Drunk on You: an age gap, enemies to lovers, fake engagement, office romance (Love & Whiskey Boo

Chapter Twenty-Five

“I’ve fallenin love with you too.”

Those words are the reason I’ve just married Anastasia Kingston. The reason we arrived at the Clark County Marriage License Bureau just before midnight and got our marriage license. The reason we found a small chapel and paid an officiant to read us our vows.

We laughed.

Ana shockingly shed a few tears.

We were pronounced husband and wife.

We kissed.

And now, we’re back in our room with Ana laid out in the middle of the bed, naked and ready for me.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at your wife, or are you going to fuck her and consummate this marriage?” She punctuates her question by reaching up and palming her bare breasts while smirking at me.

“I’m going to fuck my wife every damn day for the rest of our lives, but right now, I’m taking a moment to appreciate the view, Mrs. Parker.”

Her eyes widen at the use of my last name, and she squirms in her spot.

“You like that?” I murmur, crawling onto the bed. I’ve already shed my clothes, and all that’s left on me are my briefs. “Being called my name? It’s like I own you.” I spread her legs and expose her neatly trimmed cunt. “Like you’re mine.”

“Who said I’m changing my last name?” she sasses. “Maybe you should change your name to Kingston.”

Some men prefer a submissive wife, one who obeys and goes with the flow. But not me. I love my feisty woman, who keeps me on my toes.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, swiping up her center with my fingertips. “You want me to change my last name to Kingston?”

“It is the better name,” she chokes out.

“How about we play a game?” I suggest, coating my fingers with her juices. “The person who makes the other person come first gets to keep their last name, and the other person has to change theirs.”

I lightly circle her clit, and her entire body shivers in response.

“Fine,” she says. “But you don’t get a head start.”

She sits up and tugs on my briefs, so I shove them down my thighs. My hard cock springs out, ready to be inside my wife’s warm, wet pussy.

She strokes my shaft a few times, and I let her, but there’s no way I’m coming in her hand. So, before she can take it any further, I palm her ass cheeks and drop her back down onto her back.

Without giving her a second to react, I spread her thighs and slide down her body, my tongue landing directly on her clit. I lick and suck it, knowing exactly how to make my woman come.

Holding down her hips, I thrust two fingers into her warmth and devour her like a starved man. She thrashes about, screaming my name, torn between pleasure and anger, but it doesn’t matter because within seconds, she’s coming all over my fingers and tongue.

“I can’t believe you!” she hisses, sitting up, her hazel eyes glassy from her orgasm.

“You can’t believe what?” I argue. “That I would bring my A game when the stakes were that fucking high?” I crawl back over her, pushing gently on her chest so she’s on her back once again. “What’s your name, baby?”

She purses her lips together, refusing to give me what I want. It doesn’t surprise me since my woman is a sore loser. I part her legs with one hand while I use the other to hold myself up, and then I guide my hard length into her hole. Her eyes roll back, and she moans softly.

Once I’m all the way in, I pull back out, and her eyes pop back open.

“What are you doing?” she breathes. “Fuck me.”

“What’s your name?”

“Serious—”

I thrust back into her, and she moans louder.

When I pull back out, she glares.

“C’mon, Red. All you gotta do is tell me your name, and I’ll gladly make you come again.”

Instead of entering her, I grip my shaft and stroke it up and down her sensitive clit, watching as she tries to win this battle. With her soaking wet, it creates the perfect amount of friction, and just before she’s about to come for the second time, I break our contact, leaving her hanging.

“No!” she whines. “Please. I was so close.”

“Just say the words, baby.”

I lean over and press my lips to the corner of her mouth, and she grumbles under her breath. And then I kiss my way down her chest and pull one of her taut nipples into my mouth. I suck on it for several seconds, working her up. When her legs squeeze around me, I release her nipple.

“Okay! Okay!” she cries. “My name is Anastasia Parker. Now, please fuck?—”

Before she can finish her sentence, I’m thrusting into her and giving her exactly what she wants.

Her legs wrap around me, and her arms snake around my neck, so we’re connected in the most intimate way. She pulls my face to hers and kisses me with the same passion that I make love to her with as my wife for the first time.

