The Marriage Mistake_A Billionaire Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

“Thanks, dude,” I say, deadpan.

  I had really hoped that things could have been different this time around. This time was different than the others. It was like some incredibly adventurous joyride, and that was all before the getting married bit.

  I really thought that this time I would end up with my happily ever after.

  And it’s a bitter pill to swallow, but happily ever after doesn’t fucking exist. It’s all just one big cosmic joke.

  And truthfully—in hindsight—I really shouldn’t have gone through with everything.

  She was drunk. I was drunk. Her friends were on another plane of existence kind of drunk.

  None of us were in the right state of mind at all, really. But I always felt that getting married while drunk was something that drunk me would know not to do.

  In the end, it all boils down to two things.

  One, Sammi is still a coward. Even after she remembers most of what happened last night, she ran.

  Two, I’m a fucking idiot. Dumbest dumb person on Earth.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  I don’t even realize I’m being addressed until I feel this tap on my shoulder.

  I turn and see a small family of obvious tourists with wads of tissue up their noses.

  “What can I do for you folks?”

  “Hi. We’re trying to find the Golden Gun. Do you know where it is?”

  Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now.

  “The Golden Gun? You guys are trying to find the Golden Gun?” comes a voice from another group of wandering tourists.

  “Oh, so you’re both trying to find the Golden Gun?” I sneer, addressing both groups.

  Both groups of tourists are nodding and smiling. They look at me like I’m some blonde, smelly Jesus who’s going to show them the way to salvation.

  “Well, here’s how you find it.” I pause and I swear they lean in as if waiting to hear the word of gospel. “Fuck off.”

  The two groups look at me with surprise, as if they’re getting pranked.

  “I’m sorry?” one poor soul pipes up.

  “I said: Fuck. Off. Do you want me to spell it out for you, mate?”

  I turn and start to walk away. A small voice, like that of a child, calls me an asshole behind my back.

  The kid isn’t wrong.

  Normally, I would have been happy to help those people out. I’m a nice guy.

  But right now, I am exhausted, I am frustrated, and I am in no mood to be the laughing stock of some big universal joke.

  I just want to get on my boat, hit the water, and sail back home.

  No more Thai mafia. No more stolen Buddha heads. No more underground gambling dens.

  No more squirting on people. No more looking and smelling like a Thai sewer. No more Sammi.

  The moment I step foot on my boat, I feel more than a bit at ease. I’m peeling off my clothes, and I jump straight into my shower.

  It feels good to be back on my boat. Hell, I didn’t even want to stay at the hotel I was at. The only reason I was there was because there were some conferences about the migration pattern of the great white that I didn’t want to miss out on.

  I get out of my shower and—unfortunately—I still smell. It’s not nearly as vomit-inducing, but it’s a stench that will probably linger for a day or two.

  Just another reminder of how much this trip has completely sucked.

  I’m down on the dock when I feel this tapping on my back.

  Oh, this better not be someone asking me about the fucking Golden Gun again.

  I turn around, and I’m ready to let it all out, mate. I’m ready to lay out whoever is behind me.

  Only it isn’t some tourist looking to ask me about the Golden Gun.

  Instead, I’m looking in the lovely green eyes of the woman I love.

  “Lock, I remember. I remember it all.”

  “You mean—”

  She doesn’t even give me time to finish. Sammi jumps up into my arms and presses her lips against mine.

  Suddenly, every sullen moment from my final walk away from Sammi Brighton is in the past. Every unkind thing I had to say about myself and about her all recanted.

  Sammi Brighton is in my arms, kissing my lips, remembering how she’s my fucking girl. And nothing in the world could top how I feel right fucking now.

  She pulls her lips away from mine and smiles at me with a smile I’ve never seen on face her face before.

  “I love you, Lock. And I plan on spending the rest of my life with you. I plan on saving the world with you.”

  “I feel a distinct ‘but’ coming on here, Sam.”

