Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1)

I watched the idea sink in and saw sparks of hope. “What about work?” she asked hesitantly.

“Work is more than fine,” I reassured her. I needed her to agree to this because if she fought me, I’m not sure my guilt would allow me to make it happen. I pressed harder, pulling her close to brush my nose along hers. “I want another week in paradise with you.”

I said it to convince her, but the words were true. Part of me didn’t want to go back and face the challenges in front of us.

She studied me, and I tried to convey the truth over the lies. Emotions swirled in her eyes, and a slow smile pulled at her lips. She looked at me like I hung the moon just for her. I got my first taste of it when I offered her a chance with the new project, and seeing it again made me realize I wanted her to look at me like that forever. It was the same way my mother looked at my father, and I never thought I’d find anything near what they had.

But with her in my arms, her gaze adding the final drop of fuel to the blaze burning through my resistance, I knew I had found it.

I loved her.

Somehow, despite how we began, I loved her.

The truth of it finally broke free and bled through my veins, filling every inch of me. The guilt pressed in harder, almost too much to bear.

“Okay. Yes. Take me away,” she said, happiness making her giddy.

Fuck the guilt. Fuck the revenge. I’d come up with a better solution—hell, I could just give her the company. I’d figure it out.

If she’d let me. If she didn’t hate me in the end.Thirty-TwoVera“Are you all of a sudden scared of flying?” I asked, laughing a little.

Immediately, Nico’s leg stopped shaking, and he splayed his palm over it like he could hold it still.

“No. Why?”

“You’re just jittery.” I’d been watching him the last two hours of our flight home, and he’d been showing nervous habits I hadn’t thought he was capable of.

He shrugged it off. “Just too many cups of coffee. Thinking about work and what we have to do when we get back.”

We. I loved hearing it. I was part of his life—his business, and after being shut out all my life, I couldn’t get enough of it from him. Visions of working my way up the ladder at his company until it was ours filled my mind, making me giddy at the thought. At times, when I really let my mind wonder and hope, I imagined children. I imagined creating our own company and passing it on to our kids, no matter their gender.

Just like with dancing, I wanted to start new traditions with Nico.

As soon as the conversation stopped, his leg started bouncing up and down again. This time he rested his elbow on the armrest and chewed his nail while he stared off.

Watching Nico act nervous was…unsettling, and I wanted to soothe him for whatever it was.

“How about I give you something else to think about?” I suggested softly, sliding to my knees.

I inched over and pressed his legs wide enough to fit between. His hand left his mouth and gripped the armrest like he was on a rollercoaster without a seatbelt.

He hissed when I dragged my nails up his thighs. “Vixen.”

I smiled and continued my task of unfastening his belt. He lifted up to allow me room to tug his pants down enough to free his cock and balls. His length stood tall and proud, thick with veins stretching root to tip. His heavy balls resting above his briefs. He liked when I played with them. I learned that, not with words, but by listening to his groans when I rolled them in my palm. Feeling him jerk in the back of my throat when I tugged and sometimes slipped my finger behind them to play.

Holding his stare, I leaned forward and pulled first one and then the other in my mouth.

“Fuck, Verana.”

“Do you like watching me suck your balls between my lips?” We both knew he did, but I liked teasing him with words as much as he did me. “Do you like knowing my pussy is getting wetter by the second because I like it too?”

“Verana,” he growled in warning.

“How about when I kiss my way up the back and flick my tongue through your slit? Or is your favorite when you force your fat dick past my lips and push so hard tears slip free?”

“Fuck, yeah.” His hand snapped out and gripped my hair, holding me in place. “I want to fuck that tiny throat. I wonder if it’s tighter than your little cunt.”

My cheeks heated. He’d pushed against my gag reflex, but never too far, and I didn’t know what I wanted.