NEVER AGAIN.
I am never drinking fucking wine again.
My head is pounding, my throat is dry and scratchy, my eyelids might actually be glued shut, and I feel nauseous as fuck.
Never fucking again.
I roll over with a groan and reach for Amelia only to be met by an empty, cold spot. Squinting against the offensive light seeping in through the ugly as fuck curtains framing huge windows, I lift my head off the pillow and glance around the room, letting out an embarrassingly whiney sound and pouting like a child when my girl is nowhere in sight.
She was here when I fell asleep; not much about last night is clear—like how I went from chugging beers with the guys to sipping Savignon Blanc with fucking Luna—but I definitely remember her crawling into bed beside me. I remember her closing the door too, in case Cass stumbled home, but it’s ajar now. A mouth-watering smell wafts through the opening, erasing the lingering cloying stench of wine and… nail polish? A glance downward reveals my nails painted a particularly horrendous shade of vomit green.
Great.
Massaging my thumping head, I force myself out of bed. I stumble around the room, picking up whatever clothes of mine are scattered on the floor, before trudging downstairs in search of whatever smells so fucking good.
God, am I greeted by a sight for sore eyes.
Amelia stands over the stove, wrapped in a fluffy robe, swaying to faintly playing music as she flips pancakes. Quickly checking no one is around, I sneak up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist as I kiss her cheek. She jolts in surprise, her lips quickly tipping upward when she realizes it’s me. “Morning,” she sings loud enough to draw a wince out of me. Judging by her expression, that was exactly her intention.
Her good mood does not rub off on me. “I don’t like waking up alone,” I grumble against her cheek, trying for a real kiss and pouting when she evades.
“You’re supposed to say ‘thank you for breakfast, my wonderful girlfriend’.”
“Thank you for breakfast, minha namorada maravilhosa,” I oblige, burying my face in her hair and inhaling her fucking intoxicating scent.
A small hand pats mine where it rests on her stomach. “You speak Portuguese when you’re drunk.”
“I do?”
“Mmmhmm,” she hums with an abundance of mirth. “A lot. We tried to Google Translate but even that couldn’t understand you.”
Well, thank fuck for that. God knows what I was spouting.
I grunt, leaning in for a kiss to sooth my embarrassment only to be pushed away, a freckled nose wrinkled in disgust. “Shower first, kiss later. You reek of wine.”
I grumble unhappily but do as she says. I rush through getting ready and when I hurry back downstairs—teeth brushed, body washed, and clothes changed—I’m ready for my reward. Unfortunately, we’re no longer alone; everyone else has emerged from their rooms and Amelia’s doling out food like it’s a school cafeteria in here.
I beeline for Cass and Ben. The former is practically passed out in his food while the latter strongly resembles a dead animal—Luna hooked him on her wine agenda and the poor kid is clearly paying the price for overindulgence. Coming up behind the pair, I sling an arm around each of their shoulders. “Fun night?”
“Great night,” an unwelcome voice chirps out of nowhere, wiping the smug expression right off my face. “You should’ve come,” Jay adds, clearly addressing Amelia, and I stiffen.
Crossing my arms over my chest, my jaw ticks with barely concealed annoyance. “What are you doing here?”
“Heard there was breakfast,” the intruder replies, practically drops to his knees in thanks when Amelia shoves a plate of food in his direction.
A plate slides my way too, along with a warning look, narrowed eyes, and a mouthed ‘behave.’
Begrudgingly sitting beside a barely alive Cass, I mouth back ‘I will if he does.’
Scowling at the counter because I can’t openly scowl at Jay, I tune out his constant babbling. Cass comes alive when he gets some food in him and starts droning on about the hot girls he met last night, so I tune him out too, focusing all my attention on the breakfast my girl made.
I jolt when I feel a pinch on my arm and Cass becomes the new victim of my scowl. A skeptical brow raised, he questions, “You okay?”
“Yup.” I stab at a piece of bacon. “Just tired.”
He eyes my bright nails mockingly. “Long night of pampering?”
“Fuck off. You try saying no to Luna.”
Cass grimaces, opening his mouth to reply but it’s not his voice I hear say, “She’s fucking scary, right?”
