The Marriage Mistake_A Billionaire Hangover Romance

by Natalie Knight

  I’m pushing her face down against the soft cushion with every thrust.

  She’s on the verge of screaming out my name, but she bites down on her lip to stop herself.

  I do no such thing. I let it all out.

  “You keep this up, we’ll be caught,” she pants.

  I laugh.

  Or rather, I want to.

  Instead, I’m letting out this hushed growl as if I’m issuing a challenge to anyone to come watch.

  “Fuck it. Let them watch. Let them watch you cum all over my fucking cock.”

  I don’t know if it was my words, the way I said them, or just me hitting the right spot. But Sammi does something that has never happened before. Even after all these years, she’s still able to throw in a curve ball that I never see coming.

  There is a clench within her that clamps down over my cock that almost feels like she’s going to break it in half. It’s like her body is trying to force me from her.

  And—as much as I want to keep fucking her—it kind of hurts in a not-so-good way.

  I slip out of her and step back.

  And out comes this incredible geyser like Old Faithful.

  Now, I’ve gotten Sammi wet enough that she was dripping. I’ve had things get pretty wet from fucking. But I’ve never made her squirt across a fucking room like this before.

  It’s one part comical and one part impressive.

  Normally, this wouldn’t be a fucking issue for us. Maybe throw in a joke or two and get back to fucking.

  Nope, not this time.

  Why not?

  Well, here it is mate.

  Sammi’s explosion not only clears the fucking room, but it also happens to hit an unwelcome guest right in the face.

  Remember that mafia guy that Percy was sitting with earlier?

  Yeah, it’s him.

  Does he look as impressed as I do at Sammi’s feat of waterworks?

  Not one fucking bit.

  “Well, isn’t this awkward,” I say with a half-hearted chuckle.

  Chapter 18

  Sammi

  1:15 PM SATURDAY

  “So that’s why we weren’t supposed to come back here!” I exclaim as the memory fades.

  Well, that makes sense. I doubt many people squirt on unsuspecting mafia dons and live to tell the tale.

  I turn towards Percy. Maybe I’m going to offer her some words of encouragement.

  Maybe I just need to see my own fear reflected in someone else’s eyes.

  Either way, I never get the chance.

  Before I can even half turn my head, the world goes black.

  I feel the caress of rough fabric as the bag slides down my face, cutting my vision off completely.

  At the same time, I hear Percy cry out beside me.

  “GAH!” she shouts.

  So clearly, I’m not the only one who’s going to pay for my and Lock’s little mistake.

  A hand wraps roughly around my upper arm, yanking me to my feet.

  “Percy,” I yell. “It’s okay! We’re gonna be okay!”

  Of course, I have no way of knowing if this is true or not. Maybe years of bad television have simply infected my brain. It definitely seems like what I’m supposed to say.

  “Sammi!” I hear her yell in return. “What’s going on?”

  Oh, god. Where to even begin?

  Somehow, ‘I squirted on the don’s face’ doesn’t seem like a particularly helpful fact right now.

  “Don’t worry, Percy,” I say instead. “You didn’t do anything. I’ll figure this out!”

  “Good God above. Those bitch-ass monks!” I hear from slightly further away. “It’s the curse, y’all. I knew it!”

  So they’ve grabbed Mysti, too. That must mean…

  “Oi! What the FUCK?” I hear Liam shout, clearly fucking furious.

  “Liam!” Becky cries.

  I pull against the hand restraining me, “You guys! Where are you?”

  The grip only tightens, fingers digging into my flesh so hard that I wince.

  “Sammi!”

  “Stop fucking around and tie them up!” I hear the familiar voice of the don yell. “We don’t have all fucking day!”

  My arms are pulled hard behind me, rough rope taut around my wrists.

  I struggle against the ties, pulling with every ounce of my strength.

  My only reward is the chuckle that erupts behind me. The don again.

  “Tighter,” he orders.

