Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol)

by Fiona Cole

  Her smile faded, and she swallowed again, barely choking out, “Thank you, Nicholas.”

  “It’s just honesty. I won’t easily hand over the tasks because you’re my wife,” I said too harshly. She winced. I hated it and immediately backtracked. “But I have no doubt you’ll earn it.”

  She studied me, emotions swirling in the depths of her eyes. It had me feeling like a swinging pendulum with her. I wanted to keep her at a distance but hated when she got too far, so I brought her back. But then she came back and looked at me like I’d given her the most precious gift, making that warmth come roaring back, and I struggled with the way it bled further and further through my body each time. So, I pushed her away again. On repeat.

  I knew I was on borrowed time and knew at some point the swinging would stop; I just wasn’t sure where it would, with her close or far.

  I wasn’t sure where I wanted it to stop.

  But with her smile back in place and the soft heat fading less and less each time I shoved away, I had a feeling I knew where I wanted it to land.

  I just wasn’t ready to admit that I may be falling for my wife.

  Twenty-Nine

  Vera

  The heel of my suede ankle boots caught on the edge of the cobblestone, and I stumbled, latching on to Nico’s arm. He looked back to find me giggling, enjoying the feel of his hard arm under my fingers.

  “You okay?” he asked, smiling with me.

  “Maybe I should have skipped the last glass of champagne.”

  “Nah. It’s our honeymoon. How could you turn down a bottle from the chef?”

  “You’re right. I made the right choice.”

  He huffed a laugh and shook his head, not saying anything as I stepped close and kept my hand latched to his arm while we walked.

  That had been our night.

  After the day sunbathing, we got ready and had the most delicious dinner. But better than dinner had been the walls that slowly disappeared throughout the day. The best part was the laughing and subtle flirting. The best part was the ease that sprouted somewhere between Rome and Naples.

  He’d even interrupted my shower again, and instead of a heated argument, I’d merely thrown my loofah at him and stormed off, smiling, kind of loving his taunting laugh behind me.

  Nico’s laugh…It should be one of the wonders of the world. It rose from deep in his chest and poured from his full lips. The smile disarmed you, and then the gruff rumble of humor struck while your guard was down. It was sensual, deep—rough.

  Just like the way he fucked me against the railing at the gala.

  All through the night, women looked, desire, and want in their eyes, probably the same way it was in mine. They looked, but the silver wedding band shined brighter on his finger, letting them know he was taken.

  Mine.

  Possession flooded my body each time I caught a glint of it.

  I clung tighter to him, and I wondered if this was what cavemen felt like. This desperate urge to claim him, to mark him as mine so everyone knew he was taken. I wanted to bare my teeth like an animal to ward off anyone who said otherwise.

  I wanted him and blamed nothing but my need. No champagne, no living in the moment, no rash decisions. There was nothing to blame but his words weaving their way around the cracks in my wall and the emotions they planted there. They grew like a flower in a desert, rare, and unlike anything I’d ever felt before. The vines wove through my stubborn barrier, creating crevices where the emotions slipped through until it broke free and poured over me. It was all-consuming, washing away any stubbornness I still clung to.

  I…cared.

  I almost laughed at the simple word. I more than cared, and damn-well knew it.

  Maybe it’d been there the whole time, growing in the shadow of my defiance and persistence. But his words shined a light like a ray of sun, illuminating that it’d been there all along.

  We walked down the narrow street, people sitting outside, laughing and living, enjoying the warmer night. When we rounded a corner to an opening, we found musicians playing music to a small crowd of dancers. Couples laughed under the string lights, twirling out only to be brought back into their partner’s arms. I picked up a few Italian words in the song about getting lost in the night with your lover, and it sounded like the best idea I’d ever heard.

  “Dance with me.”

  “What?” he asked.

  I tugged him over to the fringes of the group. “Like our parents did.” It was a memory we shared of our parents dancing together. Each time I’d encountered my parents laughing and holding each other tight in the kitchen, it was all I could fantasize about for my own future. “Like a tradition.”

