Drunk in Love

by Anthology

  “Graham…” I warned, his name on my breath like the sweetest curse word. He pushed out a loud breath, brows bending together as he dragged the tip of his nose from the base of my neck up to the tender skin behind my ear.

  “I was stupid to let you go,” he whispered. “Give me the next few moments before you walk down that aisle to show you every reason you shouldn’t.”

  I opened my mouth, matte lipstick sticking slightly as words waited for my cue. But what did I want to say? Stop? Take me? We can’t? I’m already yours? I didn’t have the chance to decide before Graham dragged his tongue along the flesh he’d just teased with whispers, sucking my earlobe between his teeth as his hands found my waist.

  My eyes fluttered shut, heavy from the feel of him against me, and he took my weight against his chest. His lips traveled down my neck, kissing and sucking, hands gripping my hips like a lifeline. But when he rolled his hips against me, his hardness stoking a fire low in my stomach, I pushed off him and toward the mirror, breath fogging up the glass.

  “Stop, we can’t,” I breathed, shaking my head. My eyes traced him in the mirror — his heaving chest, the raging desire in his eyes, the outline of his bulge against the dark fabric of his slacks. “I can’t just watch myself throw almost two years down the drain because I can’t let go of the fantasy of you.”

  A wave rolled over Graham’s features, thinning his mouth, leveling his brows, softening his heated gaze. He licked his lips with a small nod, but then as quickly as the dejection had come, it vanished with the curve of his mouth. One hand reached up to grab his loose tie and he pulled, sliding the fabric from around his neck and striding toward me with purpose once again.

  “Then don’t watch,” he said, and the devilish demand in his eyes was the last thing I saw before black fabric shielded my view. Graham fastened the tie in place, breath on my neck again as he made his intention clear. “Just feel.”

  And in the new darkness, I found permission to sin.

  Graham’s hands moved easily from where he’d fastened the tie to my hair, fingers running through it first before he pulled it all to one side. He only used his skin on mine, running his nose along my neck, his hands over the lace that covered my arms, his chest pressed against me. Every touch was multiplied without my sight to diminish the feel, and when he stepped back, all contact lost, I faltered, balance unsteady, hands reaching forward for the mirror. The coolness of it shocked me, reminding me we could be caught, that I was marrying another man, that I shouldn’t be here, not with Graham.

  But then I felt his hands again, cradling my face as he slid between the mirror and my body. His lips claimed mine, and I exhaled into his kiss as my hands clung to his chest, foregoing the mirror and the conscience it tried to force me to have. You would think with my eyes closed and Graham being Richard’s twin that I would have just felt Richard, saw him in my head, thought of our nights together. But I didn’t, not once, because it wasn’t how Graham felt that drove me wild, it was how he made me feel. Powerful, desired, untouchable. Yet his. Always his.

  I wondered if he would undress me, if he’d strip me of the gown meant for his brother, but he only moved his hands over it, pressing the pad of his thumbs hard against the lace that covered my breasts. I arched toward him, filling his hands, and he groaned into my mouth, grabbing me with more force. My hands wandered blindly down the buttons of his dress shirt until I found his belt and I pulled, but Graham jerked away.

  “It’s my turn to touch,” he rasped. “Your turn to come.”

  I almost pouted, but didn’t have the chance before a light breeze touched my thighs and Graham’s hand slid up to meet the scrap of white lace I’d worn for Richard under my dress. I inhaled stiffly, his other hand tilting my chin until he captured that gasp with his lips. He grinned against the seam of my mouth, tongue rolling in just as one finger dipped under the lace and pressed easily inside me. Everything hit me at once — his finger deep inside, palm brushing my clit, his teeth biting my lower lip, my moan mixing with his until he silenced me altogether. The sensation of it all clouded my head, and just when the fog cleared and I grabbed his arms, regaining balance, he slipped another finger in.

