Unfortunately Yours: A Novel (Vine Mess Book 2)

The limousine ride back to August’s home was short.

But effective.

Everything today involving this man classified as potent.

She couldn’t even blame it on the champagne, because she’d barely stopped talking long enough to drink two glasses. After they’d walked out of the reception and everyone threw handfuls of obligatory rice at them, August had pulled her into his lap in the back of the limousine and proceeded to pick the tiny, white grains out of her hair, his fingertips brushing the nape of her neck repeatedly. Out of self-preservation, she’d crawled over to the opposite seat, giving him an affronted look.

But the damage was already done.

She was turned on by her fake husband.

Not just buzzing with an electrical current of attraction, either. This was a full-on meteor shower of hormones, the likes of which she’d never experienced in her life. Not for her former fiancé. Not for anyone.

She needed to shut this down immediately.

This was a marriage inspired by advantages. Money. Eventually it would be over and they would walk away, hopefully better off than they started. This was not a long-term situation and introducing the complications of sex was a very, very bad idea.

God forbid it turned out to be good.

What would she do then?

Don’t pretend you don’t already know it would be good.

The fact that August had even mentioned her clit boded extremely well, let’s be honest. It wasn’t something that typically rolled off a man’s tongue—before or during the act—unless he valued the woman’s pleasure as much as his own. She would not have assumed that about the hulking SEAL who had somehow gotten red wedding cake frosting in his hair, even though they’d both been handed forks.

On the other hand, maybe it was a signal that he did excel at . . . giving pleasure?

“You’re thinking about me going downtown, aren’t you?” August drawled from the other side of the limousine, the cat fast asleep between his feet, purring loud enough to drown out the limo’s engine. “How does it feel? I’ve been thinking about it for over a month.”

They slowed to a stop in front of his house and the driver alighted, his footsteps on the gravel loud in the sudden silence. “I think we should put this bet off until we’re both totally sober.”

An eyebrow went up. “You had one, maybe two, glasses of champagne, Natalie.”

Had he really been paying that close attention? “If that’s true, why am I considering a dangerous dance lift with oral sex as the prize?”

A grin spread across his mouth. “Maybe you’re drunk on my charisma.”

“Nope.” Her stupid heart wouldn’t slow down. Slow down. “That’s definitely not it.”

The door of the limousine opened and August exited, cat cradled in his left arm, reaching in to help her out. He released her from his grip only long enough to tip the driver a twenty and throw him a salute, before recapturing Natalie’s hand and guiding her up the steps of the house.

“You said there was a wedding present waiting for me at home,” she said, bracing herself. “Is there a bucket of water inside, resting precariously above the door?”

“Even I am not dumb enough to ruin a woman’s wedding-day makeup,” he said, chuckling. “By the way, if you can drop the word ‘precariously’ into a sentence, you’re stone-cold sober.” He set the cat at his feet, gave the feline a quick scratch behind the ears, then unlocked the door, pushing it open. Natalie was too distracted by the streak of fur disappearing into the darkness to realize August’s intention—and then it was too late.

She was in his arms being carried over the threshold.

“This is highly unnecessary.”

“It’s tradition among the Adonis culture.”

She snorted and tried not to enjoy herself.

“Natalie . . .” He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, still holding her without any signs of exertion—which made her chances of coming out on top of the bet feel slim. “I got your present before you gave me mine. The picture of Sam. I was a little slow on the uptake and I didn’t realize . . . we were swinging for the fences, you know?”

“That wasn’t . . .” Her laughter was halting. “I wouldn’t call that swinging for the—”

“Yes, it was.” His tone was final. A tad rusty. “It was.”

Charged silence took up the air around them. “Okay.”

“And essentially, I got you a piece of paper.”

“A what?”

He finally set her down, but only so he could slap his hands over his eyes. “I’m a shit gift giver. I’m absolutely awful at it. When I was seven, I gave my mother a pancake for Mother’s Day. Only, I’d been planning ahead, so it had been wrapped in my closet for three weeks. I haven’t gotten any better.” He gestured to her room. The door was open and she could see a frame propped on the small nightstand. “I framed a ticket stub from Wine Down Napa—you know, the event where we met?” He shook his head. “You’d probably rather forget that night.”

Had she swallowed a fistful of feathers? “No. That was a good night,” she murmured, recalling the first time she’d seen him in his Kiss the Vintner apron, a head taller than everyone in the room. That booming laugh. “But you were an exhibitor at Wine Down. You wouldn’t have needed a ticket. Where did you find this one?”

He jerked a big shoulder. “I might have asked a few people.” He coughed. “Few dozen.”

Oh my.

