The Other Brother_A Billionaire Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  I used to like that about him. I’ve always felt like people have this shitty tendency to wrap people up in cotton wool, protecting them from life’s default harshness, only to have them shattered into millions of pieces when something goes wrong.

  Kind of the way that Dan the Man shattered my fucking life into a million pieces just a handful of hours ago.

  “You smell fucking delicious, love. Like cinnamon and coconut. Mmm,” Liam growls, dragging his teeth across my hip until his nose is buried between my pussy lips once more. “My cinnamon-cunted woman.”

  I giggle. He’s being ridiculous. I doubt my pussy smells like cinnamon at all—probably it just smells like pussy.

  But it makes me wet anyway.

  …I think I actually like that.

  “My fiery goddess.” Liam’s hands slide up my torso to cup my breasts. “The sexiest fucking woman—”

  “Are you an expert on women now?” Oh god. Why did I say that? I kind of just blurted those words out.

  He probably is an expert. I mean, he’s so handsome, women probably throw themselves at his fucking feet.

  “Trust me,” he murmurs as his tongue darts in and out of my wet pussy. “I am.”

  Liam comes up for air, but when I open my mouth to challenge him, he pinches my nipples. Whatever I was going to say turns into a gasp of ecstasy.

  “Give in, love. You’re smart, you’re charming, you’re fun―and, frankly, you’ve got great tits. You scrunch up your nose in the most delightful fucking way when you laugh, and you moan so sweetly when you orgasm that I ought to throw you over my shoulder and carry you back to London like a war prize.”

  Well…shucks. What’s a girl to say to such a bucket-load of praise?

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” I tell him with a breathy little laugh.

  Which is pretty fucking lame, I know. But what else is there to say? Liam Black is so hot, the tips of my fingers feel like they might burn when I touch him.

  His eyes are delicious. So are his lips. But do you tell a guy all that?

  I don’t think you do. He’s cocky enough as is.

  Liam is working his magic on my fucking clit. I love the way his tongue flicks against it before he sucks it into his mouth. It’s a perfect combination of anticipation and mind-blowing pleasure.

  Just as I think I’m going to come, Liam’s mouth leaves my wetness and makes its way back up my body.

  “A woman like you deserves so much more than Dan, Becky.”

  I throw my head back. If only I could use my hands to pull his mouth back to my cunt, I’d be happy. I don’t need my ego stroked—I need my clit stroked!

  With his mouth off my pussy, I’m completely desperate. If he doesn’t go back down on me soon, I think I’ll die from longing.

  To get my message across to Liam, I push my pelvis forward.

  But there’s still too much distance between his body and mine. Any distance at all right now might as well be a hundred miles. Any distance between us is too fucking far.

  How do I get him closer and fucking into me?

  Liam chuckles, stepping back and watching me as I try and use my right leg to hook around one of his.

  It works. I reach him. As I wrap my ankle around his, I pull him toward me.

  Finally, there’s a little give on his part. His hands grab my hips, and he pulls me toward him.

  “You need a real man, Becky. Not some fucking wanker who doesn’t know what to do with you. How to appreciate you.”

  I nod. I agree. I know I’m too fucking good for Dan.

  I know I need a real man.

  “You could be my man,” I tell Liam, because honestly, I’d say anything to get him inside me right now.

  “He made you change for him, darling. I want to bring you back to your true nature.”

  Yeah—what about that, all those fucking changes I made for Dan? And how much did he change for me in return?

  Not one bit. Nothing, zero, zilch.

  “What’s my true nature?” I ask as Liam’s lips hover inches from mine.

  He laughs again as I grind my hips against his. “Misbehaving, apparently.”

  Huh. Dan the Man would hate that. Dan the Man trusted me to make good choices.

  Liam Black only encourages me to make bad ones.

  “Then let’s misbehave,” I challenge him.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” Liam purrs back.

  Liam enters me slowly. Inch by glorious inch. He stretches my cunt tight around his big, thick man meat as he slides all the way into me.

