Wild Billionaire Romance - Chapter 44: Chapter 44
You are reading Wild Billionaire Romance, Chapter 44: Chapter 44. Read more chapters of Wild Billionaire Romance.
DESTINY
“I guess we should start getting ready,” Marat said after returning to the bedroom with my newly arrived gown in hand.
The concierge had buzzed the room to alert us the gown was ready, after a few modifications I needed to accommodate my shortness. Apparently, it was Marat’s decision, not mine. So, I didn’t bother pointing out that he was being a touch overbearing.
It was all too new for me to tease him just yet. Even though I wanted to. But I did not know my husband well enough, so I just waited for him to retrieve the gown.
I watched him walk back into the bedroom clad only in his black silk boxers. It struck me again how beautiful he was. I mean, I never thought I would call a man that, but he was so much more than handsome.
I was leaning against the padded headboard in the luxurious king-sized bed. The sheets were rumpled, pillows scattered on the floor in disarray. But I felt sated, good even. We’d moved to the bed after our table sexcapades, and I fell asleep with Marat’s arms around me.
It was insane how easily I slept with him. And I meant slept, not fucking. I mean, anyone could see why dropping my panties wouldn’t be a chore for a man like Marat, but I never rested so easily beside another human being before in my life.
“What’s going on?” he asked, taking in my stiff posture.
“We need to talk.”
I was nervous and fidgeting. This man had tricked me into marriage. But I wanted him. Things happened for a reason, right? I picked my name for a reason.
I believed in fate. I believed in destiny. Maybe this big, sexy man was mine. We were already hitched, so what was wrong with trying?
I really wanted to try.
“About?”
“Well, if you’re serious and we're really going to do this, we need ground rules.”
I bit my lip, waiting for him to reply. Marat didn’t disappoint, he cocked his head and nodded.
“This? As in our marriage?”
“Of course, this, as in our marriage,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
“I already told you, Dumplin’, I’m very serious. You’re mine. We’re married now, and I have every intention of us remaining that way.”
“I understand you feel like that now, Marat. But Vegas is hardly the place to make such a commitment,” I argued.
“Are you serious? It is precisely the right place. Millions of people come here for that very reason, Baby.”
“Yeah, but not like this. I mean, you hardly know me. And you tricked me into marrying you,” I stated, laying it all out.
I watched as he hung my gown in the closet. His long fingers traced the plastic garment bag as he turned, coming back to the bed to sit across from me.
“Maybe. But you can’t tell me you’re really angry about that, can you?”
Smug bastard was right. I wasn’t angry. But I was worried.
“Okay look, I’m willing to concede circumstances were a bit unorthodox.”
“That’s big of you,” I teased.
“And I think I see what you mean,” he continued, ignoring me except to pinch me on my thigh to which I squeaked. “So, what are your ground rules?”
His mien was different. Like the defenses on his invisible shield had shifted somehow. This was a Marat I hadn’t glimpsed yet.
The beautiful billionaire playboy was now the shrewd businessman. He looked powerful. A little scary, truth be told.
I took a moment to simply drink him in. He was a mystery. This man was my husband, but I didn’t know him at all.
“What is it, Dumplin’?” he asked, reading me so well.
“I was just thinking, I imagine a lot of people take you for granted. They don’t bother to look beneath your shiny exterior to the intelligent and ruthless man you really are, do they?”
“You’re astute,” he remarked.
“I pay attention.”
“Ground rules, Dumplin’. What are they?”
“Yeah. Ground rules,” I repeated, licking my lips.
“Alright, I’m ready. You go first.”
“Fine, rule number one, I think it is important we are always honest with each other,” I said.
“I am honest—”
“No, I mean, we tell each other everything. This is new. We don’t know each other. So, if I snore and it bugs you. Or you leave the toothpaste uncapped, and it bugs me, we tell each other, then we work on it. Deal?”
“I like your soft snores,” he said with a grin.
“I do not snore!”
I pretended to be outraged, but his rich laughter surprised me into shutting my trap. My stomach tensed. My heart stopped.
Holy. Crap.
He was even more gorgeous when he laughed. How was that even possible?
“I promise, Dumplin’ only honesty between you and me. What else?”