  The ropes dig deeply into my already stinging flesh.

  I hear the sounds of struggle around me and know that the gang is fighting back. From the strength holding me in place, though, I doubt they’re having much luck.

  I feel a hand push against my back the same time I feel hot breath against my neck.

  “Move,” a voice commands.

  I think of refusing, of planting my feet and shaking my head.

  I think it’s pretty clear how that would turn out, though, so I acquiesce instead.

  These people clearly wouldn’t mind dragging me kicking and screaming. I’d rather make it wherever we’re going on my own two feet.

  I shuffle along, guided by the hand on my arm.

  It’s going slow, and I constantly feel like I’m about to walk into a wall.

  It’s like some fucked up trust game—is the faceless man going to steer you off a cliff?

  After a minute that feels like ten, I hear a door open ahead of us.

  “Step up,” the disembodied voice commands. “Stairs.”

  One foot in front of the other, I begin to climb the steps.

  Our shoes echo in the stairwell, countless feet stomping in near rhythm as we ascend.

  Up and up we climb. It feels like we’re marching into the belly of the beast.

  I can’t believe it’s come to this.

  I think of myself the way I was just a single day ago. Engaged to a suitable man, receiving an award years in the making. Hell, I’m supposed to get married today.

  This is definitely not the way I imagined this trip.

  Or my life, for that matter.

  Logically, I know that I should be thinking ahead, trying to figure a way out of this mess. My mind is somewhere else entirely, though, firmly rooted in the past.

  We stole a fucking Celine Dion impersonator—a ladyboy, no less.

  We were cursed by Buddhist monks.

  Somewhere down the line, we came up with the brilliant idea of hustling the Bangkok mafia—the same mafia ran by a man whose face I accidentally squirted on.

  Yeah, it’s safe to say we’re total fuck-ups.

  With all of that, though, all of the insanity and bullshit, my memory still fails me.

  I don’t know exactly what we did last night. The only thing that’s really clear is Lock.

  Even now, I can fucking see him, smiling up at me, face framed by my thighs.

  I can’t remember ninety percent of the last day. I can’t recall so much as one helpful bit of information right now.

  But I can remember the feel of his kiss with painful clarity. Just like I can call to mind flawless images of him naked.

  For fuck’s sake, I can even remember the way his come tasted in my mouth.

  How exactly I managed to ruin my life, though—that remains foggy.

  I feel betrayed by my own fucking brain.

  Not to mention that bitch, Drunk Sammi. Fuck, I hate her.

  I’m thinking there may be something to that when I hear yet another door open ahead.

  Even confined to darkness, I know we’ve reached the exit.

  The smells of Bangkok filter down to me, stronger than I remember them being.

  The asphalt and oil, searing meat and boiling vegetables. Maybe it’s because I’m short one of my senses, but I feel like I can smell every grimy detail.

  The hand is at my back again, urging me forward.

  This time, though, I can’t will myself to obey.

  We’re at the mercy of the fucking Bangkok mafia!
Who knows where they’re taking us? Not to mention what will happen once we arrive.

  “Move!” the disembodied voice of a man shouts.

  I plant my feet.

  I hear him curse in Thai and steel myself for whatever comes next.

  The blow I’m imagining never lands.

  Instead, I feel myself being lifted from my feet, cradled like a bride about to cross the threshold.

  “Put me down!” I scream, wriggling wildly.

  “Sammi!” Percy yells from up ahead.

  I know it’s pointless, but I can’t seem to help myself.

  I thrash and kick, screaming into the bag that blinds me.

  Again, I hear the don’s laughter. Again, hands tighten around me like a vice.

  “Motherfucker!” I scream.

  Up ahead, I hear the familiar sound of a car door opening, immediately followed by a second.

  “Hey,” Becky yells. “Watch the hands!”

  I hear Liam’s growl. It’s practically feral, promising violence.

  Somehow, the sound stills me, driving the panic from my brain.