“Let’s do the lift,” she interrupted, surprising both of them.

“Wow.” His voice went from surprised to gruff. “You really switched gears there.”

Hello, understatement. A few minutes ago, she’d been intent on redrawing the boundaries and battle lines of this relationship. Now she was throwing her common sense in the dumpster because of a framed ticket stub.

Maybe this annoying attraction to August had simply built to a fever pitch. Toss in the undisputed fact that Napa weddings could make a corpse feel romantic, let alone a warm-blooded woman, and her immunity to him was currently paper thin. Whatever the reason, she wanted an excuse to be touched by him and this was the perfect opportunity. Even if she ended the night on a gurney in the back of an ambulance.

You won’t.

You know you won’t.

August wouldn’t drop her. Ever. End of story. Was that why she wanted to do the lift? Did she enjoy the way he made her feel physically safe? Maybe. Yes. It was refreshing to have that confidence in another person. A rarity. So she backed across the kitchen, all the way to the far corner, to give herself enough running space. And then she went for it.

Ran right toward him in a wedding dress and heels.

The man didn’t even blink.

He simply caught her around the waist and lifted her up over his head, turning her in a slow circle, giving her a lopsided smile from below.

“Don’t say it,” she whispered. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Nobody puts Natalie in a corner,” he blurted, followed by that rich, abandoned laugh that collided with her groan. “It’s out of my system, I swear.”

“Too late, I’m already flooded with regrets.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No . . .” She sighed as he set her down, pulse beating a million miles a minute. “I’m not.”

Holy hell.

His mouth was close. Very close. The fingertips of his right hand traced her cheekbone, their lips gravitating toward each other until they were trading breaths. “I win,” he rasped, touching the tip of his tongue to the center of her upper lip. “Promise it’ll feel like we both did, though. Yeah, Natalie?”

Was she nodding?

She let him take her wrist and hustle her down the hallway, past the bathroom to his bedroom. He drew her inside, kicking the door shut with a definitive slam. And then they were making out. Although was that really the proper term for the way they were mauling each other? Hands seeking and clutching and exploring while his tongue swept deep in her mouth, turning her delirious.

August walked her back to the bed and down she went, his thick forearm snaking beneath her hips and pulling her up the bed until the back of her head landed on a pillow. His heavy body pinned her in place like he damn well belonged there. And in that moment, he did. He belonged there like air belonged in her lungs.

He wasted no time bringing his mouth down on hers again, groaning while angling his head right. The sides of their noses mashed together as his hands gathered the hem of her wedding dress higher and higher. Up her calves. Knees. Oh God. When the heavy skirt scraped up her thighs, he lifted his hips to move the bunched material out of the way and dropped his lower body into the cradle of her open legs, firm bearing down on soft. Pushing. They both cursed, Natalie’s breath escaping in a trembling rush.

“I want to have sex,” she gasped, twisting her fists in the sides of his tuxedo pants, tugging him hard. Into her. Relishing the stiffness there. “I never miss a pill, and I want to have sex.”

His face buried in her neck with a strangled growl. “Natalie, I want to fuck you so bad, I’m surprised God didn’t strike me down when I walked into that tent today.” He rolled his hips and the friction made Natalie’s vision go black. “But I could fuck you until your thighs turn into rubber and you’d still hate yourself for giving in when the sun comes up. Until I know for damn sure that you’ll wake up beside me without regrets, you only get my tongue.”

She couldn’t argue with his point.

If she broke her no-sex rule on night one, hour one, she’d chalk the indiscretion up to temporary wedding hysteria or bad decision making. Or she’d tell herself she’d scratched the itch and it couldn’t happen again. August didn’t seem to want her to have regrets.

August was already talking like there would be a next time?

A mixture of panic and relief had her nearly gasping.

Of course he was talking in the future tense.

What man wouldn’t want built-in benefits to any relationship?

Her thoughts scattered like broken necklace beads when he reached between their lower bodies and gripped her sex hard, sawing his middle finger through her panties, along that sensitive valley. Parting her, wetting her. “You’d love to get filled the fuck up. I know. But I promise you, princess, this is going to be a hell of a consolation prize.”

This wasn’t her first time at the rodeo. A few men had tried their God’s honest best down there. Techniques had been employed, toys had been engaged, and once, even edible lube had entered the mix to no success. Just sticky sheets and the artificial smell of banana hanging in the air of her bedroom for a week. But she remembered the way August had touched her in the shower and how he’d gotten the drop on her, so she braced herself, taking two fistfuls of the comforter. She was going to be prepared this time—

“Holy. Sh-sh . . . iiit,” she said on a blasting exhale when he kissed and nuzzled her. He drew the panties down to her ankles, threw them unceremoniously over his shoulder into the darkness, then buried his face in the juncture of her thighs like he was competing in a pie-eating contest. His groan held equal parts relief and lust. She could feel his five-o’clock shadow coarse against her softness, his breath hot. Fast. Anticipatory.

