Michaela The life of a billionaire’s wife is extra sweet. Like flying in style on a private jet, landing at Paris’ Charles de Gaulle Airport is different when you’re part of the top echelon. Customs isn’t a never-ending line of cranky, tired travelers arriving from crammed commercial flights, desperate to get to their hotel or home. There was practically no wait time for us. We were in and out in a flash. Money is a beautiful thing. The same level of luxury applies to the drive from the airport to the hotel. Sitting in the back of a chauffeured Mercedes-Benz beats sitting in the back of a tiny taxi by a long shot. Been there, done that. Then, there’s the accommodation. The hotels I could afford when I visited the city tended to be small in size, with diminutive rooms designed for sle ep and nothing more. Everything about the Pompadour Saint-Honoré is grandiose. Where the Pompadour, Beverly Hills is sleek and modern, this location is encrusted in olde worlde charm. The exterior of the building is exactly what you’d expect to see in a city like Paris. The juxtaposition with the ultramodern interior décor is striking. The luxury hotel is located on Rue Saint-Honoré in the 1 st arrondissement––one of the city’s wealthiest neighborhoods. It’s a convenient walking distance from the Louvre, the upscale shops on Champs-Élysées, and st eps away from Place Vendôme. The beauty of this prestigious hotel is unparalleled. I st ep out of the bedroom and into the living room. Our penthouse-style suite is so massive, there’s an actual living room outfitted with sofas, chairs, a bar, large screen TV and a kickass sound system. I clear my throat. “How do I look?” He turns around from the window where he’s standing, drink in hand. He gives me a onceover. His blue eyes are
electric as he appraises my dress. “You don’t like it?” He studies me. I grow self-conscious under his gaze. His long strides carry him to the bar cart. He drops his tumbler on the glass surface then slides both hands into his pockets before strutting in my direction. He gives me another onceover, this one so slow, it feels like a caress. “Jesus.” “Is that a good Jesus or a bad one?” Nervousness coats my words. Phoenix’s eyes roam over my body, taking in every inch of me. I work my lower lip, awaiting his verdict. “That’s a ‘Jesus, I can’t wait for this damn gala to be over, because right now, I’m seriously debating skipping it altogether so I can spend the rest of the evening sinking my hard cock into your hot, wet pussy’.” On their own accord, my eyes land on his crotch before meeting his gaze. He isn’t joking. He’s hard. Unbelievable. “You seem to have a minor problem,” I say. “There’s nothing minor about my cock and we both know it.” We laugh. “All kidding aside, I look the part?” I worry the inside of my cheek. “I’d hate to stand out for the wrong reason.” “You nailed it, Michaela.” “You’re not just saying that?” He closes the gap between us. “I mean it, kitten.” He rubs up and down my bare arms. “You’re going to steal the show tonight.” “I feel quite pretty.” “Fuck, pretty. You’re breathtaking.” His eyes drop to my feet. “The crystals on the shoes complement the diamond chandelier earrings and bracelet I gave you as wedding gifts.” I bring my hands up to my earrings. Another onceover. “You look like a queen. My queen.” “Thank you for the compliment. It means a lot.” Tonight, marks our first official outing as husband and wife, and I’m a jittery mess. We’re not talking about a casual dinner party among friends. We’re heading to the opening gala for the Hospitality Experience Excellence AWARDS. No pressure. “You’re going to make me the envy of every man tonight,” he says. “Something tells me I might have to beat a few of the men back with a stick if they stare too long at my beautiful wife.” The tinge of possessiveness makes me giddy. After a long eleven-hour flight, we
arrived at our suite at one o’clock in the afternoon, Paris time. Phoenix had to attend to business. I took a power nap. Then, I spent two hours at the hotel’s spa and salon for hair and makeup. Once the stylists worked their magic, I was ushered to the hotel’s boutique to select a pretty dress. After trying on six stunning selections, I picked this showstopper. I didn’t want a long gown, so I went with a form fitting de ep purple strapless dress that hits me above the knee in a shimmery satin fabric. I paired it with Gius eppe Zanotti black strappy heels. Given Phoenix’s reaction, I’m proud of myself for going with my gut. “If we’re exchanging compliments, you look dashing.” I run a hand along his torso as I drool all over my husband. My gaze trails down his long, muscular body before meeting his blue eyes. “You wear a suit like it’s nobody’s business.” “Thank you.” He winks. Phoenix is clad in a trademark bespoke suit, a shirt and shoes. Tonight, he opted for head-to-toe