  Obviously, this isn’t working. I’m not going to escape.

  Even if it were possible, though, how could I? My friends would still be here, bound and bagged, headed off to God knows where.

  How the hell could I leave them now?

  I relax into my captors arms, resigned to whatever comes next.

  I’m nowhere near giving up. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  But if there’s a way out of this mess, we’ll have to find it together.

  I feel myself being lowered. Cold, ridged metal now beneath me. Up ahead, an engine roars to life, its vibrations racing through the steel.

  I hear breathing all around me, surprisingly steady given the circumstances.

  It feels good, knowing they’re all here.

  The van begins to move, throwing me back against the doors as it does.

  I lean my head back, feeling cold glass even through the bag.

  Where to now?

  Just like that, we’re off.

  Chapter 19

  Lock

  1:35 PM SATURDAY

  I never thought I would end up back here again. And after the events of last night, I really don’t want to be back here again.

  But I have no choice.

  I have to save Sammi from some very pissed off gangsters.

  Now granted, I did kind of put her into this situation to begin with. I can own up to that. I’m nothing if not honest about owning up to when I fuck up.

  But—in my defense—who the fuck goes back to a seedy, underground gambling den run by the Thai mafia?

  I give my tuk-tuk driver the money for the ride, and he takes off like a bat out of hell.

  Can’t blame him, really. This area of Bangkok isn’t the most savory. Hell, it’s downright dangerous.

  But that’s what makes it fun.

  I’m the bad boy of marine biology. Danger and fun go hand-in-hand for me.

  Free diving with great white sharks? Fuck yes!

  Go wading through the waters of the Congo and see if I can feed a goliath tigerfish by hand? Sign me the fuck up.

  But to risk Sammi’s life—and those of her friends’—is something I won’t do.

  The woman is my wife, after all.

  I stroll up to the counter, and I’m greeted by the Thai love child of Gucci Mane and Justin Bieber.

  The guy’s skinny jeans are so tight that I can tell his little cocktail sausage of a dick is being crushed by the peanuts he calls balls.

  “Yo, man, what can I do for you?”

  The way he enunciates his words has me thinking he’s watched way too many Tyrese movies.

  “Hey, mate. I need in downstairs. There are some people here I need to see.”

  “Sorry, man. We only have food. No downstairs here.”

  I get it. This place is meant to be some big secret. It’s an illegal, underground gambling den run by the fucking mob. Of course it’s supposed to be some big secret.

  And I know that in order for me to get in, I’m supposed to give this guy some cryptic phrase or make some special order from the menu. But there’s a problem with that.

  I don’t fucking remember what it is.

  When we showed up last night, it was Becky’s man, Liam, who had done all the talking. The bloke knew just what to say to get us down there.

  I was impressed by his knowledge of the Bangkok underground gambling scene. And mate has one hell of a talent for gambling. Like, Stephen Hawking kind of gifted.

  And if I had been paying any amount of attention last night, I’d likely remember what it was that he said or did to get us inside.

  But hindsight is 20/20 right?

  And I don’t have Liam here to get me in.

  Or do I?

  “Hold on a moment, mate. I’ll be right with you.”

  Gucci Bieber gives me the stink eye, I think. It could just be his normal facial expression. It’s hard to tell.

  I pull my phone from my pocket and give Sammi a ring right away. If she’s here, then she can just come up, and we can leave. If she hasn’t arrived yet, then I can just meet them outside and stop her from coming in.

  Solid options, right?

  Just one problem with that.

  Sammi’s phone keeps going to voicemail.

  And now I’m one part worried and one part angry.

  “Hey, mate. Did a woman with long dark hair, green eyes, and amazing tits come through here with a group of people? One of them had pink hair? Another was a blonde. There would have been a married couple with them. English bloke and a cute redhead.”

  Lil Thai Thug gives me a look that tells me that he knows exactly who I’m talking about. And the look on his face is one I’ve seen on my own when I think about Sammi’s tits.

