Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,69
these.”
“Really?” he deadpanned.
“Well, I’d cut them, but I kind of like them.”
“Do you want help?”
“I definitely think it’s a two-man job. And since it’s just you and me, you’re in luck. Strip me,” I proclaimed.
The sweat from all the dancing cooled and made the leather stick to my skin like glue, and in that moment, I didn’t care if I undressed in front of him. I just wanted the damn things off.
We both bowed our heads and dug our hands into the waistband, trying to pull them down. I stumbled again and bumped my head to his.
“Shit. Sorry.”
“Always bumping into me,” he joked.
“Ha-fucking-ha.”
His lips tipped, softening the usual scowl or arrogant smirk. “You swear a lot when you drink.”
“Like a fucking sailor.”
Pulling his hands free, he held mine and guided me to lay on the bed. “This may be easier.”
“I bet,” I muttered, laying back.
He gripped both sides at my hips and tugged. Some pulls had me sliding down the bed with the pants, and by the time he got them down far enough to roll them off, I had both arms around my waist, clutching my stomach in a fit of laughter.
“Jesus Christ. Why bother wearing them?” he asked, out of breath.
“Because I look hot in them.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
He tossed the pants aside, and I stood, lifting my arms up like a child.
“Need help with your top?”
“It’s tight,” I whined. “And everything is spinning a wee bit faster. Just…don’t look.”
I closed my eyes like I was the one not supposed to look.
“Okay.”
His hands skimmed the bare skin of my hips, stroking softly in a way that had nothing to do with helping me take my shirt off, but I just kept my eyes closed and arms up. If I didn’t see it, I didn’t have to acknowledge it, and it could happen. Right?
Right.
He peeled that black, lacy, stretch material up my ribs, and I held my breath when the cool air reached the underside of my breasts. Seconds stretched into what felt like forever, his breathing picking up pace. The material scraped past my nipples with a rush of cool air, pulling them to aching points. He tugged the top up and off.
I dropped my arms to my sides and forced my eyes open, half expecting to find him staring at my breasts. Instead, I found him staring at me. Our eyes collided, and Raelynn’s questions about why I wouldn’t just fuck him came roaring back.
His eyes beckoned me like the snake in the garden of Eden.
Give in. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.
I knew he would. I remembered. And that was at a party, fully dressed—imagine what he could do naked with an entire bedroom at his disposal.
But like I’d said, I didn’t want to want him.
The truth was, that Nico was a choice. It wasn’t an arranged marriage like it had been to Camden. I chose to agree to Nico’s proposal. And when I was little, in the moments I let myself imagine a future that had me choosing my own husband, it was never one who didn’t love me.
I didn’t want to want him—a man who openly claimed he’d never love me.
But I did.
And maybe—just for tonight—I could repeat the gala. If I woke in the morning with regrets, I’d blame it on the alcohol and swear I’d never do it again.
The tension grew like a living thing between us, wrapping around our bodies, urging us closer. It spread across our backs, like a bubble enveloping us in our basic needs.
Despite standing in front of him in only a tiny scrap of lace, his eyes never wandered.
I rested the tips of my fingers at the bottom of his abdomen, a thrill rushing through me when his hard muscles rippled under my seeking tips. Slowly, I lifted each palm, rising higher past his chest to his shoulders.
Using him for support, I pressed to my toes and leaned in.
Only for him to grip my wrists like shackles and tug them away as he stepped back.
My heart stuttered over the quick, hard beat. Doubt squeezed my chest too tight.
“I don’t fuck drunk women,” he said.
Embarrassment washed over me like a bucket of cold water, freezing me on my toes, my wrists in his hands, and my jaw hanging open. All in a scrap of lace that felt sexy moments ago and now felt like that last shred of dignity I had left.
The heat burning in his eyes simmered, and part of me wondered if maybe I’d