Grooming Our Love

Waking up from a wet dream with the man I've been fantasizing about for two nights now, I had to bite my lip when I slid my hand into my underwear and realized how wet I was.

My legs shook from the contact of my middle finger on my slit, shivering from the sensation of pleasure that coated my sensitivity.

Since the night I met the man whom my family wants me to marry, I've been unable to have my normal dreams. All my mind has is his face, his domineering aura, and the thought of him unbuttoning his shirt just for me on our honeymoon.

I've heard so many things about him, whether they're facts or just rumors, I'll bet whatever I have in my bank accounts that he's got a pretty big dick.

Moaning, I closed my eyes and imagined him kneeling before me as I spread my legs wide for him.

His head would sway with each lick he gives me.

Damn, he's the kind of man I'd leapfrog on.

"Oh, fuck..." I moaned when I found the spot that made my toes curl. My hips began to buck as I sought penetration.

I'm not a good girl like what my family expects me to be. I'm like most women on earth, and I, for one, want to be touched, or rather say, be dominated by a Michael Montero.

His curly but neat dark hair, those piercing brown eyes that are curtained by his noticeable lashes, and his tall nose. But out of all features on his face that people boasted about, his luscious lips are what I like the most.

Michael Montero is a great example of men. He's someone that any man would envy.

The manliness is written on his face; the growing stubble that surely tickles my skin when he kisses me, and his whole face that tells everyone to serve him like a sex god.

And his body? No one ever had a glimpse, even just a peek of his chest. The man was blessed with wealth, and I guess he spent most of it buying all kinds of conservative clothing for himself.

But the rumors of him being great in bed are putting spice into my fantasies.

I chanted his name like a prayer as I reached for my climax.

Stars floated before my closed eyes as I slumped in bed and gasped for breath.

Billions of people live on earth, and I was the chosen one to marry the man of many women's dreams.

Am I that lucky?

"Fuck..." I murmured as I squeezed my legs together and pulled my hand from my wetness.

My phone began ringing from the bedside, and I reluctantly reached for it.

"Whoever the hell you are, you have no right to disturb me while I'm in my beaty sleep and I have no time for your bullshit--"

"It's almost lunch, and you're still in bed?" The judging voice of a man, who's living up to my fantasies, came out of the speaker.

My eyes flew open wide as I pulled the phone away from my ear and checked the caller. It clearly says "Potty Montero". Shit!

"Get up and clean up," he commanded like a boss and stated that he wants us to meet and that he will pick me up in exactly an hour before ending the call without even letting me talk.

"Motherfucking bastard, and I got a date," I grumbled and tossed my phone back where I took it.

I think I forgot to mention to myself how rude he can be. And that's the very thing I hate about him.

He knows that we're getting married for a cause, to help my family from being in debt for millions.

Forcing myself up from the bed, I headed to the bathroom and showered in cold water.

"Ahh," I sighed as the water hit my skin, freshening me up.

For a lady, spending half an hour inside the shower would be very fast. But I'm not the kind of person who wastes time.

Without anything on, I headed out of the bathroom to dry my hair, glancing at my body that was taken care of very well.

I'm a model, and it's my duty to keep my skin flawless, white, and soft. My face doesn't need excessive colors; I have a natural blush, my eyes are adorned in thick dark lashes, and my lips are kissable.

Many people hated me for being me because they're jealous of me. And I bet they would envy me more once they find out that I'm engaged to the handsome and one of the youngest billionaires in the world.

"You are amazing, Natasha. Earn it," I told myself while checking out my own body and slapped my butt. "Your snobbish prince charming awaits!"

I chose a short black dress that exposed my arms and delectable legs.

"The last touch." I sprayed a Victoria's Secret perfume on my bare neck, and I'm good to go.

As I slipped my feet into my black strap heels, I heard someone honk outside.

My pussy clapped in excitement. I can't wait for him to be seduced.

His red BMW cabriolet parked in front of my house while he leaned on the hood with his arms and legs crossed.

Behind that aviator sunglasses he wears, I know he's checking me out from head to toe.

"What's up, husband?" I wiggled my fingers at him, flashing my most beautiful grin on my face that I practiced in front of the mirror.

"We're having lunch, not partying in a cheap club," he said, holding a frown on his face.

"Why? Jealous that many eyes would see my skin?" I teased him, patting his chin with the tip of my forefinger. "Don't worry, my body is just for the man I'm going to marry."

"The world has seen what you hide behind that little dress of yours. That's your job, getting undressed. My concern is my image. People might get the wrong idea of my choice in women. Cheap," he bluntly replied before pushing himself to stand straight, towering over me at over six feet height and hopped inside his car.

All of my hopes of having him on top of me, romancing me, vanished in the sultry air of noon.

I seriously dreamt about him two nights in a row having steamy, intense, and pleasurable moments with me.

My expectations were way too perfect and sensual that reality slapped me way too hard and had my head twisted.

"Aren't you even going to open the door for me?" I whined.

As the roof of his car was closed, Michael had to roll his window down. "You have hands, use them. Unless you're dumb enough not to know how to open a door."

Scoffing, I stomped my feet to the other side and opened the door for myself.

This guy is just unbelievable!

As I sat beside him, my short dress became even shorter.

I turned to him and caught a glimpse of his eyes glancing at my bare thighs.

With a nice smile and said, "This is the part where you're going to offer me your jacket, Mr. Montero."

He turned the engine on and arched his eyebrows as he glinted at me. "You chose that dress. If it causes you trouble, that's not my problem anymore. Figure it out yourself."

My nice smile fell and turned into a scowl.

I swear to every egg cell I have available for him in my body, once he realizes that I'm the one that he will ever need, I'm going to make him crave for me until I become his drug.

Game on, Michael Montero.