“I swear, Natalie, when I’m not dreaming about your pussy, I’m daydreaming about it. I’ve gone down on you so many times, imaginary August has lock jaw. Now I finally get to see you up close. And my imagination? Apparently it sucks.” He dragged his tongue through her slit and pulled back slightly, licking his lips, shaking his head. “I haven’t been doing this pretty thing justice. That changes now.”

He quickly worked the front buttons of his shirt and tossed the garment away, followed by the no-nonsense stripping of his tight, white undershirt, the rigid flex of hard-earned muscle causing her fists to yank the sheets, her high heels to dig into the mattress.

“Oh,” she said, sounding dazed. “I forgot to take off my shoes—”

August pushed her thighs open and dropped down onto his front, one big knee digging into the bed and pushing forward. His open mouth met her flesh and he suctioned it, the entire thing, moaning, before delving his tongue between her folds again, raking it from entrance to apex, where his lavish attention made her eyes cross. His tongue stroked her clit like it was his long-lost love. Not hurried, just thorough. So thorough. Damn. Damn.

In the space of a minute, the whole situation went from cautious optimism to imminent blastoff. She was on a roller coaster, cranking vertically to the highest point of the ride. Preparing to take the plunge. Her stomach turned weightless and a ticklish throb began way down deep, back where she’d never felt it before. This wasn’t going to be like one of her self-inflicted orgasms. It was going to build and build and bury her, wasn’t it? Oh God, oh God.

“August, please,” she whimpered, her fingertips flying from the comforter to his hair, wrapping around the short strands, holding him in place even though he clearly had no intention of vacating the premises. “K-keep doing that. Do it. Do it. That.”

He nodded, squeezing her thigh. Why was that intimate reassurance so sexy?

Right there.

I can’t believe I’m this wet.

And he was living for it, using her readiness to his advantage. He pumped two huge fingers inside of her while flicking his tongue against her clit. Oh. Mama. Was he serious? “Babe, please,” she panted, no idea who she was calling babe. But saying it again, anyway, in the next breath, because what else to call a man making her feel this good? Her whole body was surface-of-the-sun level hot. Knees shaking. Throat strained like she’d just left a Harry Styles concert. Had she been screaming? Was she screaming now? “Harder, babe. Please. Okay?”

What was she asking for?

No idea.

But he gave it to her, almost completely pulling out his fingers, then thrusting them deep and holding them there while his licks turned rougher. Pinpricks of light appeared in her vision, forming constellations on the ceiling, and she tipped her head back, letting the pleasure plow through. Unequivocal hedonism. That’s what this was.

With strands of his hair wrapped around her fingers, she raked her hips side to side against his mouth and he kept his tongue stiff for her, adapting on the fly, trusting her to know what she wanted in that moment of euphoria, also known as the best climax of her life. She was trembling and mumbling to herself when she came down from the highest peak. August kissed the insides of her thighs, looking like he was already considering round two, shoulder muscles bunching as if he was just waiting for the green light.

“Red light,” she slurred, slapping a hand to her forehead, trying desperately to calm her breathing. No way she could let him do that to her again. Who knew what lust-drunk Natalie would do next? Round one: call him babe. Round two: offer to bear him sons.

“I’d be happy with a son or daughter.” He grinned. “As long as they’re happy and healthy, right?”

Right. Great. She’d been talking out loud.

How thoroughly had this man scrambled her brain?

In the middle of kissing her thigh, he smirked.

“So smug, aren’t you?” she said, still short of oxygen, which really took the sting out of her rebuke. Her tone was more fawning than critical.

This couldn’t stand. The night could not end like this.

He’d have the upper hand and he would be insufferable. She’d totally lost herself in the act and he would miss no opportunity to remind her how she’d essentially erupted like Vesuvius, called him an endearment, and lost power to her limbs. Minutes later and her legs were limp. Resting on his shoulders. When did that happen?

There was only one way to even the scales.

“You don’t think I could make you call me babe?”

His mouth paused in the act of nuzzling the inside of her knee. “Natalie . . .”

Having a purpose breathed new life back into her limp body. She allowed her legs to slide from the rocky slopes of his shoulders onto the bed, gathering herself into a kneel and turning around, gesturing to the zipper of her dress. “Can you help me out of this?”