  My head dropped back, mouth open, and Graham kissed his way along my neck while his fingers worked inside. He spun me, pressing my back into the mirror as he sucked the skin of my neck between his teeth. He let it go quickly, and I only worried about the possibility of him leaving a mark for a moment, because the truth was he’d already left it years ago.

  Graham leaned into me, the weight of him behind his hand that was slowly driving me toward a climax I wasn’t sure I’d come back from. He rolled his hips with each thrust of his fingers, and it was all I could do to wrap my arms around him and hold on. I’d fantasized about this moment for so long, what it would feel like to have Graham Kohler, and it still didn’t feel real. Was I dreaming? Would I wake up in bed with Richard, face red and hair mussed from dreams of his brother? Too curious, I lifted one edge of the tie from my eyes and peered through heavy lids. Graham was biting his lower lip, hard, the indention clear as he watched his hand between my thighs. His eyes flicked to mine and he smirked, shaking his head and pulling back.

  “Graham,” I moaned, body aching at the loss of his heat.

  “I told you to feel,” he said, adjusting the tie over my eyes once more. “Don’t make me tell you a third time.” He pulled me from the mirror, smacked my ass, and lifted me onto his shoulder.

  I felt weightless until my back hit the cushion of what I assumed was the white couch. Graham’s fingers touched my lip, contact resumed, and I squirmed in anticipation of what he’d do next. “Open,” he demanded, and I did, tasting myself on the salty-sweetness of his skin as he ran his fingers over my tongue. I sucked them gently, lips around his knuckles, and he groaned with approval. “Good,” he breathed, then both of his hands found my knees, and he pressed at the inside of each. “Now, open.”

  Slowly, I spread my legs for him, just a little at first until he pressed and pressed and I was completely exposed, dress bunched at my hips and lace stretched from his fingers. He ran his rough hands up the inside of my thighs, gripped my hips, and yanked me down to the edge of the cushion. Then, hot breath assaulted my clit before his mouth closed over it. I bucked, whimpering, fists clenching the edge of the couch as Graham pulled me into him more. I was his prisoner, willingly surrendering any control I had left as his tongue swirled, teeth nipping, hands holding me in place.

  I was hot, burning from the inside out. I felt guilty, I felt alive, and the two emotions swirled low in my stomach, battling for the right to stay. When Graham slipped two fingers inside me again, his tongue still hot on my clit, I knew guilt didn’t stand a chance. My hands flew to his hair and I rolled my hips, biting down hard on my lip to keep myself from crying out. Without warning, Graham slipped a smaller finger just inside my ass with a pinch that set off my orgasm. It sparked to life, shooting hot flames rolling through every inch of my body. They licked at my thighs, singed my lips, numbed my toes, and I held on tight until the inferno slowly faded, leaving me panting for oxygen once again.

  Graham slowed, kissing my thighs softly as he withdrew his fingers and pulled my dress down. I felt him crawl up my body until his lips were on mine. He kissed me softly, slowly, with intention and purpose laced in every sweep of his tongue. His hands framed my face, slid into my hair, held me like they’d never get the chance again. Graham asked me something with that kiss, something I thought he’d never say out loud, but just when I thought he couldn’t surprise me more, he did just that.

  “When you walk down that aisle and the preacher asks if you take my brother to be your husband until the day you die,” he whispered, pausing to run the pad of his finger along my swollen lip. “Say you don’t.”

  Then, the tie lifted, and the first thing I saw was his back in the mirror just before the door shut behind him.

  For a moment I just sat there, aching, mind racing. I replayed his
words, closed my eyes and felt his hands on me, then opened them again to look around at all the evidence that I was to marry his brother. Everything rushed at me at once, and yet I couldn’t find a solitary thing to hold on to, to make sense of.