  His right hand leaves my hips and caresses my face. His eyes melt my heart.

  Fuck.

  What the fuck is he doing to me?

  My heart is beating faster with every passing moment.

  This was supposed to be a romp. A fling. A quick, dirty fuck.

  But as Liam enters me, it turns into something so much more than that.

  It’s as if all of me belongs to Liam. Every inch of my body. Every cell in my bones.

  Realization hits me like a speeding train.

  I’m in-love.

  I’m in fucking love with Liam.

  “It’s not Dan you should be marrying, darling.” His voice is soft now. “You should be marrying me.”

  And what do I do?

  I fucking nod.

  “I want to,” I whisper. A second ago, my mouth was drooling wet. Suddenly, it’s bone fucking dry. “I think—oh, god, Liam—I think I want to marry you.”

  “It would be fun,” Liam drawls as he teases his cock deeper into me.

  “It would be a fucking blast,” I gasp.

  “I wouldn’t try to change you.”

  “Mmm,” I moan. “Only for the better.”

  Liam is fucking me slow and hard now. It’s genuinely blowing me away. Already, tiny explosions are going off in my head. My whole body feels like it’s turned into jelly.

  “Let’s do it,” growls Liam into my ear. I feel him increase his tempo a little. He’s not ramming his massive fucking cock into me as fast as he was before. No, this is a more sensual experience, one he’s making sure is as drawn out as possible.

  I moan with pleasure and arch my back so my pelvis can thrust further forward to meet him.

  “Let’s do it, Becky,” he growls again. “Marry me.”

  And I moan back, “Okay.”

  Time stands still, and I lose myself in Liam’s eyes. They’re sucking me in as he glides in and out of me like his cock was made for my cunt.

  As he gets close to coming, I feel him grow thicker inside me with every fucking thrust. I’m starting to milk him with my pussy. I know I’m close to coming again, too.

  The world is starting to spin, and the explosives in my head are now everywhere.

  I can feel Liam’s orgasm build up in his balls. When he starts to shoot his load into me, I explode in my own orgasm and feel my body shudder with pleasure.

  “Marry me, Becky!” he’s grunting. “Fucking—marry—me!”

  And I’m screaming, “YES! YES! OH GOD, LIAM, YES!!!!!”

  At Liam’s mercy, I lean against the pole and revel in the feel of his fucking cock still inside of me. He stays inside me long after he’s finished coming. His face nuzzles against my neck, and I bask in the warmth of his breath on my skin.

  I don’t want this moment to end.

  Everything seems perfect right now.

  And for once…it feels like a perfection built strong enough, even I can’t break it.

  “Well, then,” Liam moves his head away and looks me in the eyes again, “Shall we get married, love?”

  “Let’s do it,” I nod. “Let’s do it now.”

  Chapter 22

  Becky

  2:54 PM THURSDAY

  It takes me at least a minute to ride out my orgasm and regain control over my body and limbs.

  When my fingers finally rip the blindfold off, I realize my m
ystery stripper has left the stage. All I can see are the bright lights and the fake smoke he’s left in his wake.

  Liam Black. It had to be him. Fucking teasing me, taunting me, and haunting me, even now.

  I swear a dozen curses that Dan the Man wouldn’t approve of as I try and get my bearings. Where the fuck have my bridesmaids disappeared to? Fucking typical—I should have known I couldn’t trust them in a place like this.

  Even if it did jog my memory, I should have known that coming here was a mistake.

  My eyes adjust to the dim light as I leave the stage. I scan the room as best I can.

  If my eyes aren’t fucking deceiving me, I think I catch a glimpse of Sammi’s hair at the bar.

  No, not at the bar.

  On the bar.

  I sigh and head over to get a closer look.

  As I get closer, I see a male stripper pour tequila into Sammi’s belly button. Two muscly gods start to lap up the liquid out of her navel. She arches her back to give them better access…or to tip the tequila all the way up her body, between her tits and into her own mouth.

