Hilariously Ever After

by Box Set

  Afraid because she might do something even more regrettable than the unspeakable horror they’d shared earlier. Calling it ‘the unspeakable horror,’ she’d decided, made it seem slightly less sexy. Even though the lust-soaked memory wouldn’t leave her alone. Even though a dull ache appeared between her legs every time she looked at him, as if her muscles recalled the pleasure he’d brought them and wanted to ask for more.

  She had to call it ‘the unspeakable horror.’ If she called it something accurate, like ‘the best sex of my life’, the sky might fall.

  They all moved into one of the great rooms, piled down with more booze, shitty pizzas, and questionable kebabs, and Aria wondered if she’d accidentally doomed the household to the most hellish joint-hangover of all time. But she hardened her heart—and her gut—as everyone sat in a circle and argued about which game to play.

  Then she felt Nik’s hand in hers. She knew it was his. If his constant affection hadn’t taught her to recognise his touch, the feel of his hands spreading her open certainly fucking had. Aria looked back before she could stop herself. Meeting his eyes was like taking a hit of some new and exciting drug that would almost certainly kill you. His gaze was so tender, yet sensual, like hot chocolate and whiskey: comfort with a bite.

  He gave her his usual rakish grin, but his touch was gentle, almost unsure. Probably because, she realised with a jolt, he didn’t know how she felt about earlier. He didn’t know that she’d stopped things because she wanted him too much, not the opposite. And if Aria knew anything about Nik, it was that he had no fucking idea how to read between the lines. So, there was absolutely no chance he’d read her mind.

  That thought, combined with slightly too much alcohol, made Aria climb into his lap instead of sitting on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her as if worried she might change her mind and scramble off again. “Are you okay?” he whispered in her ear.

  “I am.” She kissed his cheek and fidgeted until she found a comfortable position. By the time she finished, his cock was hard against her backside. Oops. That really had not been her intention—but the rigid length turned her mind into a mess, reckless desire swelling between her thighs.

  And Nik seemed to know it. He pressed his lips to her bare shoulder, his teeth grazing her skin. When he ran his hand over her belly, she was thrown back to the last time he’d done that—as he knelt behind her and drove her to orgasm with her own fucking Rampant Rabbit. Jesus, that was one hell of a power move. She wouldn’t even be able to use the thing without thinking of him, now. And it’d cost eighty fucking quid!

  She wriggled around some more, rubbing her arse over his stiff dick, just to spite him. When he released a soft, choked groan, petty satisfaction made her smile.

  “Never have I ever!” Georgia bellowed suddenly, cutting through the commotion. “That’s what we’ll play!”

  Across the circle, Baxter scowled. “What are we, seventeen?”

  “Shut up, miserable. I have spoken.” Georgia stood, which didn’t put her much higher than everyone who was sitting down. “Okay, I’ll start. Never have I ever had a threesome—wait for it,” she insisted over the circle’s-tired groan. “Never have I ever had a threesome in public. Yeahhh, who’s drinking now, fuckers?”

  “You, querida,” Varo said.

  Georgia blinked. “Oh. Oh, yeah!” She tossed back a shot. So did an impressive number of the circle, including Nik. Honestly, Aria felt kind of left out.

  But she redeemed herself over the next few questions. Except for the weird ones, like “Never have I ever swum with sharks.” She wasn’t surprised when Nik drank to that, either. Personally, Aria would rather live to a ripe old age with only a vibrator and a bottle of vodka to thrill her than run around inviting predators to take a bite, but she tried not to judge.

  As the game went on, Nik’s hands roamed over her body, so slow and casual that no-one seemed to notice he was essentially groping her. He stroked lightly over her breast, then glided down her ribs. A second later, his fingers would breach the hem of her dress to skate over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. And then he’d be back at her chest, his fingers nudging her tightening nipples, his lips grazing the dip where her neck and shoulder met.

  “Do you need something, agapi mou?” he asked her suddenly. Which was when Aria realised that she’d begun rocking against his erection, desperate for pressure on her swollen, sensitive pussy.

