take pity on me.

“When I say,” he repeats firmly.

My grip on his hair tightens and my hips roll against his face.

The length of stubble on his jaw is perfect.

Everything is fucking perfect.

His body moves faster, his tongue keeping pace with the way he works his dick, and before long, I hit that magic moment where he pushes me over the edge.

“Kingston,” I scream as I free-fall, my body trembling and convulsing.

He works me through every second of it, his mouth and fingers not stopping until he’s wrung every ounce of pleasure from my body.

Once he’s confident he has, he climbs onto the couch between my legs and hovers over me as he continues to stroke his cock.

“Fuck,” I breathe, aftershocks from my release tingling my nerve endings from simply watching him.

“You’re mine, Tatum. Mine,” he groans before his cock jerks in his hand and he spurts hot jets of cum over my exposed breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes, staring down at the mess he made. “Fuck, I missed you, baby.” His eyes jump to mine and my heart stutters in my chest at the emotion I find staring back at me. “I didn’t think it was possible to need someone as much as I need you. I’m fucking addicted, Tate.”

Before I get a chance to respond, he ducks low and steals my lips in a filthy kiss, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

Fuck. It’s hot.

So fucking hot.

“Oh god,” I groan as I come to and fully experience the severity of my hangover.

This is not good.

I roll onto my side and snuggle into the softness of the blanket wrapped around me.

I want the couch to suck me in and never let me out.

But that’s beyond impossible.

I’m getting married today.

Married.

My stomach rolls and my mouth waters.

Oh my god, I’m going to be sick on my wedding day.

I’m on my feet and racing toward the bathroom before I’ve fully registered my thoughts. My knees hit the tiles and I vomit.

Once I’m confident I’m done, I sit back on the warm floor and wipe the back of my hand across my sweaty forehead.

Closing my eyes, I rest my head back and just breathe, wishing the hangover away with nothing but willpower alone.

Surprisingly, it does fuck all, and when I gingerly climb to my feet a few minutes later, the room spins much like it did last night.

I wash my hands and splash my face with water, but it does very little to make me feel better.

Needing to at least brush my teeth, I rip the door open and stumble toward the bedroom where all my stuff is.

My steps falter when my eyes land on the couch and a memory of Kingston slams into me with the force of an eighteen-wheeler.

“You come when I tell you that you can come.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, desire pooling between my thighs as I hear those words as clearly as if he just whispered them in my ear.

It was just a dream.

Shaking my head in an attempt to clear the vivid images, I continue forward.

“Jesus, Lor,” I mutter as her loud snore bounces off the walls the second I stumble into the bedroom.

She’s lying flat on her back, her curly hair like a halo around her head with her lips parted and the most unladylike sound erupting from her throat.

Sleeping on the couch was probably the right thing to do last night.

“Lori,” I hiss, unable to speak any louder due to the incessant pounding of my head. “Lori.”

When she doesn’t so much as stop snoring, I reach out and shake her.

“No, Mom. I’m not going to school today,” she mutters, making me giggle.

“Lori, you’re a grown-ass woman. You no longer go to school.”

Her eyes flicker.

“Lori, I’m getting married today and I’m hungover as fuck.”

Those words are what she needs to bring her to, because her eyes pop open and she sits up in a rush.

For a second, I’m impressed by how fresh she must feel, but then her hand darts up and she grabs her head as if it’s at risk of exploding.

“Fuck, Tate. I think I’m dying.”

“Yeah, join the fucking party.”

“What time is it?” Lori asks, still clutching her head.Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

I glance at my watch and my heart sinks.

We’re getting married at 11 a.m.

“Fuck. It’s almost eight o’clock.”

“Hair and makeup?”

“Will be here in less than ten minutes.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“I told you not to let me get drunk last night,” I say as I rush into the bathroom.

She doesn’t respond, and something tells me it’s because she’s fallen back onto the bed and immediately passed out again.

I’ve just finished ordering coffee and breakfast to the room when a knock fills the air.

Drawing in a deep breath, I walk across the living room, attempting to look composed and ready for the day.

I snort a laugh.

Composed and ready. What a fucking joke.