  My thighs and hips burned as I finally stood, smoothing my dress down and making my way to the mirror once again. I took a pulse check, wondering if my guilt would be tattooed on my forehead for all to see. But surprisingly, my makeup was still flawless. My cheeks were a little rosier than before, lids a little heavy, but otherwise everything was in place. My dress looked untouched, my legs appeared stronger than they felt, and as I traced my features all the way up to the top, I couldn’t help but smile.

  I finally liked my hair.

  2

  CHAPTER TWO

  A little over an hour later, I stood in the waiting room with my arm laced through my father’s as the rest of the bridal party filed into our ceremony ahead of me. The time had come, and my feet felt glued to the floor as I counted down the seconds until I’d have to move them. My best friend and sister were ahead of me, smiling back, giddy and completely oblivious to the turmoil raging inside me. My father, on the other hand, sensed it immediately.

  “You okay, Muffin?” he asked, squeezing my hand in his own and holding me steady.

  I nodded, rotating the bouquet of lilies and roses in my other hand. The truth was that I was far from okay. In fact, “okay” sounded foreign to me. I rolled the word over and over inside my mouth, inside my head, the meaning completely lost on me. I was only alone for ten minutes after Graham left before my mom and bridesmaids were back in the room, back in action, flittering about the dressing room like I hadn’t just had my body owned on the couch they were doing their makeup on. I’d dumped the glass with Graham’s discarded cigarette and sprayed my perfume, hoping it would mask the scent of smoke and sex. And as we finished our mimosas and posed for the photographer, I battled internally over the fact that I loved the brother of the man I was marrying.

  But I loved Richard, too.

  And therein lied the biggest issue of all. Had I been caught up in a moment? A fantasy? Graham asked me not to marry Richard, but Richard was the one I’d slowly fallen in love with for the past two years. Graham was the unobtainable, the exciting, the out-of-reach. Right? Or had I been falling in love with him all along, too? Had I really ever stopped falling for him when he pushed me toward Richard?

  I shook my head, frustrated that my feet couldn’t find solid ground to stand on. Nothing comforted me, not even my father’s strong hold, and when the song changed and our cue hit, I nearly buckled at the knees.

  “Okay, baby girl. Time to give you away,” Dad choked, eyes glossy as he smiled down at me.

  This was it.

  I remember taking a breath. I remember squaring my shoulders and forcing a smile up at my father. I remember the doors opening, my eyes finding Graham’s immediately before they flicked away in haste to rest on Richard’s. I kept them there as I walked, each step burning me from the inside out. Words were a blur as Richard’s preacher asked who was giving me to him, as my dad placed my hand in his, as the preacher addressed the room of our family and friends.

  Richard was looking at me just like he always had, with gentle care and admiration. But it was the gaze that came from just over his shoulders that I felt the most. I felt the want, the need, the passion, the madness. Graham didn’t even have my attention and yet he demanded it. He always had.

  Every thought that had spawned to life since Graham walked into my dressing room rattled around inside my ribs, crowding my heart, fogging my head, and they were all I could focus on as the preacher asked Richard if he took me to be his lawfully wedded wife. And when Richard said he did, it was my turn.

  “And do you, Addison Murphy, take Richard Kohler as your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, until death do you part?”

  All eyes shifted to me, all in unison, faces smiling and eyes tearing up at the beauty of the moment. I stared at Richard, repeating the question the preacher just asked me in my own head. Then my eyes flicked to Graham’s, just for a second, just long enough to make my stomach sink down to the base of the gazebo I stood inside.

  Who would it be?

  Would it be the man who had loved me like a man should for the last two years, or the man I’d never stopped loving even when I was supposed to?

  With an unsteady inhale, I opened my dry mouth and followed my heart.

  “I —”

  ABOUT KANDI STEINER

  Kandi Steiner is a Creative Writing and Advertising/Public Relations graduate from the University of Central Florida living in Tampa. She primarily writes new adult romance, with a masochistic love for angst and an appreciation for humor driving her pen.