  “No,” she bit out.

  “Mmm,” he murmured dryly. He might as well have called her a liar. His hand rested on her hip, feeling hotter than it should. “I don’t know why you stopped things, earlier, but I think you still want me. Am I wrong?”

  She turned her head, met his eyes, and her sarcastic response dropped out of her head. She was caught, as if in a spider’s web—but the trap lay in the expression on his face, the gentleness that belied his teasing tone, as if he really fucking cared about the answer. He held her gaze, unflinching, as he waited for a response.

  Before she could manage one, the next challenge was shouted in Baxter’s deep voice. “Never have I ever had a fivesome. Public or otherwise.”

  Nik’s expression soured, and he looked past her to glare at the grinning blond. Then, his face still hard, he drank.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. How the hell was she supposed to compete with a fivesome? “At that point it’s just a bloody orgy,” she muttered.

  Nik chuckled, and her cheeks heated. She always spoke too loudly when she was drunk. He kissed her neck, replacing her flush of embarrassment with a different source of warmth. “If I’d known one person could make me feel the way you do,” he murmured, “I’d have used all that energy to hunt you down.” This time, when she met his eyes, all she saw was hunger. Somehow, she didn’t doubt him for a second.

  In a moment of drunken clarity, Aria asked herself: how the hell did she get here? Not here, as in a pro footballer’s debauched house party in Marbella—but here, in the lap of a man who seemed to want her more than he should. A man whose desire and affection weren’t swallowed whole by the bottomless pit in her chest, whose presence surrounded her like a shield.

  Then the moment passed, and she was just drunk and horny again.

  “Never have I ever been married,” hollered the next girl. Aria grimaced and took a shot. Behind her, Nik stiffened—well, the parts of him that weren’t his cock, anyway. That thing was already stiff to begin with.

  She giggled at the nonsensical thought. Understandably, since he couldn’t read her mind, Nik didn’t laugh along.

  Chapter 12

  “For real?” Nik whispered in her ear.

  “What?”

  “You’re married?”

  Aria rolled her eyes. “I’m divorced.”

  “Aren’t you twenty-seven?”

  “That’s more than enough time to get divorced, sweetheart.” She’d been divorced at twenty, as a matter of fact, and married at eighteen. It certainly wasn’t the worst decision she’d ever made.

  Or the best.

  “Who was he?” Nik asked, after a pause.

  “My husband.” She snickered at the joke, but he didn’t join in.

  Instead, he asked, “Do you still see him?”

  With a sigh of exasperation, Aria turned to look at him. “Do you care?”

  She regretted her flippancy immediately—because Nik didn’t laugh or even smirk, and he certainly didn’t snap back. He didn’t say a word, but his expression answered, loud and clear: Yes.

  “Aria!” Georgia called from across the circle. “It’s your turn.”

  Oh, right. She turned to face everyone as her mind, conveniently, blanked. “Um… Never have I ever…” She really should’ve thought about this earlier, instead of dry-humping the man who was paying her to be here. “Never have I ever played football!”

  The room practically exploded. There were cries of astonishment, of outrage, of what appeared to be genuine disgust—interspersed, of course, with gulps as everyone else downed a shot. Literal
ly, everyone. Every single person in the room.

  Huh. Awkward.

  “Come on, Nik,” Kieran yelled. He got louder after a few drinks, it seemed. “What the fuck, man? Bring her in!”

  “How are you dating a footballer and you’ve never played football?” demanded a blonde to Aria’s left.

  “Well, I doubt Posh has played, either,” she said defensively.

  “Honey,” the woman smirked. “You’re not exactly—” Then she caught the expression on Aria’s face and suddenly discovered the benefits of silently studying the floor.

  Behind her, Nik chuckled softly. He traced the thorny roses climbing her bicep and said, “You realise this state of affairs cannot continue?”