  She laughs. “But there is one thing I need to do first.” She looks me up and down and sniffs me. “And you could probably stand to take another shower.”

  We laugh.

  I kiss Sammi—my wife—with every ounce of love that I have.

  I hold onto her tightly and refuse to let her go as we share a loving, passionate kiss with no restrictions, no reservations, and no holds barred.

  Chapter 38

  Lock

  6:40 PM SATURDAY

  I take my wife by the wrists and slam her against the bedroom wall of my yacht so hard, the boat rocks.

  “Tell it to me again, darl,” I growl, my nose against her gorgeous, perfect nose. “And if you skimp on detail…I’ll punish you.”

  Sammi giggles. She’s not the kind of woman who giggles frequently—and especially not while sober. But while her lips might always taste of tequila to me, for once, I’ve got her in my arms with the full confidence that she could pass a breathalyzer test.

  “Maybe I want you to punish me.” She arches a gorgeous, perfect eyebrow in a way that makes my cock even harder than it already was.

  And I didn’t think that was even fucking possible.

  “I’m a bad man, Mrs. Williams. I might just punish you either way for making me wait so long to make you mine.”

  And then, as if in demonstration of my own rottenness, I dip my lips down to her collarbone and sink my teeth into her skin.

  Sammi hisses and gasps, struggling against me one moment then easing her body closer to mine the next. I can almost feel the pleasure chemicals coursing through her veins, relaxing her muscles, and washing over her gorgeous, perfect brain.

  “I might just like it,” she admits in a whisper.

  For not the first time today, I run my tongue over her skin and think about how goddamn much I love my gorgeous, perfect wife.

  I think about dropping the subject there and just fucking taking her. It’s what my cock wants. Christ, it’s what my whole body wants: Samira Williams nee Brighton, writhing in passion beneath me and moaning my name.

  But it was such a stroke of genius…

  I’ll only want her more if she’ll just tell me the story one more time.

  “Play it again, Sams,” I tell her, and I feel her body shake with laughter.

  “That’s a misquote, you know.”

  Typical fucking Sammi.

  I pinch her ass, then smack it, just to let her know I don’t care.

  “Mm,” she moans, low and deep. “What should I start with, honey? The part where I left Eggs at the altar to come fuck my real husband on his big, sexy yacht?”

  “How about the part where you put Ladyboy Celine Dion in your wedding dress and marched her down the aisle instead?” I suggest. Firmly.

  And as with every firm suggestion I make, I accompany it with a firm thrust of my cock against her thigh. Just to let her know that I mean it.

  “She seemed happy enough to play along,” Sammi laughs, thrusting right back. “I just didn’t think she’d actually go through with the rest of the ceremony, too.”

  “And you thought Eggs would?”

  Sammi shrugs. “You know how he likes Thai ladyboys, honey. I think they’re going to have a lot of fun together.”

  “Not as much fun as you and I are about to have,” I tell her.

  Then I tear her fucking top off
her.

  I have just enough time to enjoy the way her tits spring out of it—big, gorgeous, perfect tits—before she puts her foot against my abdomen and kicks me to the ground.

  “That wasn’t very nice, husband.” She smiles as she takes my wrists in her own hands, pinning me to the floor of the yacht.

  “I’m not a very nice man,” I admit, still watching the way her tits sway as she straddles me.

  But when Sammi straddles me, it’s not my cock she’s after. It’s my mouth.

  God, I love my wife.

  She positions herself over my face, hugging the scruff of my jaw tight with her gorgeous, perfect thighs. When she lets go of my wrists, I seize the opportunity to slip my hands beneath her skirt and grab her ass, pulling her cunt down onto my lips.

  She tastes like salt and honey, like the sweetness of sunshine after a long day in the ocean.

  She’s already wet when she mounts me, and when I slip my tongue between the lips of her gorgeous, perfect cunt, she only gets wetter.

  “Moan for me, Lock,” my woman commands.