  Tequila.

  Again.

  Fucking typical. I shake my head.

  When the brains were handed out, Sammi got more than the rest of us combined. But on tequila, she’s not brainy, nerdy intellectual Sammi anymore.

  She’s Slammin’ Sammi, scourge of the make-your-own-margarita station.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Sammi drunk off her ass and surrounded by a bunch of sexy men. Back at UCLA, she was able to string the college boys along and use them to her advantage however she deemed fit. It didn’t take much to have them eating out of the palm of her fucking hands…or drinking out of her belly button, for that matter.

  One bridesmaid down. Two to go.

  Where the fuck are Mysti May and Percy?

  It doesn’t take me long to find Mysti May either, really. She’s exactly where she shouldn’t be: swapping limes mouth to mouth at the bar with a big-titted blonde bartender. The woman has a hand on Mysti’s breast and wherever Mysti’s own hands are, they’re surely up to no good.

  Christ. Okay. Percy.

  Please tell me that Percy is at least behaving.

  Somehow, I know it’s too much to hope.

  All my friends seem to be going fucking mad. We came in here to get information, and all that we’ve actually gotten is groped, licked, lap-danced, and drunk.

  Sammi is shit-faced again, and Mysti can’t be left within five feet of a hot female without swapping DNA.

  Which leaves Percy.

  I shake my head.

  At this rate, Percy is probably pregnant by now.

  Someone touches me on the shoulder, and I nearly fucking scream. I’m losing my shit right now. And if I don’t find Percy soon—

  “There you are,” says Percy.

  I’m so relieved, I grab her and lock her in a bear hug.

  “Thank you for not being a hoe,” I sob thankfully into her shoulder. “Have you seen those two?” I point in the direction of the bar.

  Percy nods and waves us over a couple of beers. “Sluts,” she says wistfully, almost in admiration of Sammi and Mysti May’s antics. “Were you able to find out anything?”

  I gnaw on my bottom lip.

  “Too much,” I say back. I’m a little overwhelmed by it all, truth be told. It’s like my brain’s been through the wash cycle and needs to be ironed out a bit.

  “Walk me through it,” Percy orders.

  I sigh.

  “I think I wanted to get married last night,” I admit. “Liam Black had me handcuffed to a stripper pole and—”

  “Hot,” Percy interjects.

  “Right? But he was talking about how I shouldn’t marry Dan, because Dan was a bastard—”

  “I can see why you wanted to marry him,” Percy agrees. “He’s right about a lot of shit, Becks.”

  I pause and try and slow my breathing. For some reason thinking about Dan speeds up my heart rate every time.

  “It’s got me thinking, though. What if…what if I wasn’t the one who fucked up last night? What if Dan was the…the fucker, y’know?”

  There. I said it out loud.

  Of course, as soon as I say it, I realize how fucking crazy it sounds. Dan’s in San Francisco, eating and breathing this stupid fucking business merger, and I’m Ballin’ Becky in the City of Sin.

  There’s no fucking way Dan could have driven me to do all those things from a thousand miles away. I sound like I’ve put on a tin foil hat and jumped off the deep end.

  It sounds like a fucking conspiracy theory. A coward’s way out of owning up to a mistake. Because wouldn’t that just be perfect?

  Oh, no, sorry, I didn’t fuck up. The whole world is just conspiring against me, thanks!

  “Why don’t you call Dan and ask him?”

  Percy offers me one of the beers in her hands, but I shoo it away. She shrugs and starts double fisting both.

  But despite her day drinking, she’s being practical.

  Of course I should fucking speak to Dan.

  But how can you talk to someone who keeps refusing to take a fucking phone call?

  With a sigh and a roll of my eyes, I take out my cell and dial Dan’s number. I watch the display with a furrowed brow.

  Even if he does answer, what the fuck am I going to say?

  So, Dan, tell me, did you do something really fucking stupid last night? Maybe something that would drive me to do a whole lot of dumbass things in retaliation?