She finds her release first and takes me with her, and as I come inside her perfect cunt, I whisper, “I love you,” not expecting her to say anything back, but needing her to know how I feel.

But as we both take a moment to catch our breaths, my cock still inside her and her arms still wrapped around my neck, I’m shocked when she looks me in the eyes and says the words back. “I love you, Julian, and I’d be honored to be Mrs. Parker.”

And just like that, I fall for my wife even harder.

Anastasia

I’m Mrs. Anastasia Parker.

One minute, I was wrongly accusing Julian of cheating, and the next, we were saying, “I do,” in a quaint chapel just off the Strip, where we promised to love and honor each other for better or worse, until death do us part.

And then for the rest of the night, Julian and I made love to each other. I couldn’t even tell you how many times I orgasmed or when we fell asleep, but judging by the way we’re both naked, with Julian’s body wrapped around mine and the area between my legs still sticky, I’d guess we passed out from exhaustion.

Not wanting to wake him up, I carefully remove his arms and slide out of the bed so I can shower and get cleaned up. Hopefully, I don’t end up with an infection from falling asleep with his cum inside me. A glance at the clock tells me it’s only been a few hours, so I should be okay.

As I stand under the water, with my eyes closed, breathing in the hot air, my memory floods back to the event from yesterday. I was so hurt at the thought of Julian allowing another woman to touch him and at the possibility that he did more with her.

I’m new to this whole committed-relationship thing, but he didn’t get upset or annoyed. He didn’t judge me for not being good at any of this. He handled it so well, with patience and understanding. And it was what made me finally admit to myself that I’d fallen in love with him.

The way we’d started was a bit complicated, but being with him—loving him and being loved by him—is easy. He was right. I was trying to complicate shit because I was scared. But I’m ready to be with him for real.

My thoughts skip forward to returning home, and I try to imagine what it will be like, being married to Julian. He’ll definitely want me to move all of my stuff into his room. He already hates that I’ve left my clothes in his guest room despite sleeping in the same bed with him every night.

And we’ll both need wedding bands. The officiant offered to sell us rings, but Julian declined, telling me that he wants my wedding band to match the engagement ring. I’ll need to order him a wedding band once we’re home. The thought of him wearing a black zirconium or maybe a platinum ring on his fourth finger to indicate he’s taken is more of a turn-on than I thought it would be. But there’s just something about knowing he’s committed to me and only me. When everyone looks at his ring, they’ll know—oh shit! Everyone … including my dad!

When he finds out I ran to Vegas and got married, he’s going to flip his shit.

“What’s going through that beautiful head of yours, wife?” Julian asks, making me jump.

He steps into the shower and wraps his arms around me from behind, kissing my shoulder. “It looked like you were a thousand miles away.”

“I was just thinking about last night,” I tell him as my brain whirls with thoughts of having to tell my dad that I’m married.

He turns me around and glances down at me. “So, no regrets?”

When I hesitate, his brows furrow together. “Talk to me.”

“We skipped so many steps,” I say, “like dating, and went directly to living together. I don’t regret it because it’s our story, and not every story is the same …”

“But…” he prompts, worry etched on his features.

I try to figure out how to explain the thoughts that are going through my head, but no matter how I put it, it’s going to sound bad.

“Ana, talk to me.”

“First, we were fake engaged…and then we got fake married.”

Okay, that’s not how it was supposed to come out.

But before I can do damage control, Julian takes a step back. “What the fuck are you talking about, Red? Because when I said my vows, there was nothing fake about them.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I move toward him, hating the space between us. “It’s just that…I had been drinking and?—”

“So help me God,” Julian says, “if you tell me you were too drunk to remember marrying me…”

“No! No.” I shake my head. “It’s just that in my slightly inebriated state, I didn’t think about the fact that my dad wasn’t here to walk me down the aisle. He’s going to be so upset. Not only did he miss me getting married, but it looks bad…it looks reckless.”

“Don’t do that,” he demands. “Don’t take something that was meaningful and turn it into something dirty.”

“I’m not! But you can’t deny how it’ll look to an outsider. I know I said I didn’t see myself getting married, but a part of me still fantasized about it. The beautiful venue, the white dress, my fiancé dressed in a sharp tux. My dad would tell me I looked like a princess, and then he’d walk me down the aisle and give me away.”