“I-I don’t . . .” His voice had dropped lower than a baritone. “That might not be a good idea.”

“I needed help to get into this dress.” She blinked at him innocently. “Now I need help getting out of it. Simple as that. Besides, it’s tradition.”

One of his eyebrows winged up at the T word. “Really?”

She nodded earnestly, giving him her back.

The heat of August’s hands met the area below her shoulder blades. He hesitated with his fingers on the zipper. “What exactly are you wearing under this dress?”

“Nothing exciting.”

Without him making a sound, his skepticism was obvious. “I know when you are lying.”

She scoffed. “No, you don’t.”

“It’s the only time you sound casual.”

Natalie frowned. Was he right?

“I’m going to ask you again, what’s under this dress, princess? I need to be prepared.”

“A strapless bra and panties. My God. You’re acting like there might be a sniper.”

“Same level of danger as a strapless bra on those tits, as far as I’m concerned. I wasn’t lying when I told you they look insane.”

“Unzip the dress, banana brain. Or I’ll be sleeping in it.” She looked back at him over her shoulder and broke out the big guns. “Please, August?” she half whispered, trying to look as helpless as possible. “I need your help.”

His lips parted on a long intake of breath, eyes darkening. “Come here,” he rasped, pulling her backward into his lap and drawing the zipper down slowly. “I’ve got you.”

She had him, too.

Right where she wanted him.

As soon as the opening was loose, she pushed the dress down, lifting her hips to divest herself of the heavy material. She used her foot to slide it off the bed into an ivory heap, her rear end landing soundly back into August’s lap, eliciting a groan.

“Can’t help but notice you’re half naked in my lap all of a sudden,” he half slurred.

“Noticed that, did you?”

“Tradition means nothing to you.” His warm breath slid along her neck, knuckles from both hands traveling upward on her rib cage. “This was a trick.”

“Evil of me, wasn’t it?” She circled her hips on his lap. “There has to be some way I can make it up to you.”

“Natalie . . . ” he warned through his teeth. “I told you. We’re not having s—”

“You can touch my boobs.”

“Under the bra or over?” he blurted, that big chest heaving at her back.

The corner of her lips ticked up. Gotcha.

She pulled down the cups of her strapless bra and guided his hands there, surprised when they didn’t just grab on or handle her breasts too roughly. She should probably stop being surprised by August now. By the way he gently played with her nipples, dragging his thumbs over them, side to side, his mouth beginning to lick and nip at her neck. Oh. Wow. If she didn’t keep control of this situation, she would wake up tomorrow without the upper hand. She might as well raise the white flag and surrender any leverage she had left.

Climbing off August’s lap, she turned around on her knees, allowing herself a second to savor his choked curse at the sight of her bare breasts—

And then she shoved him onto his back.

She raked a hand up and over the distended crotch of his dress pants, stroking him firmly through the material. “My turn.”

“Blow job?” he asked, hoarsely. Openly hopeful and visibly shocked.

She nodded.

“Oh. Okay. Wow. Jesus.” A monster shudder went through his giant frame and he dropped fully onto the bed, his muscular chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. “When you’re fucked, you’re fucked,” he muttered thickly, seemingly to himself.

He reached down and started unbuckling his belt.

It shouldn’t have been so hot. Really. It shouldn’t have.

But those big mitts fumbling with the metal buckle and the eager flex of his abdomen made her tongue heavy in her mouth. So eager that she was kissing his stomach, biting the sinew that ran in a downward-pointing V along his hips.

“Bite harder,” he said, laboring to breathe, his hands dropping away from the belt. “Harder, please.”

Oh God. When he begged her to bite harder, she wanted to.

Badly.

She sucked a gust of air into her lungs and shot forward, sinking her teeth into the meat of his hip, drawing a shout from August that resonated through her entire body. “Fuck yes,” he growled. There was a brief pause before he lifted his head to look down at her. “Don’t bite my dick, obviously.”

Natalie giggled.

He grinned back. A big, bad warrior with an inconvenient charming side. It was alarming, the severe pinch she felt in her chest at that moment, so she closed her eyes and licked over the rope of muscle that ran along his sides, then down to his belly button, wetting a path through those coarse whorls of his hair. Her right hand delved into his pants and . . . okay, she’d expected this.

Of course it was XL. He was XL.

But she couldn’t even get her hand around him.

“Just do the best you can,” he gasped, one hand gripping the sheets, the other one cupping the side of her face. But not to guide her down. It was almost like pregratitude. Oh my God, Natalie is about to suck me off. Oh my God.

Had she ever felt confident during sex before? She’d always assumed so. She even liked to think of herself as adventurous.

