“What can I say? I can’t imagine life without Vivian. I wanted her to know that. Tonight. On one of the best nights of my life. Seeing Luke happy… that’s all I need.”
“You’re so damn charming. Get out of here, and stop kissing my ass.” She pushed at my shoulders, and I laughed, letting the next guy in line take his turn with the bride.
My older relatives and out of town guests began to bid their farewells and head upstairs to their suites, and the DJ dimmed the lights and pulled out a multi-colored strip of bulbs. When it was time for the bouquet toss, Vivian was pushed to the dance floor, despite her protests. “Ring doesn’t mean married,” Robin rationalized.
The jungle-cat attack on the bouquet left the thing tattered and shedding petals all over the dance floor. I didn’t pay attention to who caught it, because I took that opportunity to grab Vivian and drag her into the shadows against the wall.
She was getting tipsy- I could tell by her theatrics as she kissed me. She looped her arms over my shoulders and melded her mouth to mine, groaning softly with every plunge of my tongue, and I broke away to pull her back to the bar.
“Hey! It’s the beautiful Twenty-One!” the bartender called to Vivian, and I realized that they’d apparently already made friends. “Ladies first.” He bypassed the line and winked at her, producing shot glasses for us both.
We watched each other as we tipped our heads back, and she downed the Bacardi smoothly. “Come on.” She slammed the glass to the bar, and I managed to shove a tip into the bartender’s jar before we were back on the dance floor.
Dark. Hot. Her body sliding up and down against mine, and some Pitbull song about how much we fucking wanted each other. (No shit, amigo.) Another shot.
Luke’s friends from high school took over the requests, and Luke joined them in a flash mob of “Soulja Boy” until Madeline told the DJ not to take any more requests, and to stick to the song list.
Vivian, moving, in my arms. She fit there better than any woman ever had, and the way that we danced together was intoxicating. We had perfect rhythm with each other, and pressing her against my body in the most decent way possible, I forgot my original intent. I couldn’t remember if there was still a contract, or if I was leaving on Monday, or how morally wrong it would be to sleep with her. I tasted rum and Vivian’s mouth, and all brain power was eliminated upon impact.
Slow now. Berlin. She lifted her face to mine in the semi-darkness, her eyes watery. “Hey, it’s our song, Maverick.”
Her words were a vice on my heart. I wouldn’t admit to any living soul that I had a romantic bone in my body, but I did, and I had never shared “a song” with Kelsey. Our wedding had been a formality, and in retrospect, I could remember hearing Kanye West holler “we want prenup” over every radio station around the time that we were planning to elope.
I should have fucking listened to Kanye.
I lifted Vivian to me and kissed her throughout the entire ballad, not caring who cared. I pulled away just to look at her for a second, and her eyes swam with tears as she managed a breathless, “what?”
“I can’t believe you’re happening to me.”
She smiled slowly, rising to her toes again to bring my lips back to hers.
And I fell head-over-heels stupid in love with Vivian Hale.
We were in the elevator, and I had her against the wall with her dress hiked up to her hips. If I wasn’t so goddamn drunk, it would have taken me less time to unzip my pants, but we were already on our floor. Groaning when the door to our level opened, I caught her in my arms, carrying her down the hallway.
The key card slid in and out of the lock five times between me trying to focus on her mouth and the door.
Finally inside my room, I lowered her to her feet, and she stared at me through the darkness.
My ears were ringing at the sudden silence. She exhaled a trembling breath, finding her voice.
“What do you… want from me?” she asked, so low, so gravelly, and so motherfucking hot.
I was drunk as shit, so I went for honesty.
“I want a lap dance.”
She grinned, raising her eyebrows.
“You got it.”
Reaching for my phone and stumbling a little in her heels, she attempted to type something into my music app. Lord, she’s drunk. Very, very, very drunk.
Dusty Springfield’s “Son of a Preacher Man” began, and I breathed a laugh.
I didn’t want to think about my dad at that moment- or any moment- but she was amusing the hell out of me.