I get choked up, thinking about it. “My mom isn’t alive anymore, but my dad is. And…I don’t know.” I shrug. “I just didn’t imagine myself getting married in the middle of the night in Vegas.”

“So, you do regret it,” he says softly.

“No.” I shake my head and circle my arms around his neck. “I don’t regret marrying you, Julian. I love you. I just need some time to come up with a way to tell my dad that I’m married without sounding like what we did was reckless. That even though we did it in the middle of the night in Vegas, it was still meaningful. Please tell me you understand.”

“I get it,” he says after several beats. “I won’t say anything until you tell me it’s okay to do so.”

“Thank you.”

I lift onto my tippy-toes and kiss the corner of his mouth. Before I can pull back, he fists the back of my wet hair and yanks my face up. He kisses his way down my throat, nipping at my flesh as he does so, sending a shiver racing through my body.

Spinning me around, he pushes me up against the cool marble wall of the shower and slaps my ass, making me yelp in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“I might not be able to claim you as my wife in public,” he murmurs against my ear. “But make no fucking mistake … you. Are. Mine. Mine to kiss.” He turns my face and claims my mouth with a fierceness and passion that makes the rest of the world disappear. “Mine to touch.” He reaches around and palms one of my breasts roughly as his other hand slides down my body and cups my pussy. “And mine to fuck.”

He parts my folds and circles his thumb around my clit in the perfect way he knows I like that will get me off quickly. I’ve never been with a man who paid so close attention to everything about me. My likes, dislikes. Julian is not only a selfless lover, but he’s also like that in every aspect regarding me. He knows what I prefer to drink, what my favorite foods are. He noticed quickly that I need to read to fall asleep, and if I leave my book somewhere, he puts it on the nightstand before bed.

I always thought I was better off alone, without the complications, so I could focus on what was important—my future. But now, I realize that I didn’t know any better. Like a child who’s never been loved, they don’t know to miss the love. I didn’t know what I was missing out on, having someone to talk to about my day, share my ups and downs with. Getting off isn’t just about quickly finding my release anymore. It’s about connecting with someone on a deeper, more intimate level.

My orgasm rips through me, and I shudder as waves of pleasure course through my body. Julian only waits long enough for me to ride it out before he turns me back around, lifts me against the wall, and plunges into me. My body is sensitive from my orgasm, and I scream out in pleasure as he fucks me fast and hard, as if he needs to remind both of us that I am his.

When I come again, it’s around his cock, screaming his name in pure ecstasy as he repeatedly says, “You are mine,” punctuating it with every thrust.

I assume he’s going to come inside me, so I’m confused when he pulls out and sets me on my feet. “Show me that you’re mine,” he says, stroking his cock.

It only takes me a second to understand what he wants, and I drop to my knees, taking over stroking him.

“I’m yours,” I tell him, our eyes locked in a heated stare. “I’m all fucking yours.”

I part my lips and suck gently on the head, and he explodes all over my face. I could have easily opened my mouth and swallowed it down, but I know what Julian wanted—to claim me.

And he proves that when he stares down at the ribbons of cum all over me, his gaze burning with molten desire. He swipes a finger through the stickiness and drags it over to my lips, painting them like his cum is lipstick.

I press a kiss to the pad of his finger, then bite down on it playfully, and he smirks mischievously, his tell-tale sign that he wants to be inside me.

“Not happening,” I tell him, standing and kissing him quickly before moving around him to rinse off. “We have too much to do today to spend it in the shower.”

“Fine,” he mutters. “But when we get back, I’m taking you away. Somewhere private, where I can stay inside your perfect cunt for days.”

“Only on one condition …” I lean in and cup the side of his face. “You also fuck my other holes.”

“Jesus, Red,” he groans. “You can’t say shit like that after telling me I’m not allowed to be inside you.” He glances down at his growing erection. “Now, I’m going to be thinking about fucking your ass all day.”

The thought has me squirming in my spot, and like the sex fiend my husband has turned me into, I reach out and grasp his shaft.

“Maybe we have time for one more round of sex.”

“Mine,” he growls, grabbing the side of my face. “All fucking mine.”