“I went first. It’s your turn,” I said,
“Okay. Rule number two, no cheating. Ever.”
“Cheating?”
“Yeah, no other women or men, or both, or either,” he growled.
“That’s easy for me. Will it be easy for you?” I asked, letting some of my self-doubt creep in.
“There is no one else,” he said, and my heart stuttered in my chest.
“Alright, well, when I said we needed honesty, I meant it. So ground rule three is no half-assing this.”
“Half-assing it?”
He smirked. His gorgeous lips tipped up, making him look even more like the Devil than usual. Sexy, dangerous man.
“Yeah, no half-assing. No half-truths or lies by omission. So, you know, when you get your mind back and you want out of this marriage, just say so. Don’t leave me to figure it out.”
“I won’t want out, Dumplin’,” he said, and my heart thudded inside my chest.
“Also,” I continued. “If you’re going to call me pet names cause I’m chubby, be prepared for me to retaliate with some names of my own. You with all your fallen angel beauty, I’m going to call you Lucifer.”
I meant it to be funny, but Marat’s face dropped into a glare, and before I knew it, he was pushing me back onto the bed, his hard body pinning me down.
“First, you think I’m beautiful?”
“Oh my god, you know you are, Marat.”
“Fine, we’ll get to that later. More importantly, there’s been a serious miscommunication, Wife. Allow me to explain,” he growled, and I moaned at the hardness I felt growing between my thighs.
He’d just made me come twice. I couldn’t possibly be needy for him again, could I?
Fuck, yes, I could.
I moaned, flexing my hips, trying to bring him closer.
“Fuck. Pay attention and stop squirming.”
“I can’t help it. I’m so wet,” I murmured, unashamed of the state Marat had driven me to.
“Goddamn. Such a dirty little wife,” he groaned, pressing his hips hard against mine.
I whimpered, and his eyes rolled back in pleasure. I never had that kind of no holds barred instant attraction with anyone else.
It was like the second we touched, our simmering passions were reignited to towering fucking infernos.
Hot. So hot.
“I said knock it off,” he growled, and nipped my neck with his teeth before raising his head and freezing me with his obsidian stare.
“Now, what did you say about my, what was it, my pet name for you? That I said it cause you’re chubby?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, a little more than flustered. “I mean calling me Dumplin’ is like you're calling me fat, isn’t it? Like that movie?”
“I have no idea what movie you are talking about. Or why you think Dumplin’ means fat.”
“Because they are fat,” I said, embarrassed and exasperated.
His body was still pressed against mine. But without him moving, it was like torture, making me crazy. I wanted him to kiss me. To touch me. I was desperate for something, anything, other than this conversation.
It was humiliating talking about that with him. But I was the one who started it, and I supposed having Marat’s gorgeous self, half naked and teasing, was my punishment.
“Yes, definitely a miscommunication,” he growled. “I call you Dumplin’ because you are fucking delicious. Like a dumpling. And they aren’t fat. They are the best fucking food.”
“What?”
“Dumplings are my favorite. They come in all flavors. Sweet and savory. They're soft,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Juicy,” he continued, kissing my neck. “And fucking addictive,” Marat growled, licking a trail down to my cleavage.
“Oh god,” I moaned, closing my eyes.
I was so turned on. Whether from his words, his lips, his body, or all the above. My body was stoked, and I needed him so damn bad.
“That's why I call you Dumplin’. You. Are. All. Those. Things. For. Me.”
“You’re addicted to me?” I gasped.
“Ever since I had my first taste, Dumplin’. Addicted and always wanting more.”
His voice was so rough, so deep, I didn’t know if it was from rage or desire or some potent combination of both. My clit twitched, and I ached, needing him so badly.
“Oh.” My reply was so fucking soft, I barely heard it above the sound of my heavy breathing.
“Yeah. Oh,” he grunted.
“Marat,” I begged, pleading for something I didn’t even understand.
“Now, I want you to take that sheet off, Baby. Spread those soft, thick legs wide. That’s it, hold yourself open for me,” he growled, kneeling between my legs, his dark eyes on my pink pussy that I’d just bared for him.