“Personalized. Nice,” I slurred.
“Sit down, director,” she sang, shoving me playfully into the seat near the window. I had to grip the chair to steady myself. She turned her back to me and bent over, flattening her hand on the carpet. “Help me,” she begged, and I finally realized that she meant her zipper.
I slipped my hands around her hips, tugging her ass against my knees as I flattened my palm against her neck. Slowly dragging my hand down her spine as my thumb and forefinger pinched the zipper, she moaned a little, wriggling her ass in my face. I had the zipper down in seconds, trying to pull her into my lap, but she danced away, hips swaying the entire time as she lifted the dress up and over her head.
Letting the blue material dangle from her fingers, she dropped the gown to the carpet in a pool of watery chiffon.
Standing before me in the black, lacy panties and bra that I’d bought her, her heels, and her engagement ring, I took her in, lost in every inch of her body. Tugging at the pins holding her hair, she shook her head as waves of dark silk fell over her bare shoulders.
There were no inhibitions tonight. She stood before me, finally confident, tanned from the summer sun and curved in all the right places.
I white-knuckled the arms of the chair.
“Like this?” She cupped both of her breasts in her hands, teasing her nipples with her thumbs. My dick was throbbing almost painfully, and I dove for her.
She skirted my reach. Shaking her head with a reproving smirk, she told me to stay as she traced the tips of her fingers along her bra.
She lowered one strap, and then the other.
I held my breath, waiting for her to fold the bra down.
Fold the bra down.
Fold. It. Down.
She gave another slight, teasing shake of her head, and I groaned as her hands slid down her flattened stomach, resting at her hips and then thighs. I remembered what her skin there tasted like, and my dick wasn’t having any more of this waiting bullshit.
I needed her. Now.
Taking two provocative steps toward me before she tripped in her heels, she broke into laughter. I started to get up, but she held her hand up, still giggling as she made her way to me on her hands and knees.
I sat back again, watching her, the strange combination of lust and amusement leaving me unable to tear my eyes off of her. She slapped two open palms to my knees, shoving my legs apart.
“Drop your pants, Maverick.”
Lifting my hips, I managed to undo the zipper of the rented tuxedo pants as she ran her hands up to my thighs.
“Good boy. Hmm. The big premier.” She paused, focused on my eyes as her fingers slid inside my pants. As she curled them around my cock, I exhaled sharply, thrusting forward.
“Calm down, little director. You’re going in my mouth.”
I couldn’t believe the words came out of her mouth.
She released me, her eyes widening as she looked down at my erection.
“Well. Not all of you. That would be impossible.”
“You drive me crazy,” I managed as her tongue flicked against the tip of my throbbing dick.
“Cliché,” she hummed, her lips wrapping around my rigid skin.
Fuck. I gripped the chair with one hand, using the other to slide my fingers through her hair as her head moved over my lap.
I think I lost the ability to think.
Everything tightened, and as soon as she moaned and I felt
the vibration down to my balls, I jerked, knowing I wasn’t going to last much longer. She continued to draw me in, sucking, her tongue flicking over my head before her lips slid down my shaft, over and over.
I pushed her away and was off the chair, scooping her up and landing over her on the bed with my mouth on hers.
Curves. Skin. Salt. I had her, any way I wanted, for as long as I wanted, and I couldn’t tear her panties away fast enough. She arched against me, and I took that to mean just fucking rip them off.
So I went for it.
The thin material tore, and she gasped, her big blue eyes popping open. “Hey! That’s the most expensive lingerie I’ve ever had. You break them, you buy them.”
“Yeah?” I tore the material the rest of the way off of her. “I bought you,” I exhaled.
Oh. Fuck.
I expected her to frown, for those pretty eyebrows to snap together.
Instead, her heavy lids closed once, her long, dark eyelashes fanning against her cheeks. “Then break me.”
Jesus Christ. I gripped her face in my hands, staring down at her.
Her eyes met mine, confirming what I already knew.