I eye the dipshit who’s once again unwelcomingly butted in and resist the urge to stab my fork into the back of his hand next. “Watch your mouth.”
Wide-eyed, Jay holds his hand up in innocence. “I was—”
“Don’t.”
“Nick-”
“Did you want something, Jay?” Cass interrupts, shooting me a weird look.
Averting his gaze from me, Jay leans his elbows against the counter, ducking his head and lowering his voice. “Is Amelia single?”
“Yeah,” Cass answers aloud.
Not in the fucking slightest, I bark in my head.
“Can I have her number?”
Cass’ spine snaps straight, expression turning stoic. “Why?”
“I wanna ask her out,” Jay explains slowly, like it should be obvious.
“How the fuck are you gonna ask her out if you don’t even have the balls to get her number?” Cass quips.
I fight back a triumphant sneer. Ha.
As much as I’d love to stick around and relish in Jay’s bumbling protests, I remove myself from the situation before I do something foolish. And because, from the other side of the kitchen, the very topic of conversation is subtly beckoning me over with a raise of her coffee mug.
“That guy is pissing me off,” I complain quietly, reaching for the coffee pot she’s standing in front of. Not because I want coffee—entirely because it’s an excellent cover for being close to her.
“Really?” Amelia drones dryly. “I couldn’t tell.” She watches as I pour myself a mug, topping up hers too and adding the mandatory three teaspoons of sugar. “He’s harmless.”
I snort. Harmless. Yeah, right.
Risking scrutiny, Amelia flattens a hand against my chest, patting reassuringly. “Stand down, big guy. I’m not interested.”
“Of course, you’re not,” I deadpan, lips twitching as I rake a hand through my hair. “I’m your boyfriend.”
The enormous round table decorating the back porch of Jackson’s fucking palace feels minuscule with my friends plus the baseball guys crowded around it.
No one was particularly keen on inviting them over—Tweedledum, Tweedledee and me were still nursing the remnants of a hangover while Jackson was worried about them destroying the place—but they not-so-subtly insisted on the favor being returned. Which is how we’ve ended up huddled together, outdoor heaters on full blast, warm blankets slung over laps for extra warmth, and inappropriately cold beers ready to be sucked down.
At least it’s not wine.
Honestly, most of the guys, I don’t have any gripe with. When they’re not obscenely drunk, they’re tolerable.
Jay does not fall into that margin.
No matter what, he gets on my fucking nerves. Probably because he’s paying way too much damn attention to my girl. Thank fuck she’s beside me and he’s on the other side of the table because if he was close enough to lay a scrawny hand on her like it’s so fucking obvious he wants to, I’d probably rip it off. The longing gazes and the giggling—the guy is giggling like a schoolgirl—are already testing my limit.
I need to touch her. Reassure myself. Soothe that fucking needy-ass possessive streak that’s crying out to pull her onto my lap, to touch and kiss her freely.
As discreetly as I can, I scoot my chair closer to hers. Goosebumps pepper her soft skin as I slip a hand beneath the blanket covering her lap, the muscles in her thigh tensing beneath my palm. Ignoring the warning side-eye she shoots me, my thumb draws slow circles on her inner thigh, my free hand reaching for my beer.
To anyone else, it looks like she’s shivering because of the cold, not because of my hand inching higher and higher. Only I can see her clinging to the arms of her chair with a vice-like grip. And when she shifts slightly, only I know it’s to spread her legs in a silent invitation
That’s my girl.
Unwavering, I toy with the edge of her skimpy little shorts. I ridiculed her earlier when she’d skipped downstairs in pajamas completely inappropriate for a night of outdoor drinking—safe to say, as I easily slip inside them, I change my opinion.
A stifled, hissed breath is Amelia’s lone reaction when I stroke the outside of her underwear. Ceasing any attempts at conversation, she stares intently at a random spot on the table, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. Not in the mood for teasing, I shove her panties aside and drag a finger through the slick arousal already gathered at the apex of her thighs, fighting down the pleased groan desperately clawing its way up my throat.