black. No tie. He looks fierce. Seriously, this unbelievably handsome man could easily double as a model. To say this level of hotness is distracting isn’t an understatement. Not one bit. “There’s one thing missing on your outfit,” Phoenix says. I frown and I lower my head for one more inspection. “There is?” “Hold tight.” Phoenix rushes to the bedroom. “What are you doing?” “Wait there. I’ll be right out.” “Okay.” He’s back, holding a square red box with an iconic luxury brand scripted across the lid––Cartier. I stop breathing. “I got you this,” he says. “Phoenix, you didn’t have to.” “I wanted to.” “You’re impossible.” That’s the best I can come up with because I’m still shell-shocked. Whatever is hiding in that box is going to knock me on my ass. I’m sure of it. “I bought it for you in Beverly Hills and k ept it in the safe in the bedroom when we arrived. I wanted it to be a surprise.” “Congratulations, it’s a big fucking surprise.” “The minute I saw it, I knew it had your name all over it. Now, that I see you in all your glory, it’s perfect.” He flashes me a pantie-melting smile, blinding me. Phoenix opens the box. My hands fly
up to my cover my mouth and I gasp inside my palms. Oh, my freaking God. Myriad emotions ricochet through me at the sight of the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen in my life other than my wedding ring and the rest of my wedding collection. It’s like a thousand little diamonds are winking at me under the light. My eyes bounce from the dazzling bling to Phoenix’s expectant gaze. “Please tell me those aren’t diamonds,” I say, placing a hand against my beating heart. Perhaps not the most eloquent words, but Holy Jesus, this necklace must have cost a fortune. “We’ve had this discussion before, Michaela. As my wife, you deserve the best.” “Phoenix, this is stunning.” “And it will look even better around your neck.” He traces my breasts with one finger. “It complements the bodice of the dress and it will accentuate the swell of your tits.” I shiver under his touch. “Turn around. Let me put it on.” “Okay.” He slips it on. I place a hand against the necklace as if it’s going to fall. “All done,” Phoenix says, closing the clasp. “Let me go see myself in the mirror.” “Use my phone.” He produces it. I take it from him. This is stunning. “You like it?” “No. Nope. Not at all. I. Love. It.” “I’m glad you do,” he says. “One more thing.” “You didn’t buy me more jewelry.” My tone is warning. I can’t handle more. This is overwhelming. “No. It’s more of a request,” he says, tracing my jawline with his finger. Something wicked flashes in his eyes. I narrow my gaze. “What kind of request?” He leans into me. This close, his expensive cologne tickles my nostrils. God, I can’t get enough of his Eau de Alpha scent. “Hand over your panties.” He whispers his command against my lips. I lose my ability to speak. Wh––what? I stare at him, my lashes fluttering like crazy. “You heard me,” he says when I remain silent. “You–– Huh? My panties?” “Yes, I want you to remove your panties and hand them to me.” And if he doesn’t extend his hand, waiting. “Phoenix, I can’t walk around commando.” “No one will know.” “But I’ll know and you’ll know.” “That’s the whole point. This is between the two of us.” His grin is
dangerous. I’m still staring at him. The air between us crackles with a palpable charge as I consider his demand. “I promise to behave,” he says, sweetening the pot. “Knowing you did that just for me is a huge turn on and it’ll get me so worked up that by the time we get back here, I’ll fuck you like an animal and make you come so hard you’ll forget your name.” Well, when he puts it like that. I lift the bottom of my dress, but he stops me. “Let me.” Phoenix kneels in front of me, his molten eyes searing into mine. He lifts the hem of my dress, latches his fingers around the elastic, and drags my panties down my body. “Ah,” I say. The cool sensation of my slickness running down my thighs is unexpected. He leans forward and drops a soft kiss on my bare pussy. I gasp. He does it again. And again. The fourth time, he snakes his tongue between my lips and swirls it around my hard clit. Crap. He’s not playing fair. My pulse thuds inside my throat, beating hard as naughty memories of our smoking hot make-out session in the bathroom of his private jet assail my memory. He pulls away. “You’re so wet, kitten.” Fuck. The hunger I read in his eyes causes my pussy to pulsate. “St ep out of the panties.” I balance myself on his shoulder so as not to lose my footing in these strappy high heels. I lift one leg. Then, the other. Phoenix brings my panties to his nose and inhales my scent. Hooded eyes lift up to me. “You’re going to be dripping and so fucking ready for me, kitten.” Yes, and yes. “I can’t wait to fill you up with my cum.” Neither can I. My thighs tremble as if to announce an oncoming climax. Good God. I curse this stupid gala. Phoenix offers a wolfish grin. “Looks like you’re ready to get fucked.” Yes, I am. “Patience, kitten.” But my body is desperate for release now. He stands up and tucks my wet panties inside the pocket of his suit jacket. “This should be a great gala.” I have no words. I’m still wrapping my head around what I just agreed to. I want this man so
