Page 16 of Accidental Vegas Vows

My hands flew to my mouth, covering the little squeak that left me before it became loud enough that he’d hear and wake up.

Sprawled across the right side of the king-size mattress, Damien slept soundly on his back. Completely bare from the waist up, I studied his chest and the ripples of muscles. Vague memories from the night before flooded my mind — dragging my fingers along each ab in a bathroom, kissing them, sinking my teeth into his pectoral. A wave of nausea hit me in a flash and I wasn’t sure if it was entirely the hangover’s fault.

Lower, the sheets covered his knees and feet, his belt unbuckled but his slacks zipped and buttoned. But the fabric was stretched taut over his… bulge.

My cheeks heated as I realized that must be morning wood.

Steadying my breathing to match his measured, sleeping ones, I tried to recall everything that had happened last night. The dull ache between my thighs worried me more than I cared to admit.

The dinner. Scandalous, and he’d joked about marrying me, he’d kissed me. I’d gotten a little too drunk, but nothing wild stuck out to me.

The drinks on the rooftop of the Delano. There was… shit, we were alone then. I’d let him touch me in ways I’d never been touched by another person. I’d come around his fingers in a quiet corner.

The balcony at the Mandalay Bay. Oh, God. That was hazier, like wading through thick fog, but tendrils of memories flashed behind my eyes. Spreading my legs for him as he kneeled on the concrete, his fingers inside of me, his mouth on my?—

“Fuck, my head.”

Damien shifted, rolling onto his side to face me, his eyes still closed but a little crease indenting between them. One arm reached out, his hand tucking itself between the left side of my waist and the bed, and a second later he was yanking me toward him, pulling me flush against his bare chest. Hands shaking, I placed my left against his chest to push myself away, pausing the moment I saw it.

His ring. A single platinum band, loosely hanging onto my left ring finger.

It all came smashing down. Him wanting more, me holding out. The way I’d grasped him through his slacks on the balcony. Sitting on his lap in a bar in the Bellagio, feeling his erection beneath my rear, grinding on it. Dragging him to the bathroom. Clumsily undressing him, undressing myself, salivating at the idea of him sliding inside of me. Giving him a handjob until he came on my stomach.

The full-circle moment when he begged me to marry him again.

My agreement.

Elvis.

“Oh my fucking God,” I gulped, and his eyes fluttered open. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”

He blinked at me, confusion rippling across his face. “What’s—” Cutting himself off, he looked from me to my hand on his chest, his gaze catching on the ring. He groaned as he turned his head, burying it in the pillow. “Fuck’s sake.”

“Damien,” I gulped.

His hand tightened around my waist. “I know.”

Every hammer of my heart against my ribs echoed in my ears. We’d gotten married, and that little ache between my thighs seemed so much bolder now, like I could imagine what had gone inside of me. I could barely remember what his cock looked like and I’d somehow managed to marry a man almost twice my age and lose my virginity without even having the memory of it.

“Is it all coming back to you, too?” he asked, his hand dragging up my covered spine until it reached the bare skin at the back of my neck. His fingers splayed out, drawing little calming circles on my flesh, and it was almost distracting enough to calm me down a little.

“We got married?” I breathed.

He hesitated, his fingers stopping for just a second, but then he was laughing, full-bellied and genuine, his crows’ feet deepening as a smile spread across his cheeks. “Yeah. By Elvis.”

I covered my face with my hands as I tucked my head into his bare chest, trying to hide from his line of sight. “Oh my God.”

His laugh continued, shaking his body. “We didn’t even have sex.”

I paused.

We didn’t even have sex.

Holy shit, he was fucking right.

“Happy, princess?” he asked, his nose and chin pressing into the top of my head as he chuckled. “You tortured me all night and still won.”

I didn’t know what to say — the shame and horror still bubbled at the surface, but more importantly, there was relief. Relief and cosmic irony that we’d gone through that much trouble, that much temptation, and caved, but passed out ten minutes after we’d found ourselves in bed was hilarious in theory. I’d agreed to marry him just to feel good about sleeping with him and even then, I couldn’t do it right.

---