Green eyes, wide and excited, dart to me. That pretty, pert mouth of hers drops open in what I know is a silent moan when I thrust a finger inside of her at the same time my thumb brushes her clit, throbbing and begging for my attention.
Amelia coughs out a choked noise, her chair screeching against the wooden decking as she abruptly shoves backwards. Cheeks flushed, she stands abruptly, and curious gazes flit to her. Thinking on the spot, she grabs her phone and waves it in the air, excusing herself to take an imaginary phone call.
I wait as long as I’m physically capable before downing my beer, excusing myself to get a refill, and hauling ass inside. As expected, Amelia’s waiting for me in the bathroom, pacing on shaky legs.
Locking the door behind me, I tease, “Who was on the phone, querida?”
“What was that?” she demands, chest heaving, an intoxicating combination of aroused and angry.
“What was what?” I feign ignorance as I switch our positions, pinning her between me and the door. “This?” I dip inside her shorts again, finding her even wetter than she was a few minutes ago. Amelia melts against me, nails digging into my forearm as she grips me tightly, eyes fluttering as she stifles a moan.
I drop my head so we’re eye-level. “He likes you.”
A flicker of taunting amusement lifts the corners of her mouth. “Seems like it.”
Diaba.
Teeth tugging her earlobe punishingly, I work two fingers inside of her easily. A harsh swear flees soft lips. Head falling back against the door with a thud, Amelia clenches around me, bucking eagerly, but I keep my pace slow, taunting her like she did me. “You like him too?”
“No,” she stutters breathily, the single word somehow a beg.
The blatant want in her eyes almost fucking floors me.
She likes this.
The possessive streak, my blatant jealousy. She fucking likes it.
Spurred on by her reaction, I add a third finger and increase the pace. “Who’s Jay, querida?”
She doesn’t answer. She can’t answer; her free hand is clamped over her mouth to stifle her ecstatic noises. Knocking her hand away, I repeat the question. “Who’s Jay?”
Amelia cries out. ‘Nobody.’
“Good girl.” Grinning wickedly, I draw back so I can see those fucking eyes, lavishing quick, hard attention on that needy bundle of nerves until she’s writhing uncontrollably. “Now say my name while you come.”
And fuck me, she does.
My name falls from her lips like a fucking prayer as she goes off like a rocket, loud and wild just how I like her. I don’t stop pumping as I yank down my sweats because I’m not fucking done yet, and she proves that she isn’t either. The second my cock springs free, she’s grasping it greedily, blessing me with harsh tugs that make my vision go foggy. When I hoist her up, she wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation, guiding my cock to where she wants it. I’m about to swap my fingers for what she really craves when a voice calls her name.
We both freeze as someone knocks on the door. “Amelia? You okay?”
God, the odds of Jay returning home in one piece are slimming by the minute; I’m going to throttle him.
But I’m going to fuck my girlfriend first.
Amelia narrows her eyes as I grind against her, notching my tip at her entrance, but the hands clawing at my ass urge me closer. Flexing my hips, I push inside of her, and she slaps a hand over my mouth to stifle the groan her warm, wet, tight pussy evokes.
“I’m fine,” she calls out shrilly, her breathlessness unmissable as I bottom out inside her.
“Are you sure?” For every meaningless, unwanted word Jay utters, I thrust slowly, drawing tiny, addictive noises out of my girl. “You looked a little flushed earlier.”
Oh, buddy. You should see her right now.
“I’m fine, Jay,” she insists, and I shove a hand between us, pinching her clit punishingly for saying another fucking man’s name while I’m inside her, muffling her whimper with a harsh kiss. My fingers work in tandem with my cock to make my girl come again, to make sure everyone in this damn house knows she’s mine. God knows how but she manages to twist her panted moans into a semi-normal sentence, “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Jay’s wary ‘okay’ and receding footsteps sound just in time. Burying her face in my neck to stifle her whimpers, Amelia falls apart again, damn near taking me with her.
Trembling fingers dance over my cheek, through my hair, sweeping curls from my forehead. She gazes up at me through heavy eyelids and pulls my forehead to hers. “Yours,” she promises quietly, and fuck, I could come at that word alone.