  Kandi started writing back in the 4th grade after reading the first Harry Potter installment. In 6th grade, she wrote and edited her own newspaper and distributed to her classmates. Eventually, the principal caught on and the newspaper was quickly halted, though Kandi tried fighting for her “freedom of press.” She took particular interest in writing romance after college, as she has always been a die hard hopeless romantic (like most girls brought up on Disney movies).

  When Kandi isn’t working or writing, you can find her reading books of all kinds, talking with her extremely vocal cat, and spending time with her friends and family. She enjoys beach days, movie marathons, live music, craft beer and sweet wine – not necessarily in that order.

  CONNECT WITH KANDI

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  CHASING CLOUDS

  Kathryn Andrews

  1

  CHAPTER ONE

  Camille

  Every little girl dreams of her wedding. That one magical day with endless arrangements of sweet-smelling flowers, family and friends, and a big white dress with a skirt so gauzy and beautiful it’s meant to be twirled in, as if she were a princess. Music will play, birds will sing, and a tall, dark, and handsome man who is so in love with her that tears shine in his eyes is waiting at the end of the aisle.

  That’s the dream, right?

  And after all these years, my dream has become my reality . . . and today is the day.

  Today is my wedding day.

  A cool breeze drifts across the bare skin of my shoulders, I shiver, and goose bumps race down my arms. My eyes flick to my left, where one of the side entrance doors to the church was left open, letting in the Southern February winds. The sunlight from beyond the door looks luminous and inviting, unlike in here, which is cloaked in shadows.

  The foyer is empty and still, with only the sounds of the organ playing from behind the two white wooden doors that will soon open and forever cement my life’s fate. I spent most of the morning quietly by myself, which is how I wanted it. No one understands, how can they? This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but what they don’t realize is . . . it’s not.

  I take a deep breath and let my eyes fall shut, and the smell of pine trees fills my senses, reminding me just how old the church is and what my getting married here means to my family. It was built in the mid-seventeen hundreds, is one of the oldest churches in Savannah, and for more generations than I care to remember, my family has celebrated births, marriages, and the passing of life here within these walls. Just like all of the other expectations bestowed upon me, there was never a question about where I would be married, just to whom.

  Well, maybe not even that. Patrick has been their choice for years, and they’ve slowly groomed him to understand what it means to be a part of the Whitley family in Georgia, and pushed him my and Claire's way.

  Swaying my hips back and forth with the weight of hundreds of ancestors' eyes, I focus on the rustling of my skirt as it swishes around me and the groaning of the pi
ne boards under my feet.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  Startled by her sudden voice as it breaks the silence, my head shoots up and my eyes lock on to Claire’s. The concern and worry etched in her expression and the tension in her posture pull on my heartstrings. Yet, with as close as we are, she’s another person who doesn’t understand. I do have to do this.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, Camille.” She shakes her head frantically and takes a step toward me as my eyes sweep down over her and the pale-blue strapless bridesmaid dress. She’s so beautiful, just like I knew she would be, and the sting of tears well in my eyes. “I don’t want this for you. This is not the life you were meant to have.”

  Letting out a deep breath, I reach for Claire’s hand and squeeze. A warm buzz tingles my fingers, and it’s so familiar and comforting I find the strength I need to continue—not walk away. She has to see that I’m doing this for her . . . I’m doing this for us. Two halves of a whole that split apart and became the mirror images of each other, mirror twins.

  “You’re the one who’s always says that our destiny is written in the stars.” I smile at her. “This is my destiny.”

  “And you always respond that the stars don’t move, we do. Therefore, you could just walk away. I’m begging you, please walk away. You’ll never be happy with him.”

  “It’s not about being happy, you know that. It’s about being loyal to our family and doing our duty. We all play a role, we always have, and it’s time I step into mine.”

  Her frown deepens, and her shoulders sag forward. She’s making me feel as if I’m letting her down, when the truth is I owe her this.