“I’m fucking starving and it's time for my dinner.”
“I guess we should start getting ready,” Marat said after returning to the bedroom with my newly arrived gown in hand.
The concierge had buzzed the room to alert us the gown was ready, after a few modifications I needed to accommodate my shortness. Apparently, it was Marat’s decision, not mine. So, I didn’t bother pointing out that he was being a touch overbearing.
It was all too new for me to tease him just yet. Even though I wanted to. But I did not know my husband well enough, so I just waited for him to retrieve the gown.
I watched him walk back into the bedroom clad only in his black silk boxers. It struck me again how beautiful he was. I mean, I never thought I would call a man that, but he was so much more than handsome.
I was leaning against the padded headboard in the luxurious king-sized bed. The sheets were rumpled, pillows scattered on the floor in disarray. But I felt sated, good even. We’d moved to the bed after our table sexcapades, and I fell asleep with Marat’s arms around me.
It was insane how easily I slept with him. And I meant slept, not fucking. I mean, anyone could see why dropping my panties wouldn’t be a chore for a man like Marat, but I never rested so easily beside another human being before in my life.
“What’s going on?” he asked, taking in my stiff posture.
“We need to talk.”
I was nervous and fidgeting. This man had tricked me into marriage. But I wanted him. Things happened for a reason, right? I picked my name for a reason.
I believed in fate. I believed in destiny. Maybe this big, sexy man was mine. We were already hitched, so what was wrong with trying?
I really wanted to try.
“About?”
“Well, if you’re serious and we're really going to do this, we need ground rules.”
I bit my lip, waiting for him to reply. Marat didn’t disappoint, he cocked his head and nodded.
“This? As in our marriage?”
“Of course, this, as in our marriage,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
“I already told you, Dumplin’, I’m very serious. You’re mine. We’re married now, and I have every intention of us remaining that way.”
“I understand you feel like that now, Marat. But Vegas is hardly the place to make such a commitment,” I argued.
“Are you serious? It is precisely the right place. Millions of people come here for that very reason, Baby.”
“Yeah, but not like this. I mean, you hardly know me. And you tricked me into marrying you,” I stated, laying it all out.
I watched as he hung my gown in the closet. His long fingers traced the plastic garment bag as he turned, coming back to the bed to sit across from me.
“Maybe. But you can’t tell me you’re really angry about that, can you?”
Smug bastard was right. I wasn’t angry. But I was worried.
“Okay look, I’m willing to concede circumstances were a bit unorthodox.”
“That’s big of you,” I teased.
“And I think I see what you mean,” he continued, ignoring me except to pinch me on my thigh to which I squeaked. “So, what are your ground rules?”
His mien was different. Like the defenses on his invisible shield had shifted somehow. This was a Marat I hadn’t glimpsed yet.
The beautiful billionaire playboy was now the shrewd businessman. He looked powerful. A little scary, truth be told.
I took a moment to simply drink him in. He was a mystery. This man was my husband, but I didn’t know him at all.
“What is it, Dumplin’?” he asked, reading me so well.
“I was just thinking, I imagine a lot of people take you for granted. They don’t bother to look beneath your shiny exterior to the intelligent and ruthless man you really are, do they?”
“You’re astute,” he remarked.
“I pay attention.”
“Ground rules, Dumplin’. What are they?”
“Yeah. Ground rules,” I repeated, licking my lips.
“Alright, I’m ready. You go first.”
“Fine, rule number one, I think it is important we are always honest with each other,” I said.
“I am honest—”
“No, I mean, we tell each other everything. This is new. We don’t know each other. So, if I snore and it bugs you. Or you leave the toothpaste uncapped, and it bugs me, we tell each other, then we work on it. Deal?”
“I like your soft snores,” he said with a grin.
“I do not snore!”
I pretended to be outraged, but his rich laughter surprised me into shutting my trap. My stomach tensed. My heart stopped.
Holy. Crap.
He was even more gorgeous when he laughed. How was that even possible?
“I promise, Dumplin’ only honesty between you and me. What else?”
“I went first. It’s your turn,” I said,
“Okay. Rule number two, no cheating. Ever.”
“Cheating?”
“Yeah, no other women or men, or both, or either,” he growled.
