Page 14 of Accidental Vegas Vows

“Touch yourself,” I demanded, sinking my teeth into the soft, fleshy bit of her inner thigh to shut her up before she could say something ridiculous.

She blinked down at me, her mouth open in a perfect little O. “What?”

Grasping her hand with mine, I placed it on top of her mound. “Show me how much better I am at touching you than you are, and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

She hesitated. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol that impaired her, making her processing time slower, or if she didn’t want to. But a second later, her red-painted nails were touching her clit, her head dipping back into the cushions as if no one was watching.

But I was. God, I was.

I kissed up her thigh, salivating as her fingers moved. One knee hooked over my shoulder, she dipped two fingers inside of herself. My cock strained painfully against my slacks in response. Every passing second that I wasn’t burying myself in her was torture, and my reluctance to go beyond what was allowed for us was waning.

Frustrated, drunk, and so horny I was losing my mind, I shoved her hand away and replaced it with my mouth.

Olivia gasped, her hand diving into my hair and grasping at the strands. I devoured her, claimed her with my tongue, abusing my straining erection further. Sliding three fingers inside without a single bit of resistance, I knew damn well she’d pleasured herself with things larger than my digits before. There wasn’t a hymen in sight. Fucking hell. I drank every drop she leaked, savoring the decadent taste of her as if she were water and I was dying of thirst.

“Damien,” she mewled. Neither of us cared anymore about the sounds she made, and although the balcony we’d rented was fairly secluded, nothing was stopping her moans from carrying to others above and below us. “Fuck, oh my God?—”

Her release came quicker this time, flooding my mouth, clenching around my fingers before relinquishing them. I took every fucking bit she gave me, dragged it out, overstimulated her with my tongue just to hear her cries a little longer.

When the intensity had calmed and my lips and chin were drenched in a mixture of saliva and her, I rested my head on her thigh, my fingers still buried inside of her. “I can’t lie, Liv,” I laughed. “Marriage is sounding better and better by the minute.”

I didn’t care how desperate I sounded anymore, couldn’t give a shit if she thought less of me for it. Not when I wanted her this badly, not when I was this drunk that I would stoop to any level for some wicked angel from my dreams.

She giggled as I slipped my fingers from her. “You’d hate being married to me,” she grinned. “I’d want this all the time.”

I sighed dramatically, pulling another laugh from her. “That would be the opposite of a problem.”

I pulled myself up off the cement balcony, leaning down over her to kiss her, to let her taste herself on my tongue. Her hand drifted over the front of my slacks, stopping as she felt the rigidity beneath them, and slowly but surely, her fingers closed in around the straining stitches. She gripped me with a vice.

“Fuck, Liv, I need you,” I groaned, the squeezing only amplifying my problem.

She grinned against my lips. “I need another drink.”

————

We were well past the point of no return when my watch read what I could barely make out as half past two in the morning. I was teetering on drunken blackout territory, and from the slurring of her speech and the difficulty she had keeping herself upright, so was Olivia.

Nothing and no one mattered anymore apart from her and the ways I could touch her. I had no idea how we got to this point — we’d gone from playful banter to desperation in the span of hours.

The flickering light of the surprisingly clean bathroom lit her fully bare body stunningly as she leaned against the wall for support. Even through the bleariness of my eyes, she still looked unreal, like I could split her in two and she would thank me for it. I was only halfway sure we were at a bar in the Bellagio, but if someone had told me we’d flown to Paris and I’d lost my memory of the hours it would take to get there, I probably would have believed them.

Her short frame barely reached my shoulders as I stumbled closer. My jacket abandoned on the floor, my shirt unbuttoned and hanging off my shoulders — for the life of me, I couldn’t remember how we’d gotten to this point. Everything was blurring together.

I took her breast into my mouth, lashed against her nipple with my tongue. Her perfect fucking moans filled the small room, and I didn’t care how loud she was anymore, not when my rings and fingers were burying inside of her and her entire body was mine. The idea of someone intruding didn’t even phase me — I’d let them watch if I could have her.

A moment later and my belt was unbuckled, my slacks unzipped, and my cock was wrapped in her painted fingers. It was as if I’d lost the time in between.

“Shit,” I groaned, burying my face in the hair at the top of her head. When had I left her breast? She rode my fingers as I thrust into her hand, her release coming too quick, too easy, too messy. I couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but want her. “I need to fuck you, princess.”

“You need to fuck me?” she giggled, her fingers tightening around my cock. Her hand looked so small wrapped around it, her digits not even meeting. Her words were slurred and slow, lilting as if she were humming them. “Is this… not… enough?”

“Not with you.” Gliding my fingers up the back of her neck, I wrapped my hand in her hair, pulling it taut until her head dropped far enough back against the wall that she was forced to look directly up at me. She winced from the pain, her hips moving against my still hand to counteract it. “This can’t be enough with you. Neither of us are fucking satisfied, are we?”

“I’m not…” She hiccuped, interrupting herself. Her laughter filled the room for a fleeting second. “I’m not having sex until I’m?—”

“Marry me.” The words didn’t phase me. The idea didn’t, either, not this time. I’d regretted it the first time, but what I’d spoken earlier should have been taken at face value. I’d go this low to take her. I’d do it to make HR happy, to make her happy. It sounded like a brilliant idea now. “Marry me, please. Please, Olivia. Fucking marry me.”

“Don’t say that,” she drawled, her head lolling before I tightened my grip again. “You don’t mean it.”

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