  His face softened, probably remembering his own parents, and slipped his arms around my waist. “We can make it our own tradition.”

  His words stole my breath. It was the first time we’d both talked about our marriage like it was real—like it was the beginning foundations of a long future and not just a business transaction.

  He pulled me close, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, inhaling his spicy scent. I loved the way he smelled. I had since the very beginning. Not that I’d admit it, but if he ever interrupted my shower at the right time, he may have found me sneaking a smell of his body wash.

  The guitar played softly, and the singer crooned. I was too lost in Nico’s arms to try to translate the lyrics. Instead, I listened to the beat and let him guide me, focusing on the feel of his thighs brushing mine, on the wind caressing my thighs where my dress rode up. I focused on holding back my whimper when his tongue slicked across his lips, and I held back from tracing it with my own.

  The music turned sensual, and Nico’s grip tightened, moving up and down my back, sometimes stopping to grip my hips and move me how he wanted. I dug my fingers into the soft hair at the base of his neck and held on. The warm air, the soft music, the twinkling lights, the passion of Italy itself wove around us.

  The dance turned sensual, and we clung to each other like we were both barely hanging on to our control. We moved, forming our tradition of foreplay.

  When the song ended, he leaned down to my ear. “Ready to go back?”

  I nodded, tipping my head to the side in hopes his lips would travel down my neck. They didn’t, but he dragged his nose along my cheek, inhaling my scent like I did his. I pulled back to look up at him, but his eyes were focused on something over my shoulder.

  “Stay right here.”

  “What?” That wasn’t what I’d expected.

  He looked down, a smile tipping his lips. “I want to get you something.”

  Giddy excitement quickly replaced my confusion. “What is it?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Come on. Tell me. I want to make sure it’s worth it.”

  I wanted to make sure it was worth not rushing back to the yacht and continuing where the dance ended. He bopped me on the nose, and I laughed at the playful gesture.

  “So impatient.”

  “Only child syndrome.”

  “Well, too bad. Stay put and I’ll be right back.”

  “Fine,” I whined.

  He walked away, laughing at my dramatics, and I stood there in awe, another smile making my cheeks ache. I’d smiled more today than I had in months, and I never wanted it to end. I watched his broad shoulders disappear behind a few people as he perused the street vendor’s shop.

  I tried to see what he grabbed, but the crowd blocked my view. When he finally made his way back to me, he laughed at the way I couldn’t help but bounce on the balls of my feet.

  I opened and closed my hands, wanting whatever was in the brown bag.

  “Verana Rush,” he mock reprimanded. Hearing my name attached to his only amped up my excitement, and I giggled. “I should make you wait until we get back.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  He shook his head and gave me the bag. I tore open the paper to find an ornate footed shot glass with the word amore etched along the f
ront.

  “What is this?” I asked slowly. Surely, he couldn’t know what this meant to me.

  “I’m assuming you don’t have a shot glass from Italy?”

  “No…Why?”

  “I saw your collection in one of the boxes marked as your mother’s things,” he answered simply. “I forgot to give it to you, but I also got one from Rome. I figured we could find a way to display them at home when we got back.”

  “Oh…” I didn’t know what else to say. “This is…thank you. My mother had a collection and I’ve added to it over the years.”

  “I guess we both collect things to hold on to the people we lost too soon.”

  “I guess we do.”

  Tonight, I wanted to hold on to him before I lost him. I wanted to collect memories that I could hold tight at the end of our agreement. No more stubbornness to hold me back. No more denial to keep me from admitting what I knew. I trusted him, and that realization only watered the flower, making it grow into something I knew I was running out of time avoiding.

  “Come on. Let’s head back.”

  He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me close the short walk back to the yacht. Each step solidified my decision. Need beat through me with each thud of my heels against the pavement. By the time we stepped onto the yacht, every muscle pulled tight with need, ready to snap.

