Blame it on the Vodka (Blame it on the Alcohol) - Page 47

I was in the middle of studying the ridiculously fancy coffee machine when one of the chefs popped around the corner like I’d willed them there.

“Sorry, miss. I wasn’t expecting anyone awake just yet. Can I get you anything?” she asked.

“Just a coffee, please. Unfortunately, my coffee machine knowledge stops at a Keurig.”

She laughed with me at my joke as I stepped back so she could work her magic.

In minutes, she had a cup prepared for me with the promise of a spread in about an hour. “Can I get you a croissant or anything?”

“No, thank you. This coffee is perfect.”

The pressure still squeezed tight, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get much down past it. I found a quiet spot out on the patio tucked away in the corner so I could watch the rising sun sparkle against the pool and listen to the waves crashing against the shore.

I thought it would help.

It didn’t.

Every time I saw a glint in the water, I imagined the same spark in Austin’s eyes when he stared up at me from between my thighs. Each lap of the wave reminded me of how it played as background music to our groans of pleasure. The band tightened as my body swelled against it with burning memories.

I’d had lots of sex before, with all kinds of partners and an entire sex book worth of locations and positions. But never had I experienced the intensity of last night. Never had anyone ever looked at me like they could see inside my soul. Never had anyone made me bend to their will. Never had anyone made me like being under their control. Never had anyone kissed me so intensely, like they’d waited their whole life for just a taste.

How had I never experienced any of it before?

Was it me? Was it Austin?

Or was it us? Was it something we created—something only we could create?

I clutched my coffee, studying the green grass and white décor like maybe I’d find answers for what it all meant.

Unfortunately, none came.

Over the next hour, more and more people filtered downstairs. Thankfully, no one noticed me outside. I enjoyed sitting back and watching instead of everyone always watching me. I loved the brand I’d created through social media, but sometimes I just wanted…to be.

A flash of blonde hair caught my attention, and I found Aubrey laughing with a group of friends that must have stayed here after the party. Unbidden, I wondered if Austin fucked her the way he had me. A sharp knife pierced my chest, almost stealing my breath, and I didn’t bother to call it anything other than what it was: jealousy.

The feeling rarely plagued me. I never gave it the time of day, but this pain stole my breath and dug in before I could stop it.

No.

With more strength than I imagined I’d need, I shoved the pain aside, only managing to ease it rather than remove it completely. In the end, it only made room for more questions, but one kept hammering like a woodpecker.

Why was I jealous?

I almost wanted to focus on the jealousy rather than even consider where it came from.

Instead, I shoved both aside and watched the crowd again. I watched them grab their coffees and pastries, stocking up on carbs and social gossip before heading back to their normal lives.

I almost laughed out loud when I thought of Austin and me leaving to head back to normal. Because what the hell was normal? Did we sleep together again? Did we go back to friends? Pretend it didn’t happen? I’d never lacked so many answers in my life, and rather than too many options creating chaos around me, I felt like I stood in a vast desert with nothing in sight, completely unaware of which direction to go in.

But then he appeared down the stairs, and instead of nothing, two forces slammed into me out of nowhere—both saying the same thing.

Run.

To him.

Away from him.

My head struggled, jerking back and forth between the two urges. My heart jolted into fight or flight mode, ready for either option. My lungs squeezed in around the rampant muscle while my stomach dropped straight down to my core as flash after flash of the night before joined the party.

“Swallow every last drop.”

“Spread your legs.”

“Watch.”

“Such a good girl.”

I stood on shaky legs, not knowing which way they would carry me.

When they ended up carrying me straight to him, I should have been concerned. I should have fought it. Instead, I couldn’t look away from his tall frame as he stood in the middle of the room, looking side-to-side—looking for me.

I made it within five feet when his eyes finally landed on me. While his shoulders dropped like he’d been holding his breath, his deep green eyes still held their own load of tension—like he was just as unsure about what happened next as me.

Tags: Fiona Cole Erotic
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