  Something inside her relaxed at the unmistakable sound of his smile. Despite his probing questions about her ex, he wasn’t… upset. Not that she’d care if he was, since he had no right to be.

  Except she totally fucking would, because she was a complete sap.

  “The football thing, you mean? You’re not going to make me play, are you?”

  “Of course, I’m going to make you play,” he laughed. “Good God, chrysí mou. What do you take me for?”

  “Stop talking, you two.” Georgia interjected. “Nik, it’s your turn.”

  He sighed. “Alright, relax. Never have I ever…” He smiled as he ran his knuckles over Aria’s collarbone. “Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.”

  Most of the room drank at that one. It was the first time Aria had really considered Nik’s lack of ink—usually, when she saw him naked, she was more concerned with his body than his unadorned skin. But suddenly the perfection of such a big, bare canvas hit her.

  “I think you should drink twice,” he said, his finger circling the little octopus above her knee.

  She snorted. “Nice try.” But she kind of invalidated those words when she did as he’d suggested, taking the shot he’d just poured for himself. “You should get a tattoo.” Aria wasn’t in the business of telling people what they should and shouldn’t do with their bodies—that was the opposite of her attitude, actually—but the words leapt out anyway.

  “You think it would look good?”

  “No. Well, yes, but that’s not why I…” she trailed off, because explaining her reasoning felt kind of awkward. She hadn’t said it because he’d look good. She’d said it for the same reason he wanted her to play football.

  He seemed to grasp that without her finishing an impossible sentence. His smile widened, becoming almost shark-like, and he said, “So give me a tattoo.”

  Aria blinked, certain that she was experiencing some kind of alcohol-induced, auditory hallucination. It had been a while since she’d been that drunk, but these people went hard. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious. You’re a tattoo artist.”

  She threw up her hands. “We’re in Marbella, Nik.”

  “But you can tattoo anywhere. The way people do when they’re learning, right, before they get a gun or whatever—”

  “A machine. Call it a machine. And if you’re talking about stick-and-pokes, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You can’t do it?”

  “Well, sure, I can do it—”

  “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow.” He kissed her cheek. “Try not to kill me.”

  “How the hell would I kill you?”

  “I’m sure you could find a way.” That dragged a laugh out of her. The sound was cut off by a gasp when he moved without warning, pulling them both to their feet. She looked around the circle and realised that, while they’d been talking, the game had devolved into random drinking and copious make out sessions. Huh. “Upstairs?” Nik asked, packing a thousand words into just one.

  She nodded.

  Then swallowed a scream as he picked her up.

  “You have got to stop doing this,” she huffed as he strode from the room.

  “Why?”

  “Because…” Well, actually, that was a good fucking question. Why?

  “Don’t you like it?” he prompted.

  “It doesn’t matter if I like it—”

  “I really think it does.” He climbed the first set of stairs, jostling her only slightly. The bouncing must have shaken up her brain, because she finally thought of a response.

  “You can’t carry me up three flights of stairs and halfway across the house,” she said with certainty.

  “Is that really what you think?”

  She sighed. “You’re about to destroy your knee just to prove a point, aren’t you?”

  “My knee is fine, moro mou. But I appreciate the concern.”

  She swatted his shoulder. “I already told you to cut the sexy shit.”

  “You’d take my mother tongue from me?” he tutted sadly. “You English. You think you rule the world.”

  Was she laughing so hard because of the alcohol fizzing through her veins, or was this a different sort of intoxication? Aria decided not to think about it too much.

  By the time they reached the final set of stairs, their steady stream of banter had faded, and Nik’s expression had become slightly ferocious. “You’re quiet,” she snickered.

  He flashed her a mock glare. “Excuse me, madam. I’m conserving oxygen.”

  Her giggle sounded distant, as if it was coming from someone else. She felt oddly lightheaded as she raised a finger to trail along the line of his jaw. “You’re all scratchy.”

  Nik looked down at her with something that might’ve been alarm. The expression softened into a smile a second later. “You’re wasted,” he accused, humour dancing through his words.