  “Nico.” My hand held him still, and he turned back to see why I stopped. I swallowed, and his brows furrowed. “Do you respect me?”

  I knew he did. I just wanted to hear it. “Of course, I do.”

  “Then that’s enough.”

  First must come respect. Then the love can grow.

  My mom’s words rang in my head, and I had no doubt that love had already begun to grow.

  I jerked his hand, pulling him close, so I could wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down to me. “I’m done fighting,” I confessed so close to his face, my lips brushed his.

  He stood frozen, and to make my declaration clear, I flicked my tongue against his lips and pressed my core against him.

  With a growl, his hands dropped to grip my ass and lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and moaned when he turned to press us against a wall.

  We inhaled each other like we’d been in a cage starving, staring at a feast just outside. I’d unlocked the door, and neither of us was holding back. He held me so tight I was sure I’d have bruises in the morning, and I looked forward to each one.

  He pulled back, and I kissed down his neck, my world turning when he shifted and walked to where we lounged earlier. Cool air caressed the curve of my ass where my dress rode up, and a chill worked its way up my spine when he sat me on the cold surface of one of the tables.

  An attendant appeared, and without taking his eyes off me, Nico ordered him to leave.

  “Get the fuck out of here, and no one appears until I call for them.”

  “Yes, sir,” the attendant responded, like a grumbling man and half-naked woman on a table were nothing new.

  As soon as we were alone again, we collided.

  His hands were everywhere, up and down my sides, squeezing my ass to push his groin into mine. Gripping my thighs to pull them tight around his waist, holding on like I’d slip away any moment. On my breasts, grazing my nipples on taunting passes and hard pinches.

  My hands moved just as frantically, desperate to feel him. He’d walked around every hotel room naked, his golden body hard like Adonis, and my hands shook with the need to touch him. I fumbled with the buttons, eventually giving up and tugging the shirt open, baring the hair on his sculpted chest, not stopping until I could see each ripple of his abs.

  He tugged at the neck of my dress, biting my collarbone, growling like an animal when he couldn’t reach far enough down my dress, repaying the favor and ripping the soft sweater material straight down the front.

  I didn’t even flinch; instead, I arched my chest up, my body begging him to take me. His hand wrapped around my back and hoisted me high, latching onto my nipple through the thin bra. My cry of pain and pleasure echoed in the night sky, uncaring if anyone could hear. I held him to me, mussing up his hair, whimpering, and doing my best to grind my core against the hard length tenting his pants.

  His free hand played at my thighs, tugging my panties aside to gently graze through my slick folds.

  “Fuck me. I missed this pussy.”

  Another pass, and my frustration grew. We’d waited long enough, and I wanted now, now, now.

  Shoving him back, I slid from the table, tearing at his pants to free his cock.

  “Verana…”

  “You’ve tasted me, now let me taste you.”

  He groaned as his length slipped free into my waiting palm. Looking up, I slicked my tongue along the underside, placing gentle kisses against the slit. Holding his girth in my hand, I stared at it, the length and thickness intimidating. His fingers snaked into my hair and yanked me back to look up. With the glittering lights from the deck, the only illumination, he stared down at me like the devil, and I gladly knelt at his feet.

  “Suck it.”

  “It’s big,” I said, wanting to fight him because it was all we’d ever done.

  He smirked. “I know. Now open those pouty lips and suck my dick like a good girl.”

  My pussy flooded at his words, and I blushed at being so turned on by his graphic dirty talk. But I did as told, wanting to make him as desperate as me. Opening my mouth as wide as I could and still holding his stare, I sank down his length. He stretched my jaw and prodded at the back of my throat. I swirled my tongue on the underside and sucked my way back up, flicking at the slit again.

  “Fuck, yeah. That’s it.”