much, I’m willing to bend to his filthiest kinks. I, Michaela König Knight Villiers, have crossed to the dark side. Unbelievable. The Hospitality Experience Excellence Awards are held at The Mandarin Oriental—a hop and skip away from the Pompadour. It’s so close, we stroll to the hotel instead of jumping into a chauffeured car or taxi. Walking hand in hand with my husband in the city of love, all decked out for a glamorous evening, is what dreams are made of. A voice in my head screams at me, reminding me this is as fake as plastic. The other voice tells me not to give a damn it’s all smoke and mirrors. Sometimes, make-believe is everything a girl needs. Once inside the hotel, we head to the registration desk. And we’re off to a rip-roaring start. With VIP passes in hand, we enter the main ballroom. As we st ep inside, it hits me full force, as my eyes bounce from one corner of the elegant room to the other. God, I’m as skittish as a virgin on prom night. This is beyond nerve-wracking. As if Phoenix senses my panic, he squeezes my hand tight. “You belong on my arm as my wife. As my queen.” I nod. My lips part, in a tight smile. The nerves in my belly are still rattling like chimes caught in a violent storm. “You got this, beautiful.” “I have a new nickname?” He leans in close and drops a soft kiss against my cheek. “Kitten is a bit too personal when we’re out in public.” I let out a small laugh. We ke ep walking. My heart leaps into my throat and my st ep falters. “Are you okay?” I shake my head. His gaze drops to my feet. “Did you hurt your ankle?” I shake my head again. “I should’ve never agreed to your outrageous demand,” I say in a low voice. “There are a lot of people here tonight. Now, I’m worried others will know I’ve gone commando.” He laughs. The kind of unrestrained laughter that causes people to glance our way. Great. “This isn’t a laughing matter,” I say in a hushed tone. “This is a disaster waiting to happen—an embarrassing one.” “You’re worrying your pretty little head for nothing,” he says. “Do you think you’re the
only one? I doubt it.” Right on cue, a tall brunette in five-inch heels with a serious pair of breasts and generous round hips walks by. The silver sequined dress she’s wearing—which is practically see-through—confirms what Phoenix was just saying. My jaw drops at the sight of her visible butt crack. Good God. “Told you.” Phoenix chuckles. He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I lean into him. “Now that I’ve eased your mind, let’s go work the room, Mrs. König.” “Okay,” I say, my voice still a bit shaky. Phoenix’s warm hand splays against my back as he guides me further into the ballroom. We each snatch a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. I need liquid courage. Careful not to gulp the effervescent drink in one go, I allow my lips to touch the champagne. “I know we’re in France, but this is amazing.” I hold my glass at eye level to appraise the exc eptional bubbly. “The HEEA never skimps,” Phoenix says. “Makes sense.” I nod. “With that in mind, why isn’t the HEEA opening ceremony held at one of your hotels? Many of the König hotels are serious contenders at the Hospitality Experience Excellence Awards. Not that the Mandarin Oriental is anything to sniff at, but it doesn’t compare to the Pompadour or some of the other luxury hotels under your umbrella.” A cocky smile touches his lips. “Look at you.” I’m confused. “What?” “We’ve been married for only forty-eight hours, and already, you’re a proud König and fiercely protective of the family brand.” “I’m stating the obvious.” “To remain impartial and to avoid setting expectations, the HEEA holds the opening and closing ceremonies at a hotel that isn’t in the running. So far, our hotels have never been considered because year after year we win awards in multiple categories.” Pride drips from his words. “I see.” “There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to,” Phoenix says. And with that, my official wife duties begin. With a smile firmly in place and my heart pattering, I shake hands, acc ept congratulations and make small talk with people I’ll forget before the end of the evening. To my surprise,