  And damned if I don’t moan louder than I’ve ever moaned before.

  She rides me like a dream. No—better than a dream. A man has no control over the bits and pieces of nighttime visions his subconscious conjures up.

  And while Sammi might be the one riding my lips, there’s no pretending that I have anything but complete control over her.

  I have control over my wife’s gorgeous, perfect hips as they buck against my mouth. I curl my fingers around her gorgeous, perfect hip bones and move her back and forth at my own pace, like the steady roll of the ocean’s waves.

  I have control over her clit—goddamn, I have the utmost control over her clit. I control how it moves beneath my tongue, how fast, how slow—

  I have control over the gasps she makes, the little purrs and coos of passion. The way her lips fall open in a gorgeous, perfect O while she approaches an O of her own. The way those same lips pull back into a snarl as I tease her.

  I control the way I push her just to the brink of orgasm then steal it away from her like a thief in the night, just to hear her moans turn into whimpers. To feel her get desperate in the way she tries to take her pleasure from my tongue.

  Sammi wanted to ride me, but she didn’t study marine biology for nothing. And now, she’s a boat out on the ocean of my desire—and I control the way she rises and falls until I allow her to reach the peak of her longing.

  And then, I control the way she crashes down into the sea of my lust.

  “Lock!” she cries out, twining her fingers into my hair. She pulls on it hard, like she thinks she can rein me in—

  Silly little thing, my wife is. No woman can control the waters of the earth.

  Not even a goddess like her.

  She comes for me, hard and fast and with desperation. When I finally give it to her, I don’t hold back—and she can’t hold anything back at all, either.

  Then, opportunist that I am, I pull her off my mouth and position her cunt against my cock.

  “Beg for it, Sammi,” I say with that smile she hates so much.

  Sammi takes a deep breath. I watch her lips spread out into a pleased little smile of her own.

  “Call me your wife again, and maybe I will,” she says back to me.

  Then, the way she always seems to do just when I’m beginning to enjoy myself, she slaps me dead across the face.

  But I’m a man who’s been known to roll with the punches…

  And God, I love a woman who can throw a good punch.

  Chapter 39

  Sammi

  7:01 PM SATURDAY

  “Christ, Sammi,” Lock moans as I grind my cunt against the tip of his dick. “You’re the fucking moon, you know that?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Am I, now?”

  “Mmm. You are, darl.” Lock shifts his hips beneath me, trying to sink his cock where we both want it to go…but he teased me just a moment too long with that orgasm. And I don’t intend to let him get off that easy…

  Even though I know we’ll both get off in the end.

  We always do.

  “Tell me then, babe.” I roll my hips round and round, swirling his tip around my burning hot entrance and coating him in my cum. “How am I the moon?”

  “Well,” Lock says, setting his jaw and trying to work it out for himself. “I’m the ocean, see, and you—something about controlling my waves?”

  I grab a fistful of his hair and arch my eyebrow again. Lock only laughs.

  “It’s damn hard to be all poetic and shit with you, darl, when you’re teasing my cock like this.”

  “Mm,” I moan, sliding his cock between my pussy lips and rubbing my clit up against it. “Best shut up then.”

  “Maybe you’d better make me,” he challenges.

  And so I do, pressing my lips against his as I take the full length of him. Just like that—all at once.

  Then, there aren’t any more words to be spoken between us.

  Just sighs.

  And animalistic growls.

  And so many fucking moans.

  If you would have told me twenty-four hours ago that I’d be riding Lachlan Williams’ cock right now while his luxury yacht rocks beneath us, I would have laughed in your fucking face.

  But that’s life for you, I guess.

  Laughable at worst, and at best…

  “Aaah!” I cry out, driving my hips against his a little faster.

  The orgasm tears through my body, even harder than the one before. That’s the thing about fucking Lock Williams, I’ve discovered.

  Once I get started, I only want more and more and more.