But now, with this man almost hyperventilating at the thought of her mouth on him, she felt like a goddess. Seductive. So confident in herself and his imminent enjoyment of her that she was almost purring when she drew August’s shaft out through the opening of his pants.

“Wow,” she whispered, swallowing. “Wow.”

It swelled further and August bit off a curse, hips twisting right. “Now that’s the reaction a man wants on his wedding night.”

What was her whole plan about keeping the upper hand?

Whatever it was, she couldn’t recall the details. Could only lean in and run her tongue up the side of his gorgeously thick shaft, watching his thigh muscles bunch in response. A burst of steam escaped his flared nostrils. From one lick.

She’d never held a man’s balls in her hand, but instinct had her reaching for August’s, rolling them gently in her palm, and really, there was no way to avoid them, because they were, for lack of a better word, prominent.

“Son of a bitch. I’m sorry, there is going to be a lot of cursing here tonight. Now. Oh fuck, tug them a little. Rub them fucking rough. Yeah . . . oh . . . yeah. Now do it again while you’ve got that mouth gift-wrapped around my cock. Yes.”

Natalie’s confidence climbed higher. Wow, he was really, really enjoying everything she was doing. She didn’t have to wonder if her tongue was in the right place or if she was stroking him too hard in her fist, because August was sending a clear message and it read Holy shit, I’ve never been touched so right. Never felt anything this good.

That fear of rejection or criticism she normally dreaded was quite simply . . . gone.

The absence of that burden made her more eager to give him pleasure, lips traveling past the point she thought possible, not worrying whether or not too much saliva was visible or if it was weird to be moaning while giving someone oral. As if the pleasure was hers.

Wasn’t it, though? With him?

Whoa.

Easy, girl.

“Call me babe,” she whispered, gently tracing her teeth from root to tip and whirling her tongue around his swollen head. “But only if you want to finish.”

“Babe, baby, princess, love of my life, I’ll do and say anything you want. Just don’t stop. Don’t stop for me. I’m so close.”

Okay, he did not mean the whole love of my life part, obviously. He was just lost in the moment. So why did it make her nearly swallow him whole, her pulse tapping wildly in her temples? Her lips stretched around his ample length and when the tip of him brushed the back of her throat, his knees jerked up, the hand that had been cupping her cheek sinking in her hair now, ruining her updo in a split second.

“Fuck,” he ground out through his teeth. “Natalie. Fuck!”

Her fist moved up and down in rapid strokes, sensing the beginning of his peak. Was she still moaning?

Get a grip on yourself. He didn’t taste that good.

Liar. His taste was singularly incredible.

The scent of that grapefruit soap clung to his pubic hair and wires must be getting crossed in her brain, because smelling the fruit while taking him in her mouth made him almost taste like it, and somehow she knew she’d never pass up grapefruit again at the supermarket.

“If you don’t want to swallow,” he panted, throat muscles strained, “now would be a good time to stop, but please don’t stop. Please. Babe. But if you have to, please let me roll you over and come on your tits. I’m asking as an upstanding citizen and service member.”

There was simply no way she could stop now.

Not when he made her smile during a blow job.

That had to deserve some kind of award—and she was in the position to give him one.

Continuing to rapidly fist him up and down, her mouth followed her hand a little lower each time and she heard his breathing stutter, the groan building in his chest. He alternated between squeezing his eyes shut and watching her mouth bring him deep, skate back to the tip, then go deep again. And finally, the veins on his abdomen turned blunt and . . . he . . . roared. Her name.

His spend hit the back of her throat so fast and in such abundance, she had to struggle through swallowing it quickly enough, her hand still busy. Still working his slick shaft. His grip was twisted in her hair, but she could feel him resisting the urge to push her mouth down and hold her in place. And considering the animal state he was in, she found that oddly touching. Was she losing her actual mind?

August deflated, his arms falling to his sides.

His sex remained at half-mast, sticky and smooth. Somehow still appealing.

“I can’t believe what you just did for me,” he said between heavy breaths, reaching down to haul her up against his chest. “Natalie, the way you . . .” He shook his head, plowed his left hand through his hair, looking totally and utterly dazed. “Damn, woman.”

She preened, testing a palm on his chest, her head on his shoulder.

Just temporarily. Until they caught their breath.

“Look, I’ve got about three point eight seconds before I’m unconscious, thanks to you. So I’m going to use it to tell you to stay. Sleep right here. On me.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead hard, his lips remaining there for a few seconds. “It’s the safest place you’ll ever be.”

She ignored the flutter trapped in her throat. “Maybe it’s tradition.”

“Tradition,” he agreed.

They passed out cold less than ten seconds later.