my nervousness fades. The wives—or lovers—of a few tycoons ask to see my ring, almost as if to confirm this isn’t a hoax. The joke’s on them. I was too happy to flash my rock. We move around the room, and it doesn’t go unnoticed the respect Phoenix has from his peers—many among the richest men on the planet. Not sure why, but I’m proud of him. And I’m damn proud to be seen with him. For the hundredth time since breakfast yesterday morning at Soren’s house, I thank God my father didn’t sell me to a monster. The parade of strange faces seems endless as we do the rounds, but I don’t complain. This is my end of the bargain, and I execute my role with grace. Years of shadowing Mom and Daddy at our hotel pr epared me for tonight. Phoenix’s hand stiffens against my back. My gaze lifts up to his. His eyes stare straight ahead. They’re devoid of any softness, and his face looks like it’s carved from granite. Confused, I follow his stone-cold gaze. A tall man dressed in a sharp navy-blue suit stands next to a pretty brunette with shoulder-length hair wearing a fitted soft yellow sleeveless dress that hits her mid-calf. She’s model-tall and wears the beautiful dress to perfection. When my gaze lifts to the man’s face, my head jerks back. Not because he’s engaged in a deadly stare-down with Phoenix, but because there’s an air of familiarity about him. I study the man, taking in his dark, almost black eyes, his dark brown hair, and his tight beard. I know those eyes. I’m certain I’ve seen him before, but where? My attention shifts to the woman holding his hand. To my surprise, laser focused hazel-brown eyes are trained on me. There’s something about the way she’s glaring at me with her pursed red lips and cocked eyebrow that rubs me up the wrong way. Is that smugness? I don’t even know her. Why such animosity? I respond with my best resting bitch face. Wow, I’m almost out of practice. I haven’t used this contemptuous expression in a long time since I no longer have to deal with my duplicitous st epmother. The bitchy woman squints her eyes at me. I glare right back. With an eye roll, she averts her gaze. Is that all you
got? “Ah, the hit couple the press can’t shut up about,” the man says, approaching us, his words cold and calculating. “Brock,” Phoenix says. “I thought you’d be on your honeymoon, König, not working a room,” the man I know now as Brock says. “I read all about you tying the knot. Neither MC nor I could believe it. Mister Single Forever settles down.” “Oh, we’re friends now?” Phoenix says. “Pardon me, I didn’t get the memo.” Brock shakes his head. “Man, you hold a grudge.” A harsh sound comes from Phoenix’s lips. Not a laugh. More like contained derision. “Whatever helps you sle ep at night.” I’m going to take a wild guess here. These two hate each other. “Let it go.” Brock smirks. “Festering all this anger and animosity could be detrimental to your health, König. You should be careful. After all, heart problems run in your family. You wouldn’t want to end up like your old man.” Brock’s nasty retort hits me like a slap in the face. Judging from Phoenix’s deadly expression, I’m not the only one. If looks could kill, Brock would be six feet under right now. Phoenix’s jaw is locked so tight, I fear he’ll shatter his teeth. “Watch your mouth, Brock.” My husband’s voice is low and laced with a warning. I’m sure cursing is frowned upon at an event as elegant as this one, but Phoenix’s eyes scream, “Fuck you, asshole.” Brock turns his attention to me. “And you must be Phoenix’s new wife. Since your husband seems to have left his manners at the door, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Brock Litoris and this is my lovely wife Marie Clémence Pisier-Litoris,” he says, gesturing to the bitch by his side. Brock Litoris. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but this close, I’m certain I know this guy. Think Mikki. I’m too distracted by those outrageous last names to figure out how I know him. Litoris and Pisier-Litoris? Seriously? Marie-Clémence offers a tight nod in lieu of a handshake. Fine by me. I respond in kind, my smile as fake as hers. “You can call me MC,” the bitch says in a pronounced French accent. “So many Americans can’t manage proper English, let alone another language—one as rich and complex as French. Your school
system is such... a failure.” She purses her lips in disdain. “The new generation can’t write or read cursive anymore. Such a tragedy. All that to say, Marie Clémence can be so challenging for most.” I’ve never wanted to bitch slap a woman this much in my life. “En ce qui me concerne, j’ai étudié pendant deux étés à Nantes, donc je parle un français plus que correct. Votre nom ne sera pas un souci pour moi. Marie-Clémence est très facile à prononcer.” I put the condescending woman back in her place. Translation: I studied for two summers in Nantes, so I speak French. Don’t worry about me. Your name won’t be hard for me to pronounce, Marie-Clémence. Her eyebrows hit her forehead. She’s flummoxed. You didn’t see that one coming, bitch. Brock doesn’t hide his shock. I glance up at Phoenix and smile wide. He manages to school his expression, but his arched eyebrow and the tilt of his lips betray him. He’s pleased I one-upped snooty Mrs. Pisier Litoris. There’s so much we still don’t know about each other. “Ah. You speak French,” Marie-Clémence says. “I’m one of those Americans who manages more than English. I read and write cursive perfectly as well. Our school system hasn’t failed all of us.” Judging eyes run up and down the length of my body. I part my lips in a triumphant grin. Michaela, one. Bitchy French girl, zero. “Phoenix got himself a smart little one,” Brock says. The idiot ke eps accumulating the insults. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Michaela.” He extends his hand. Phoenix snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to his tense body. A warning. I stare at Brock’s extended hand for a beat before meeting his pitch-dark black eyes. “I’ll be honest, Mr. Litoris, after that dig to my husband and your cold, callous remark about my father-in-law’s recent heart attack, I’m less than enthusiastic to shake your hand.” I snub his welcoming gesture. I curl my hands around my evening clutch to drive home my point. My mother must be turning in her grave at my effrontery and lack of manners, but everything about this man makes my skin crawl. Bitchy French girl’s gaze flashes to my hand, and her
eyes take over her face at the sight of my wedding ring. My eyes travel to her left hand, and I can’t help my smug smile. Size matters. You want to turn this into a cockfight? Bring it. Brock sticks his hand in his pocket. “Wow, for a little woman, you’re a spitfire.” I pull my lips up in a forced smile. Demeaning asshole. “What can I say? I’m protective of my husband.” I pat Phoenix’s chest. I mean every word I just uttered. I’m not privy to their dynamic, but I’ll go to bat for Phoenix. “And here I thought you got yourself a wife. Instead, King König got himself a tiny guard dog.” Brock flashes a set of teeth that’s way too white. I despise this vile man. “They say Chihuahua’s are the worst.” Mrs. Piss-Clitoris adds her two cents. “I reckon, snakes are far worse... you don’t see them coming until it’s too late.” Phoenix shoots back a slicing remark at Marie-Clémence. I sense bad blood between these two. “There you go again bad-mouthing my wife, König,” Brock says. “She brought it on herself... with a little help from you. But then again, you two feed off each other.” “Michaela, I’m sure Phoenix has told you all sort of erroneous things about my wife and I––” “You give yourself too much importance. My husband has never mentioned your name.” My gaze slides to the woman with a stick up her ass. “Or hers.” “I’m surprised Phoenix never mentioned us. The three of us have history together,” Brock says. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. “Like I said, you give yourself too much importance, Mr. Litoris.” He glares at me. “Come on, Brock, there’s nothing here for us.” Pissy Clit pulls on her husband’s arm. “There are far more important people in the room to mingle with than to waste our breath on Phoenix and his little wife.” The fury flooding Phoenix’s gaze is unsettling. “You’re right, honey,” Brock says. “After all, Ripley sent us here to sniff out new opportunities.” As in Ripley Madigan? With a condescending stare, Brock swe eps his beady black eyes over Phoenix’s body. I receive the same disdainful treatment. “One-upping our unworthy adversary is the name of the game... something we do well.” He flashes his too white
teeth. “Let’s go close some deals—” “Don’t you mean, con people?” Phoenix sneers. “You’ve always been a sore loser,” Brock says. “Rich coming from a guy who uses duplicitous tactics to get his way in life.” Phoenix’s words are sharp as an axe. Whoa. It’s a veritable minefield between these three. Without so much as a goodbye, the aggravating couple turns on their heel and melts into the crowd. It doesn’t take them long to find another prey. Vultures. I stare up at Phoenix. His blue eyes are stone cold, his nostrils flaring like an enraged bull. I place a hand on his arm. “Do you want to talk about it?” My question snaps him out of his trance. His eyes meet mine. The storm that was raging in them subsides. For the first time since the Pisier-Litoris duo came onto the scene, a true smile softens his stone cold features. He leans into me and places a gentle kiss on my temple. “Thanks for having my back, beautiful. You were amazing.” “We’re a team.” “Yes, we are.” “They’re nasty people.” “You don’t know the half of it. You played them well. I can promise you this...” He pulls me closer to him. “You’re going to get a big fat treat when we get back to our suite, Mrs. König.” Excitement blooms in my tummy. “What kind of treat?” “A big fat cock hungry for your pussy.” Heat gathers at my center, sending a ripple of delicious tingling sensations straight to my nipples and my clit. Is this gala over yet?