“That’s easy for me. Will it be easy for you?” I asked, letting some of my self-doubt creep in.
“There is no one else,” he said, and my heart stuttered in my chest.
“Alright, well, when I said we needed honesty, I meant it. So ground rule three is no half-assing this.”
“Half-assing it?”
He smirked. His gorgeous lips tipped up, making him look even more like the Devil than usual. Sexy, dangerous man.
“Yeah, no half-assing. No half-truths or lies by omission. So, you know, when you get your mind back and you want out of this marriage, just say so. Don’t leave me to figure it out.”
“I won’t want out, Dumplin’,” he said, and my heart thudded inside my chest.
“Also,” I continued. “If you’re going to call me pet names cause I’m chubby, be prepared for me to retaliate with some names of my own. You with all your fallen angel beauty, I’m going to call you Lucifer.”
I meant it to be funny, but Marat’s face dropped into a glare, and before I knew it, he was pushing me back onto the bed, his hard body pinning me down.
“First, you think I’m beautiful?”
“Oh my god, you know you are, Marat.”
“Fine, we’ll get to that later. More importantly, there’s been a serious miscommunication, Wife. Allow me to explain,” he growled, and I moaned at the hardness I felt growing between my thighs.
He’d just made me come twice. I couldn’t possibly be needy for him again, could I?
Fuck, yes, I could.
I moaned, flexing my hips, trying to bring him closer.
“Fuck. Pay attention and stop squirming.”
“I can’t help it. I’m so wet,” I murmured, unashamed of the state Marat had driven me to.
“Goddamn. Such a dirty little wife,” he groaned, pressing his hips hard against mine.
I whimpered, and his eyes rolled back in pleasure. I never had that kind of no holds barred instant attraction with anyone else.
It was like the second we touched, our simmering passions were reignited to towering fucking infernos.
Hot. So hot.
“I said knock it off,” he growled, and nipped my neck with his teeth before raising his head and freezing me with his obsidian stare.
“Now, what did you say about my, what was it, my pet name for you? That I said it cause you’re chubby?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, a little more than flustered. “I mean calling me Dumplin’ is like you're calling me fat, isn’t it? Like that movie?”
“I have no idea what movie you are talking about. Or why you think Dumplin’ means fat.”
“Because they are fat,” I said, embarrassed and exasperated.
His body was still pressed against mine. But without him moving, it was like torture, making me crazy. I wanted him to kiss me. To touch me. I was desperate for something, anything, other than this conversation.
It was humiliating talking about that with him. But I was the one who started it, and I supposed having Marat’s gorgeous self, half naked and teasing, was my punishment.
“Yes, definitely a miscommunication,” he growled. “I call you Dumplin’ because you are fucking delicious. Like a dumpling. And they aren’t fat. They are the best fucking food.”
“What?”
“Dumplings are my favorite. They come in all flavors. Sweet and savory. They're soft,” he said, kissing my cheek. “Juicy,” he continued, kissing my neck. “And fucking addictive,” Marat growled, licking a trail down to my cleavage.
“Oh god,” I moaned, closing my eyes.
I was so turned on. Whether from his words, his lips, his body, or all the above. My body was stoked, and I needed him so damn bad.
“That's why I call you Dumplin’. You. Are. All. Those. Things. For. Me.”
“You’re addicted to me?” I gasped.
“Ever since I had my first taste, Dumplin’. Addicted and always wanting more.”
His voice was so rough, so deep, I didn’t know if it was from rage or desire or some potent combination of both. My clit twitched, and I ached, needing him so badly.
“Oh.” My reply was so fucking soft, I barely heard it above the sound of my heavy breathing.
“Yeah. Oh,” he grunted.
“Marat,” I begged, pleading for something I didn’t even understand.
“Now, I want you to take that sheet off, Baby. Spread those soft, thick legs wide. That’s it, hold yourself open for me,” he growled, kneeling between my legs, his dark eyes on my pink pussy that I’d just bared for him.
“I’m fucking starving and it's time for my dinner.”
End of Wild Billionaire Romance Chapter 44. Continue reading Chapter 45 or return to Wild Billionaire Romance book page.