Blame it on the Vodka (Blame it on the Alcohol #3) Read Online Fiona Cole

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Blame it on the Alcohol Series by Fiona Cole
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Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
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I’d want to devour you whole.

Remembering those words whispered like a promise against my lips fired bolts of electricity through my body. It was the only excuse I had for not just shutting up.

“Not that I would know since you never wanted to fuck me.”

His loud burst of laughter drew people’s attention, who laughed as if they were part of the conversation and got the joke. I wanted to ask them what the hell was so funny, but they quickly went back to their own group.

“Oh, Rae.” Austin shook his head and pulled himself together. “Just because I never fucked you didn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

The way he drew out the word want should have been illicit—illegal—against the rules. It wasn’t fair how just a word could suck the air from my lungs and make my heart skip a beat, only to thunder back to life a second later.

It wasn’t fair how just hearing him say he wanted to sleep with me caused a thrilling jolt to harden my nipples. It wasn’t fair that he could all of a sudden make me want him so damn much.

The best you can do is guide the change to the best possible outcome.

Vera’s advice replayed, bolstering me to act. “Then do it.”

His smirk dropped. “What?”

“Why not?” I asked. He studied me, probably looking for the joke he wouldn’t find. I’d offered to sleep with Austin about a million times since I met him, but other than that first night, they were all in jest to watch him look away and blush. Nothing about this was funny. “We’re away from everything—in our own reality of sorts.”

The idea sounded better and better the more I thought about it.

“Rae,” he breathed.

It didn’t sound like a protest, but I added more reasons why he shouldn’t fight this just in case. “And we’re married. Why not consummate the marriage?”

He studied me, his chest rising slow and steady. Meanwhile, I couldn’t regulate my breathing if I tried. I dug my teeth into my lip, locking down any more ideas that tried to escape.

The crowd and music and drinks and laughter muffled until all I heard was the pulsing thunder of my own heart. I curled my fingers into my palm, desperate to distract myself from the endless seconds of silence. All the while, I never looked away. I wanted to read every thought rolling across the face I knew so well but also looked so different.

As if someone pulled the plug, his chest sunk with a deep exhale, and I knew then, his decision was made.

Slowly, his lips quirked back up in the smile that I will forever blame as my downfall. “Consummate isn’t the word I’d use.”

His words rumbled across the space between us, stroking my skin, pulling me into a side of Austin I decided I needed to know. Ignoring the fraction of shock that this was actually happening, I finally figured out the game too, and I was ready to play.

With a quirk of a brow, I guided us to the change I wanted. “What word would you use?”

“More than one.”

“Tell me,” I almost pleaded.

“Can I have your attention, please? It’s time to reveal some of the auction winners,” a man announced over the microphone.

The overwhelming boom of his voice through the speakers barely permeated our bubble. Austin held my gaze as he drained his glass, setting it aside before slowly edging his way around the small tabletop. Every muscle pulled tight, waiting for his next move—except my heart. My heart galloped along, racing toward whatever he had planned.

He turned me to face the pseudo stage, coming behind me. I gasped at the contact of his suit jacket abrading the bare skin of my back, but no one noticed. We stood behind everyone else, who was too busy watching the stage. We didn’t exist to anyone but ourselves.

One hand crept around my hip, pulling my ass into him while the other brushed my hair aside, making room to graze his nose along my ear. “You sure?”

Was I sure I wanted him to tell me all the words he’d use to describe fucking me? Without hesitation, I nodded.

Both hands framed my hips, his long fingers playing with the slits that ended just below my hipbones. His rough fingers abraded my skin, sending bolts of electricity up my spine and back down to my core.

“I’d fuck you soft,” he whispered, his words caressing my ear. “I’d push my cock in slowly so I could memorize the feel of every inch inside your pussy. I’d hold your legs wide, so I could watch your swollen, wet cunt stretch to take all of me while I eased in and out. You’d beg me for more, but I’d barely touch your clit—just enough to drive you wild but not let you come. And when you thought you had the torturous rhythm figured out—when you thought you found a way to come—I’d fuck you so hard, so deep, you wouldn’t know who you were anymore. I wouldn’t stop until you lost control—screaming my name, your pussy squeezing my dick, begging for my cum.” The sharp sting of his teeth against my ear contrasted deliciously with his soft tone. “And I’d give it to you. I’d fuck every drop so deep inside you, you’d never get rid of me.”


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