  I continued to bob up and down, losing myself in the motion, enjoying the ache in my jaw, the sting of tears when he pushed too far.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve jacked off to the thought of filling your mouth? How many times I’ve come to the thought of you choking on my cum as it spills from your pink lips?”

  I struggled to shake my head.

  “Almost every morning. I alternate between all the ways I want to watch you take my cum. Over and over again. I’m going to mark you, Verana. I’ll fill you with all I have, come where I want on you. I’ll make you mine.”

  I should have been offended. The words were exactly what had me pushing back so hard before, making me feel like I didn’t have a choice. But I did. He’d proven it time and time again, and now that I’d made my choice to be with him, I wanted him to make all the rest. I wanted him to mark me and claim me. I wanted him to sneak off to dark corners to fuck me. I wanted him to take me wherever he wanted.

  I’d already made my choice.

  I wanted to be his.

  I hummed, rolling his balls in my hand, and he jerked me back.

  “But we’ll save that for later. For now, I want to be inside you again.”

  With that, he yanked me up and tore my panties from me, shoving off the remnants of my dress while I did the same to his clothes. I leaned back on my hands, the table like ice on my heated skin. He parted my legs and rubbed both thumbs along my folds, parting them like he wanted to see every inch, dragging his fingers through the wetness.

  “So pretty and pink. So hot.” Sliding a finger inside me and rolling his thumb along my clit, he met my eyes. “Can I cum inside you?”

  I felt less nervous when he’d suggested we get married. I’d never let a man fuck me without a condom. I was on the pill, and we were both clean, but it was new and personal.

  And I wanted it more than anything. The thought of feeling him raw inside me, skin against skin, of having his cum spill inside my pussy only to watch it leak out had a shiver chasing its way through my body.

  “Please,” I begged.

  He swiped his palm through my folds and coated his cock, lifting the head to play at my folds before pushing in roughly. I watched his fat head force its way inside me, loving the sting of being stretched so quickly, and
all I could think was that I wanted more.

  “More,” I pleaded. “Harder.”

  His eyes glinted, and he leaned in against my lips. “Dirty girl.”

  I opened my lips for a smart remark, but it vanished on a gasp when he shoved in all the way. Holding me tight, my nipples abrading against his chest, he fucked me. For a moment, I wondered if the night sky carried our animalistic noises across the water to other boats, and I hoped it did.

  I hoped everyone knew that he was mine, and I was his.

  “Goddamn. I thought I remembered how tight your little pussy is, but I was wrong. So much tighter. You squeeze my cock perfectly.”

  “You’re so big,” I whimpered. It sounded cliché, but it was true. “So good.”

  “So fucking hot. I’m never going in this cunt again with a condom. I can’t go back. I never knew it could be so hot.”

  “You’ve never…?”

  He slowed his pace and slid his hand along my cheek, making sure I could read his sincerity. “Only you.”

  I pressed a kiss to his palm. “Only you, too.”

  A moment stretched where he stilled, and we eyed each other. The weight of the words almost heavier than the I do’s we said at our wedding. As if a band holding us back snapped, we crashed together at the same time, our mouths and tongues dueling. He fucked me harder and harder, racing to our finish.

  I cried out when he pulled out, but before I could object, he flipped me around, my hips digging into the table as he shoved back inside me from behind. His hand dove into my hair and held me upright.

  “Look at you. Look at you fucking taking me.”

  Our reflection in the dark glass doors of the yacht shined back at us. My back arched, my breasts pressed out and bouncing each time he thrust hard inside me. He looked like a dark, dominating shadow behind me, his teeth bared like an animal rutting against its mate.

  His hand slid down between my thighs and focused on my clit.

  “Fucking mine,” he growled against my ear.

  “Yours,” I whimpered back.

  He pinched my clit and pushed hard, sending me over the edge. If it wasn’t for his hand between my legs and the table at my hips, I’d have collapsed in a heap. My legs shook, and the world vanished beyond the supernova, exploding like a million fireworks through every inch of me.