There was something happening. Since all of my blood was busy elsewhere from my head and I wasn’t getting enough oxygen, I couldn’t put together any coherent, poignant thoughts. Instead, my Neanderthal brain cells took over.
Condom.
Pussy.
“Hold on,” I growled, fumbling for my wallet that I’d thrown somewhere near the nightstand. She grabbed me by the back of the neck, pulling my face to her mouth.
“I’m on the shot,” she bit, her teeth closing over my lower lip.
“Really?” I nudged her legs apart with my knee. “God, you just keep getting better.”
“Hurry. Hurry, Keaton.”
I hurried. I almost slammed into her before using all of my self-control, forcing myself to slow down. Pausing just inside her opening, I gazed down at her. Pushing in, ever so slightly, I watched as she held her breath.
She was so wet for me, only me, and I dropped a kiss to her collar bone.
“You want me.”
“Yes,” she agreed, the hollow of her hips lifting again and again, reminding me of the way she’d responded when I’d had my mouth on her last night.
“Now?”
And then she moaned.
Not a fuck-me moan, but an I’m-gonna-fucking-puke moan.
I pulled away and grabbed her, making it to the bathroom in lightning speed. She dropped to her knees in front of the bowl.
“I’m… sorry,” she managed between splashes of dinner and rum, and I held her hair away from her face, sighing.
“Don’t apologize. I’m here. Hang in there,” I soothed, waiting for the worst of it to end. Somehow I managed to get her in the shower, trying like hell not to enjoy the view of her naked body.
“Please… shampoo my hair… I threw up in it,” she managed, sitting on the shower floor. I nodded, gently gathering her hair and working it into a lather with the complimentary sandalwood-scented hotel shampoo.
I almost promised her that I wouldn’t look, but I was already looking. At every inch. Her full breasts rose and fell with each breath, and her nipples peaked as suds of shampoo slid down her snowy skin. Her legs looked twice as long folded beneath her in the tub, and I ran one hand over her calf, brushing away the soap.
Her eyes were already closed.
Deciding not to be a complete pervert, I wrapped her in a thick, white towel, carrying her to my bed. She passed out somewhere between the bathroom and the bedroom, and I tucked her beneath the sheet.
Contemplating taking her bed and leaving her alone to sleep in mine, I finally kicked my shoes off and moved to the shower myself. I kept checking on her as I rinsed. She slept soundly, her wet hair covering her face, and I wrapped the towel around my hips and walked to the bedside.
Before sober thoughts could worm their way into my brain, I dropped the towel and crawled into the bed next to her, tucking her against me.
Run
V
“Don’t try to move.”
I ignored the voice of reason because it sounded too much like Keaton’s voice, and I was positive that there was no way he’d ever be the voice of reason.
I was wrong.
“My head… feels too big.” I fought my thick, dry tongue, and he was coaxing a straw into my mouth. “I can’t open my eyes!”
“Sip.”
I did, and then choked. “Oh- gross!” I started to blindly slap his hand away, but he only shoved the straw between my lips. “When I said I wanted a Bloody Mary with breakfast, I was joking. I don’t like vegetable juice!” I cried.
“Too bad. We have the brunch in an hour, and I need my fiancée at my side.”
Fiancée? The events of the night before were a train-wreck slideshow in my abused brain, and the ringing in my ears gnawed at my temple. “Ugh… I need to clean myself up.” I started to move, finally opening my eyes.
Keaton was already dressed, khakis and a white button-down, and, of course, Chucks. I blinked, pulling the sheet up to my chin, finally realizing that I was completely naked.
I remembered the dinner… and then the ring. I lifted my left hand, staring at the massive diamond that weighed down my finger.
I danced with him. A lot. All night. I drank, over and over, and made friends with the bar tender. I kissed Keaton against the wall, I remembered that, while the music was playing… and… in the elevator…?
Cringing, I closed my eyes. “Did I… dance… for you? Did I… oh, my God, did I strip for you?”