I’m halfway across the room when the couch captures my attention again.

“Addicted to this pussy, baby. Fucking addicted.”

My heart begins to race and my core clenches.

It feels so real.

But it couldn’t have been. He wasn’t here.

Was he?

It isn’t until another knock rips through the air that I’m dragged from my desire-filled trance and remember what I was doing.

“Good morning. I’m Marissa,” a fresh-looking young woman sings the second I pull the door open. “It’s your wedding day. Are you excited?”

She beams at me, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

It takes a good ten seconds before she realizes that I’m not about to join in with her over-the-top show of enthusiasm.

“Oh, well, um…”

“Come in,” I say, taking a step back and opening the door wider for her and her team.

“Set up wherever. I’ll go get Lori,” I say before rushing toward the bedroom. She was awake when I left, but there’s no telling if she actually rolled out of bed.

Thankfully, the second I step into the room, my eyes lock on my tired best friend’s.

“What’s wrong?”

“The woman in charge out there brought a level of excitement I can’t deal with yet,” I confess.

Lori winces before looking over my shoulder.

“We could send them away and just do it ourselves,” she offers, just like I did to Kingston when he suggested booking a team to ensure we look and feel our best today.

I shake my head, aware that even if I begged, they wouldn’t leave. They’re under Kingston Callahan’s orders. Nothing I say or do will make them budge an inch.

“It’s fine. The coffee will be here soon and maybe she’ll calm down.”

Lori raises her brow.

“The coffee will help.”

Reaching out, I catch her hand and drag her back out with me.

If I have to face the hairbrush and lipstick-wielding firing squad, then so does she.

Besties for life and all that shit.

“Ah, and you must be the bride’s maid of honor,” Marissa says excitedly, letting me know that she hasn’t come down from her high yet. Her smile as she looks between the two of us is borderline manic.

“Holy shit, what has she taken?” Lori asks without trying to move her lips.

“If it’s okay with you, we’ll start with our maid of honor⁠—”

“It’s Lori,” my best friend grumbles.

“Have you already showered?”

Silence falls, giving Marissa the answer she didn’t want.

“Well, what are you waiting for? The altar and your soon-to-be husband are waiting.”

Thankfully, there’s another knock on the door. One of Marissa’s much quieter sidekicks opens it for us and I almost sob in relief when coffee and breakfast are wheeled in.

“We’ll shower in just a few,” I say as we descend on the tray.

“Okay. We do need to be ready by ten thirty, though,” Marissa points out.

“We’re not getting married until eleven, it’s fine.”

Marissa orders her team around before leveling me with an unimpressed look.

“It’s just the two of us,” I point out. “We don’t need that much work.”

Marissa doesn’t say a word, but the way her brow lifts tells me all I don’t need to know about the level of hot mess I’m rocking right now.

Thankfully, the coffee and the strong painkillers I found in my toiletry bag begin to kick in and I throw my ass into the shower before Marissa strangles me with the cord of her hairdryer.

I’ve no idea if Marissa just wants to prove that we need a lot of work to be presentable, but she and her team work relentlessly over the next two hours, preening and perfecting everything.

By the time they take a step back, our hair has been styled within an inch of its life and our makeup has been applied to perfection.

I have to admit, I look incredible. It’s just a real shame that I feel like a warmed-up bag of shit. And from the look in Lori’s eyes, I’m pretty sure she still does, too.

“Okay,” Marissa announces happily, clapping her hands together as if she’s applauding herself for overcoming such a huge feat. “I think we are done here. You both look…” She makes a show of kissing her fingers. “Your groom isn’t going to know what’s hit him,” she explains. “And I’m pretty sure the groomsmen are going to be just as enthralled with you,” Marissa says, turning to look at Lori.

I can’t help but laugh at the way her lip curls in disgust at the thought of either of Kingston’s brothers, or mine, hitting on her.

“I think I can live without that,” she mutters before turning toward the bedroom where our dresses are waiting.

After thanking Marissa and her team, I see them out and quickly follow Lori.

I find her standing before my wedding dress, and a massive lump crawls up my throat at the thought of pulling it on.

Holy shit.

I’m getting married today.