  “You’re pretty,” she shot back, tapping the slight bump in the bridge of his nose. Wait—that wasn’t how arguments were supposed to go, was it? Ah, well. Too late now.

  “You’re pretty, too.” His voice was like the warmth of a campfire on a cold night.

  “Well,” she hedged, “I don’t know if I’d say pretty—”

  “You’re right.” He reached their room and nudged the door open with his foot. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were striking.”

  “Yes,” she agreed enthusiastically as he put her on the bed. He sat her up against the pillows, but she flopped sideways. That felt better. “Striking!”

  “I have since readjusted my opinion, though.” He was leaning over her, fiddling with her… ear? What an odd thing to fiddle with. There were far more useful places he could touch. “I think ‘stunning’ suits you better.”

  Oh, he was taking out her hoop earrings. Good idea. Goooood idea. They were very big.

  “Or we could go with a classic,” he went on, “and say ‘beautiful’. You’re definitely beautiful.” He took out the second hoop and laid them both on the bedside table. His hand went to the zip at the side of her dress, then stopped. “Do you want to take this off?”

  “I do,” she nodded. Nod, nod, nod. She reached for the zip, tugged, fumbled. “You do it. And keep telling me how great I am.”

  He laughed and sat down beside her, easing the zip down carefully. “Alright. I like the clothes you wear.”

  “Because they are tiny.”

  “Because they’re outrageous,” he corrected. “But you wear them so casually. If anyone else had walked into that club tonight wearing fluffy, green high heels, they’d have looked ridiculous. But you just looked like you.” He pulled her up into a sitting position, resting her back against his chest. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I feel great,” she said. And she did. Very warm and tingly inside, from all these very nice words. Also, the booze. “I just got so tired all at once.”

  “Okay, honey. If you’re gonna throw up—”

  “I never throw up,” she said grandly.

  “But if you feel like you might, tell me.” Her zip undone, he began to peel off her dress, easing her arms out of the spaghetti straps. Aria sighed as inch after inch of confining fabric left her body—

  Until he stopped with a muffled curse and yan
ked the bodice back up. “You’re naked.”

  “No…” she said slowly. “I’m wearing this dress. Kind of.”

  “Underneath the dress,” he ground out.

  “No. I’m wearing knickers. Never go out without your knickers. They’re very important.” She paused. “Although I can see why you might go out without your knickers—”

  “Aria. Are you sure you want me to take this off?”

  “Yes. It’s tight.” She grabbed the fabric and pushed it down, wiggling a little when she reached her hips. She might be mistaken, but she thought she heard Nik muttering to himself beneath the bouncing of the bed springs. He was barely touching her anymore; the palm of his hand splayed against her back like a starfish, keeping her upright, but that was it. He must have a very strong hand, Aria decided. And arm. And shoulder.

  She pushed the dress off completely and flopped down on top of the sheets with a sigh. “That’s better.”

  Nik grunted. She turned to find him pulling off his T-shirt in that way men did, yanking it over his head with both hands. Then he stood and took off his jeans, too, moving at lightning speed.

  “Are you tired?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, but his voice sounded a little odd. “Yes, agapi mou. I’m tired.”

  “Okay.” Aria rolled onto her stomach—it truly was the best way to sleep—and closed her eyes, ignoring the glow of the lamp that burned through her lids. She should probably take her makeup off. She’d get mascara all over the lovely white pillowcases. But her body felt so deliciously heavy, all easy and languid like it had after he’d made her come.

  The feeling wasn’t going away, either, like it had before. With Nik, she’d only enjoyed that sweet relief for a second before she’d turned all stiff and cold with fear. And then she’d sent him away, but she couldn’t quite remember why…

  “We should’ve had sex earlier,” Aria said, her voice slightly slurred, her thoughts blurring.

  “What?”

  “I mean, more sex. With sweat. And skin. On skin…” Had he turned off the lamp? Everything seemed so much darker, all of a sudden. “Can we do it tomorrow?”