  Doesn’t sound like a great conversation starter to me.

  I could interrogate him. Like on those cop shows where they’ve caught the criminal but they haven’t got the evidence to nail him just yet. With expert questioning, they get a confession every fucking time.

  It could work, except that I’m not a criminal fucking profiler. I’m a party planner with a hangover. My skills in this scenario don’t really fucking apply.

  I sigh.

  And then I swear.

  Instead of a ring tone, a voice message, or someone actually answering Dan’s number, the voice on the other end of the phone says the most crushing words that any woman calling her fiancé will ever hear:

  “Message bank full.”

  Shit.

  Now I can’t even leave Dan a fucking message.

  The wheels in my brain start turning. I could call Dan’s office!

  But my index finger hovers over the display―Dan fucking hates it when I call the office.

  It’s a place of business, Becky-beans, he once told me, Not the right venue for romantic melodramas.

  In the past, he’s gone so far as forbidding me from using the number unless it was a matter of life or death.

  Was this a matter of life or death? For me, it feels like it, but I doubt Dan would see it that way.

  I nearly push the dial button when suddenly, my phone starts ringing.

  And when that happens, I nearly drop it.

  And then I nearly drop it again when I try and answer.

  “Hello?” I try and regain some composure in my voice. Doesn’t really work.

  “Hey, man,” a male voice slurs into my ear. “It’s Chet. Whazzup?”

  I look at the phone like it’s from a different fucking universe.

  What the fuck would Chet want?

  And why the fuck does he sound drunk? I mean, on second thought, out of all Dan’s groomsmen, Chet is kind of the one that always sounds drunk, but still.

  I don’t know why Dan is friends with him, honestly, except that I guess Chet does something at Dan’s company—and I have even fewer ideas about why he’s calling me right now when my fiancé should be the one doing that.

  “Howzithangin’?” He hiccups into the phone. I cringe.

  It always takes me a second to translate Chet-speak into English.

  “Fine, you?” Keep it short and sweet. The less time I have to ta
lk to this walking brain hemorrhage, the better.

  “Yeah, wicked,” he starts. “So like…”

  I hang on his every word, which I’m not proud of—they’re not the kind of words you really want to hang onto. But I’m hoping that, for whatever reason, Chet might be calling with some half-sober insight into the whereabouts of my fiancé.

  I’d be better off driving up to San Francisco myself.

  “Look, Chet, can you please just tell me where—”

  “Becky?” says a new voice.

  Part of me immediately assumes that it’s Dan on the phone now. Dan saying my name. Sometimes when you want something so bad, you can make yourself believe it’s real.

  I’m just about to launch into my sob-story apology when the voice shatters that hope.

  “It’s Connor, Becky. How are things going over there? Dan just wants me to reassure you that everything is completely fine here. We’re just so incredibly swamped with this merger, you can’t imagine what it’s like. You’re such a sweetheart for understanding.”

  “Actually, Connor, I—”

  “Haha, yeah, I bet,” Connor cuts me off. “You know, Becky, Dan gave you his step-brother’s phone number, right? We’re getting really deep into these contracts right now—I’d give the step-brother a ring if you need anything else.”

  And before I get the chance to say anything more, arrogant, suave Connor has hung up on me. Again.

  Ugh. Another dead end.

  Dan’s step-brother, though…it’s an idea. I remember Dan saying that he’s kind of an asshole, but at this point, I’m getting desperate.

  I rummage around in my handbag. Where the fuck did I put the card Dan gave me before I left? In my wallet, maybe?

  “Hey girls,” Mysti May says, strutting her stuff over to us. I can smell the bartender’s perfume on her skin.

  I pay her no attention, though. All I can think of is finding the card with the step-brother’s stupid phone number.

  My fingers find something small and firm. Ah ha! Gotcha.

  “Becky, darlin’,” Mysti says, shoving another card in my face at the same time. “Look what Mysti May got for you.”

  I stare at the card in confusion. “Myst, what—”