I’m not entirely sure why I’d lied to my pilot about my father being perfectly aware of me going to Ibiza. I’m not sure why I checked into a hotel under an assumed name, or why I’d bought the biggest pair of movie-star, incognito sunglasses and big brimmed hat I could find. Maybe it was because I’d just turned twenty, and I just wanted something exciting. I wanted to go a little crazy, I guess, for once.
That’d lasted all of one day. I’d sunned by the pool, I’d had exactly two glasses of wine at the hotel bar, I’d gone upstairs to change to go out—
And that’s when I’d been introduced to Prince Magnus.
No, that’s when I’d been introduced to Prince Magnum.
At first, I’d had a horrified thought that I’d somehow walked into the wrong penthouse suite. But there were only three suites like this at the hotel, and I knew I’d made a right off the elevator.
I’d wanted to scream, but it was like I was frozen to the spot just staring at the sight that greeted me when I walked in. Frozen, scandalized, staring, and incredibly and horribly turned on.
Because there, laying spread out and propped up in my bed, without a stitch of clothing on that absolutely gorgeous body, was Prince Magnus.
…With every single inch of his…well, Magnum standing at attention.
I’d felt the heat in my face, not to mention other places as my eyes had just dropped to his absolutely enormous… thing, pulsing rock hard between his legs. Every instinct to scream, or turn and flee, or even look away just vanished as I stared at him, as if I was hypnotized.
There’s no way that’s real.
There just wasn’t, except the proof was sitting there with a cocky grin on his face, his hands behind his head, his rippling abs flexing, a smirk on his face, and the biggest cock I could have ever imaged throbbing between his legs.
The tabloids usually blew stories out of proportion. Not this one. Not the “Prince Magnum” story.
…If anything, they’d under-sold it.
It was him that broke the silence.
“You order some room service, Claire?” He’d said with a smug grin, rocking his hips just enough to make his huge dick wave a little in the air.
I let out a little peeping sound, my hand flying to my mouth as my eyes had somehow gotten even bigger.
Claire.
He’d used my fake name — the one I used when trying to travel under the radar, or when I was in a less than perfectly safe area doing charity work. Or say, checking into party hotels in Ibiza, Spain, without my parent’s knowledge.
“How—”
The words weren’t forming, and my eyes still wouldn’t look away from his crotch.
“How’d I get in here, since you haven’t had the chance to beg me to come up yet?” He chuckled arrogantly, flexing a little and flashing another gorgeous grin at me.
I flushed a deeper red, the ridiculous cockiness of him hitting me like a wicked touch.
“Yes— yes,” I finally got out, finally tearing my eyes away from his erection to stare him in the eye with a flush on my face. “How did you get in here?”
He’d grinned. “You know who I am, beautiful?”
Of course I did, and he saw it on my face before I could even come up with a lie.
“What can I say?” He’d shrugged. “I saw you down by the pool earlier, and I knew I just had to have you. I own this hotel, so…” He’d shrugged again, his eyes dripping over my body and making me shiver with heat.
“You can thank me later, sweetheart, but for now, why don’t you get that hot little ass over here and get a closer look.”
My jaw had dropped.
He’d just grinned, and before I even knew what was happening, he’d reached down and wrapped his hand around his thick cock.
“You know you’re dying to ride the Magnum.”
And that’s when I’d fled. That’s when I’d turned, somehow managed to grab my purse and a sundress from the closet, and run full-tilt out the door, barefoot, down six flights of stairs to the lobby, out to my driver, and immediately gone to the airport, and back to Avlion.
That was four weeks ago, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about that arrogant man or what I’d seen between his legs ever since. And if life was fair, I’d have somehow pushed that memory out of my head and gone on with my life without ever seeing him again — the man who’d talked to me like no man ever had before, since he clearly didn’t know who I was.
But tonight, Prince Magnus and I were going to be face to face again. Only this time, I wasn’t going to be “Claire,” who hung out by the Ibiza hotel pools in giant sunglasses and beach hats.