  Whether I remember it or not…at the end of the day, I think I was always destined to end up back in his bed—or his boat—or wherever it is that we’re going to end up next.

  I’m thinking the high seas, if I’m being perfectly honest.

  We’re already out on the water…and in a world full of oceans, I feel like we could do big, glorious things.

  Together. Always together.

  I keep that in mind for when I finally decide to let Lock cum.

  For the time being, though…

  “Sammi,” Lock gasps. He slides his hands up my body as my hips force him to say my name.

  “Yes, darling?”

  “Did you ever—oh, fucking Christ—did you ever get that box I sent?”

  I smile. Of course, I smile.

  In the heat of everything, I nearly forgot about his little blue box.

  “And something like three dozen flowers, besides,” I add, fishing it out of the pocket of my skirt.

  “Have you—oh God—have you opened it yet?”

  “Mmm. No,” I admit. “Should I?”

  I run my thumb across the top of it, weighing it in the palm of my hand as I milk Lock with my cunt. There’s something fucking glorious about teasing him—using his hot, muscled body for my pleasure and with every twitch of my hips, making him want me more and more.

  But all my teasing has a price.

  Luckily, when it comes to Lock, it’s a price I’m always willing to pay.

  He finally thrashes his hips upward, and I lose my balance. There’s a dark grin on his handsome, perfect lips as he wraps his arms around me, lifting me up and pinning me to the side of his bunk with his own hips.

  “Open it,” he growls through his teeth.

  He thrusts deep into me, finally able to take what he wants. It sends such an intense wave of pleasure through my body that I nearly scream and drop the box entirely.

  Instead, I wrap my legs around his waist and take his shoulder between my teeth. My arms encircle his neck, holding on for dear life…

  And then finally, I pop the little blue box open and take my first look at the treasure contained within.

  It’s a ring.

  I always knew it would be a ring. Men don’t send women that they’ve drunkenly married during a wild night in Bangkok a little blue box unless i
t has a ring inside it—so of course it’s a fucking ring. I was prepared for that.

  What I wasn’t prepared for was to fall in love with it so quickly. Literally on sight. It sparkles up at me as Lock drives his hard, thick cock as deep inside me as it will go.

  I orgasm again, staring into the glimmering shine of a white opal, book-ended by twin sapphires. My eyes roll back, and my whole body tenses up and—oh god.

  I’m in love with this man.

  Really, truly in love with him.

  And now I’m really, truly his wife.

  Eggs never gave me an engagement ring. It never bothered me at the time—I’m not that kind of woman. Knowing me, I would have lost it anyway.

  My engagement to Eggs was calculated and rational and reasonable—all the things that the old Sammi Brighton liked about not really being in love.

  But it had always lacked heart. Maybe because his heart was always more interested in what was between a Thai ladyboy’s thighs…

  And mine was always with Lock. Whether I remembered it or not.

  And now, here Lock is, squeezed tight between my thighs.

  I slip the ring onto my finger and toss the box aside—then I kiss him.

  I kiss him hard.

  My husband.

  I can hardly believe that this is really my life.

  “Beg me for it, wife,” Lock says, moving his lips over to kiss the ring on my finger. “Beg me for my cum now that I’ve made you my bride.”

  And I’m not a begging woman…

  But for my husband, exceptions can be made.

  “Please,” I gasp. I’m amazed at how ragged my voice sounds. Like I’m not just indulging him…

  God. I think I actually might mean it.

  I might mean it so much, I even go so far as to say it again: “Please, Lock. Give—give me your cum. Fucking—I need it, babe. Please! Cum for me, Lock! Fucking cum for—aaaaaah!”

  I can feel him fill me up. Really, truly feel him. Every inch of my body explodes with pleasure. I’m pretty sure we’re literally making the boat rock back and forth with the power of his every thrust.

  And his cum—my husband’s cum—it pours into my pussy, load after load, until it’s pouring out of me, between my thighs and onto the floor beneath us.