He grinned, adjusting his watch. “Yes, you did.”
“To… Dusty Springfield?”
“Kudos for originality.”
“And… you helped me shower,” I realized as I reached for a strand of hair to knot in my fingers.
“I didn’t look.”
“This isn’t me. This isn’t like me.” I fell back against the pillows way too hard, and my head thundered in response. “I don’t do things like this.”
“Maybe Vivian doesn’t, but my fiancée V does, and she’s going to make us late. Come on, take the aspirin and let’s go.”
I shifted below the blankets, trying desperately to recognize any sign of activity between my thighs. Finally, humiliated, I found my voice. “We didn’t…?”
“We did. You came seventeen times. I thought I’d have to call the paramedics.”
“Keaton!” I threw a pillow in his general direction, and he laughed.
“Okay, no, we didn’t. Wear the yellow dress, but grab a sweater. It’s unseasonably cool today. You’re going with me after the brunch.”
“Going where?” I sat up, gingerly accepting the aspirin and flinching as I washed it down with the Bloody Mary.
“Idlewild Park. I need to walk around and decide if it’s the best place to shoot. And I need your opinions.”
“What in the hell do I know?” I swung my legs around to the floor, carefully flattening my bare feet on the carpet. “Besides, our contract ends at three, remember?”
I could feel him stiffen from across the room. He glanced at his phone, and then back to me. How does he manage to look so fresh and awake and immensely attractive after how much he drank last night?
He started to say something, stopped, and then finally glared at me. “You’re going to help me, goddamnit.”
His Clint Eastwood impression forced a reluctant smile from me, and he pointed at the bathroom. “Hurry, we need to go. Brush your teeth. Your breath smells like dick.”
I froze in mid-step, nearly dissolving into a pool of mortification.
“What?”
He grinned. “Relax. Just my dick.”
“Oh my God!” I cried, thankful the hives managed to wait until after I’d slammed the bathroom door.
Standing in front of the sink, I gripped the counter, trying to will my head to stop pounding.
I’d given him a blow job. I remember
ed now, and my memories throbbed with clarity.
“Did I throw up on you?” I called through the door, mentally reciting some kind of Catholic remix of every prayer I’d ever learned.
“No. But it was so good it wouldn’t have mattered.”
“Keaton!” I cried, breaking into a mad smile at his vulgar words.
“Hurry,” he answered, and I could hear the laughter in his voice.
I managed to shower and dress quickly, digging a pair of pearly flip-flops from my suitcase. I watched him grimace.
Pointing at his Converse, I raised my eyebrows. “Hey, you wear those, I’m wearing my flip-flops. Deal with it.”
“At least your feet are pretty,” he acknowledged, tipping the bellhop as we made our way through the lobby. By the time we were situated in his Ferrari, I glanced at my phone for the time.
“We’ll be late…” I murmured, pressing my thumb over the text message.
Matthew.
Matthew: I’m leaving first thing in the morning. I’ll be at Gram’s waiting for you Sunday.
“Who fucking cares. If I have to take one more picture with the bride making those moronic hand-hearts, I-”
“Don’t take me back,” I whispered.
He pressed the brake, stopping in the middle of the hotel parking lot. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t take me back to Gram’s. I’ll go with you. Tonight. Just don’t take me back there today.”
“What, is he there?”
I handed him my phone, and his eyes scanned the text message. “I’m not ready to see him.”
Keaton sighed, long and slow, before handing me back my phone and shifting the car into gear again. “I’m leaving tomorrow. You can’t hide forever, Vivian. You may as well just talk to him. We’ll drive straight back to Gram’s after Idlewild.”
Betrayed by his disloyalty, I tried desperately to check my feelings before my mouth took over. “I can’t! I’m not ready to see him! I can’t believe you’d do that to me, after all I’ve done for you!”
With a scathing glance, he pulled onto the highway. “You need to grow up, kiddo.”
Below Unforgiven (The Movie Book 1) Page 16