This time, I was going to be me — Imogen Morningstar, Crown Princess of Avlion, twenty year old virgin, eligible bachelorette, and absolutely hypnotized by the most arrogant, most crude, most panty-meltingly gorgeous man I’d ever met.
Tonight was going to be awful.
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Sneak Peek: Claiming His Mountain Bride
Claiming His Mountain Bride
My mountain. My cabin. My rules. And she’s my woman – she just doesn’t know it yet.
I left civilization and my demons a long time ago, seeking solitude up on Blackthorn Mountain. Just one ex-Marine, a remote cabin, and the wilderness, with no distractions.
But then she turns up, blowing in with a winter’s blizzard like a very fucking big distraction.
Blonde, beautiful, and mouthy as all hell, even when I save her from freezing that sweet little ass off.
A rough mountain man like me should want nothing to do with a rich little city girl like Katrina. Except one look at her sweet, tempting curves, and one taste of those sassy, pouty lips, and I want everything to do with her.
I saved her from freezing, but maybe it’s her who’s going to save my frozen heart.
We’re trapped up here for the storm, locked in a cabin with only the heat between us to keep us warm. Her wealthy, city family thinks they can marry her off to some rich little shit. But they’re very wrong.
My mountain. My cabin. My woman.
I’ll make Katrina my bride, and I’ll be damned if I let them take her from me.
Heads up - I’ve gone totally off the rails with this one. This book is pure, unfiltered, growly-alpha-claims-his-woman smut at it’s finest. It’s sweet, it’s filthy, and it’s completely ridiculous. You’re probably going to love it ;). Safe, no cheating, and HEA guaranteed.
1
Katrina
The blast of freezing cold wind hit the car like a thunderclap, making me jump. The Land Rover jerked on the icy road, the steering wheel lurching in my white-knuckle grip as I eased on the gas and wrestled back control. I shivered despite the heat cranking inside the vehicle, my eyes narrowed as I tired to peer through the wall of white coming down in sheets across the small mountain road in front of me.
Shit, maybe this was a terrible idea.
But then, I hadn’t known what else to do except run. My gut instinct had been to flee to the only place I knew where I could just escape everything. Of course, I hadn’t exactly expected the snow storm of the century coming down like some sort of biblical plague.
My mind slid back to three hours before, back at the restaurant where Paul, my fiancé had decided to remind me exactly how much of a piece of shit I always knew he was.
“Excuse me?!”
“C’mon, Katrina, calm the fuck down. This doesn’t change anything.”
In a way, he’d been right.
I can’t say I was heartbroken having just been told by my fiancé that he was screwing another woman. Heartbroken would imply that I’d cared enough for Paul to well, be heartbroken. But I hadn’t, so it wasn’t broken. I was pissed the hell off though.
The truth is, I’d never wanted to marry Paul, but in the world I grew up in, things like that don’t matter. Paul and I marrying just “made sense,” as my father Milton put it. After all, the Bartholomew’s were a family just as connected, and s
tately, and rich, and well, obnoxious and pretentious as mine. Paul’s father was a VP at some huge financial institution, just like mine was. We’d gone to the same level of snooty, snobby private schools, had the same stern-faced, hugely expensive nannies growing up, and had gone to the same calibre of bought-and-paid for ivy league colleges. In the world I grew up in, Paul and I would get married, he’d become VP of some other bank or hedge fund, and I’d sit at home redecorating our mansion on the shore every two months and popping out three perfect little children.
And to some girls, that was the dream. To some people, that was a life worth living.
But to me?
…The thought made my skin crawl.