  This is great news, right? Means that they were—or are—here. It’s perfect.

  Wrong!

  “Sorry, homie. Can’t help you.”

  Now, my blood is boiling.

  I’m properly pissed off. And mate, let me tell you, being the subject of my anger is not a good place to be.

  “Look, homie, I know that you’ve seen them. So just tell me where they are, or I’m going to smash your face open. You feel me?”

  I get it. I don’t look intimidating in the slightest right now. Sure, I’m an imposing man. I’m 1.9 meter tall—that’s 6’3 for you Yanks—and weigh 100 kg—which is 220 pounds, in case you’re wondering. I’m built like a fucking Greek god of old. I know this.

  But I’m also dressed in these weird, baggy MC Hammer parachute harem pants and a shirt so gaudy that it looks like something Michael Jackson wore on tour back in the 80’s.

  I get it. I’m not the picture of someone you should take seriously right now.

  So the fact that the guy behind the counter is laughing at me and doesn’t at all look intimidated is understandable.

  But now, that means I’m really going to have to kick his ass. Which—if I’m being totally honest here, mate—I’m actually looking forward to.

  “Go eat a bag of dicks, whitey.”

  He’s starting to laugh again when I reach across the counter and grab him by the collar of his shirt. His eyes go wide in surprise. The little fucker wasn’t expecting me to grab him.

  I pull him over the counter with one hand, which is pretty easy to do since he only weighs about the same as fucking toddler. I grab him by the throat and slam him against the counter.

  “You had better fucking tell me where my wife is, mate. Or this gets very messy, very fast.”

  The tough guy isn’t so tough anymore, and I hear the sound of his urine hitting the tile floor.

  “Downstairs. I show you.”

  “Thanks, mate.”

  I let him go and he begins leading me toward the back of the joint.

  He opens up the walk-in freezer door that leads down to the den below. I give him a small pat on the back.

  “Good job, ma
te. You can go now.”

  I hope that when I reach the bottom, I’m going to see Sammi and her people gambling away and enjoying themselves. I hope that she tells me she ignored my calls as payback.

  Only I don’t see Sammi or the others.

  Bloody fucking hell.

  I go room to room in the hopes of catching them in the middle of some high stakes game.

  They’re nowhere to be seen.

  But I know they’re here. Or were.

  I walk up to the bar and wave over the cute bartender behind it. Judging from the look on her face, I could probably ask her to fuck on this bar, and she’d be down for it.

  Hell, if I wasn’t a married man, I’d probably see if she was up for it.

  “Hey, love. I’m looking for some friends of mine. Bigger girl with pink hair. An English bloke and his wife. There’s a blonde. And a girl with long, dark hair.”

  There’s a look of disappointment in her eyes—likely because I’m not hitting on her—but instead of answering me, she just points to some guy on the other side of the den.

  The guy looks to be some kind of security.

  I slip the woman a twenty for the tip.

  The security guy looks me up and down.

  He’s probably thinking I’m some Bangkok pimp. God knows I look like one.

  “Hey, mate. I’m looking—”

  “Fuck off.”

  Well, that was fucking rude of him.

  “Look, I’d rather not have to do this the hard way.”

  “Fuck. Off.”

  Okay, hard way it is.

  I grab the guy by the collar of his suit jacket and slam him against the wall.

  He’s yelling for help.

  It’s time for a brawl now.

  I drive my elbow into the face of the guy in front of me. He slumps down against the wall, knocked out cold.

  His buddies are yelling threats at me in Thai.

  I toss the first one I can grab aside into a slot machine.

  I punch the second one in the face. He screams and holds his nose.

  It’s broken.

  I grab him by the throat and use my best superhero voice. “Where are my friends?”

  “Boss took them.”

  “When?”

  “Only about five minutes ago.”

  Are you fucking serious!? I missed them by five fucking minutes!

  “Where did he take them?” I don’t have to, but I squeeze his throat for some good measure.