I hated the idea of being a stepford wife — of being this trophy sitting in some rich, smug asshole’s big pretentious house. And on top of that, I really didn’t like Paul, like, as a person. He was a prick, and rude, and the thought of being physical intimate with him made my stomach heave. But thankfully, it hadn’t come to that yet. See, if I was going to be forced into this bullshit, antiquated arranged marriage thing, well then, I’d do it antiquated all the way. They wanted to force me to marry some jerk like Paul as if we lived in Elizabethan England? Fine, then I‘d pretend I was a woman of the same time, and women of arranged marriages did not sleep with their betrothed until marriage.
Yeah, take that, assholes.
I can tell you, watching the smug look fall from Paul’s face when I told him point blank he wouldn’t be getting any was almost worth the lifetime I’d have to spend with him. But then, apparently, Paul had gone out and gotten a little side piece. And told me about it, in the middle of a three-star restaurant, two minutes before our parents walked in for a dinner where we’d be discussing wedding locations.
“You’re a real piece of work, Paul,” I’d spat out shaking my head and jerking my arm away from him.
“Listen ice-queen, you brought this on yourself. A man had needs, Katrina.”
Again, I wasn’t upset about Paul fucking some other girl — hell, she probably deserved a medal. I’d certainly never done anything with him, but a girl I’d gone to private school with apparently had, and through the rumor mill, I’d heard every gross detail about how small he was and how downright abusive in bed he’d been.
Yeah, no thanks.
So, whoever this side girl was, fuck it, she could have him. I didn’t have feelings for Paul, but I did have pride.
“Sit down,” he’d hissed. “Sit your tight ass down, shut the fuck up, and smile pretty, Katrina.”
My blood boiled.
“Look, our parents are here,” he’d hissed, nodding past me at the door to the restaurant. He’d put a big plastic smile on his face and waved.
“This marriage is happening. It makes sense for our families to be connected. We’ve got good genes, and our children—”
“Not fucking happening,” I’d spit out.
Paul had sneered.
“The wedding is next month, bitch. And after that, you’re going to damn well learn to spread those legs and let me get a piece of what's mine.”
Right then is when something in me snapped. Maybe it was the other girl. Maybe it was him talking to me like I was a piano he was buying for his house. Maybe it was the thought of having sex with him that made the bile rise in my throat.
Whatever it was, suddenly, it all clicked into place.
I didn’t want this life. I didn’t want Paul, I didn’t want that future, and I was not going to just sit there and let it happen.
Horrified gasps erupted around us as I’d hurled the wine from my untouched glass right into Paul’s face. He’d sworn fiercely, staggering to his feet and sputtering.
“You bitch! You fucking—”
“Paul?”
He’d froze.
“Go fuck yourself.”
And then I’d turned and walked away. I’d walked right out of the restaurant, ignoring Paul, and my father bellowing at me to get back there, and my mother echoing the same. I’d almost caught a cab, but instead, with a smug grin, I’d let the valet know that I’d be taking my fiancé’s car.
Dick.
I’d driven the extravagant black and chrome Land Rover back to my apartment, snagging anything that could fit into a small pack and changing into the warmest cold-weather stuff I could find. I’d turned my phone off, jumped back into the SUV, headed out of the city, and driven the two hours straight here, to Blackthorn Mountain.
A blast of frozen winter wind slammed into the car again, making me gasp as the whole thing shuddered sideways on the road.
Yeah, maybe this had been a terrible idea…
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About the Author
#1 bestselling contemporary romance author Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer on the outside, there’s nothing but hot, streamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing right beneath the surface!
Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the bedroom, they’re all here in the form of some wickedly hot stories. Single-minded alpha heroes, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top scenarios. If you love it extra dirty, extra hot, and extra naughty, this is the place for you!
(Just don’t tell the other PTA members you saw her here…)
@madisonfayesmut
MadisonFayeRomance
www.madisonfayeromance.com
Copyright Notice
Copyright © 2018 Madison Faye
Cover: Coverlüv
Photography: Wander Aguiar
Models: Shane M. & Jess T.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual. No one is related in this book.
Madison Faye, His Captive Mountain Virgin
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