Groaning, I grind against her, too slowly for either of our likings. “Someone else might come looking for us,” I offer her an out. Someone less fucking clueless.
“I don’t care.”
That’s all the encouragement I need. I slam into her, fucking her hard and fast, getting rid of all that pent up frustration. She meets my intensity eagerly, greedy in the way she bucks against me, rips at my skin with her nails, tangles her tongue with mine.
We explode together, swallowing each other’s groans of pleasure with a searing, never-ending kiss. I come so fucking hard I almost double over, spilling so much cum into her that it drips down her thighs.
A moment of heavy breathing passes as we collect ourselves, attempt to steady our erratic pulses, before I pull out of her and set her gently on her wobbly feet. She glances down at the mess we’ve made coating her thighs and grimaces. ‘I need a shower.’
I hum my agreement and help her clean up a little, pull her shorts back up. Kissing her temple lightly, I nudge her towards the locked door. “Go. If anyone asks, I’ll say you didn’t feel well or something.”
A hand on my chin guides my lips to hers, supplying me with one last kiss before she opens the door and comically waddles off upstairs, shooting me a glare when I chuckle under my breath.
I clean myself up quickly and tug my clothes back on before rejoining the group, picking up a fresh beer from the kitchen on my way out the back door.
By some miracle, no one bats an eye when I settle back into my seat looking a hell of a lot more ruffled than I did twenty minutes ago and probably reeking of sex. I do spot Jay watching me intently, jaw locked and beady eyes narrowed.
Tipping my bear in his direction, I smile.
Mine, motherfucker.
By the time I’ve cracked open a third beer, Amelia still hasn’t reappeared.
I assumed she’d shower and slink back downstairs discreetly but I don’t blame her for choosing not to; as expected, things are getting rowdier and rowdier with each downed round. Jay, in particular, is really indulging; nursing his poor, pathetic broken heart, I hope.
I bide my time, waiting until it gets late enough or these fools get drunk enough for me to excuse myself without suspicion. When words become more slurred than spoken, I decide to take my chances. “I’m gonna head up for the night.”
Cass catches me by the arm as I stand. “Check in on Tiny for me?”
I nod stiffly, dropping my head to avoid a host of silent heckles. Ben, unsurprisingly, is not so silent but his loud guffaw dissolves into a howl of pain when I kick his shin discreetly as I pass. Taking the stairs two at a time, I burst into my room, shoulders slumping when I find it empty.
It’s fucking freezing in here, though, and I trace the source to the balcony doors being wide open. A peek around the doorway and Amelia comes into sight, curled up on the outdoor lounger underneath a pile of blankets, head tilted up to the sky. I stare at her for a long moment, simply taking in how fucking beautiful my girl is, how lucky I am to even get to call her that, before I murmur her name softly and walk outside.
Amelia smiles when she sees me, shuffling upright so I can slot behind her, humming happily when I kiss her neck tenderly. “Everything okay?”
She nods, eyes still trained on the sky. “Got distracted.”
Following her gaze, I can see why. The stars are incredible here, bright and mesmerizing as they wink at us. But the look on Amelia’s face as she gazes skyward has the stars themselves beat. “It’s so pretty,” she remarks happily, entwining our hands.
“Yeah, it is.”
When she catches me still peering down at her, she groans playfully. “Smooth.”
“I mean it.”
Rolling her eyes, she changes the subject like she always does when someone deigns to compliment her. “How do you say star in Portuguese?”
“Estrela.”
Amelia repeats the word, tongue tripping over it slightly. I correct her and she tries again, perfect this time, beaming up at me proudly. My suspicions were correct; hearing her speak Portuguese, even one little word, is hot as fuck.
“When was the last time you went to Brazil?”
“Just after my dad died.” Her grip on my hand tightens, her gaze softening. “We stayed in Salvador for a couple of months so my mom could be with her family.’
“What’s it like there?”
“Loud.” Even after living in New York, the hustle and bustle of the city my mom grew up in still always catches me by surprise with how vibrant and busy and alive it is. “And so fucking beautiful. I lost count of how many rolls of film I went through.” Noting how Amelia’s gaze brightens with curiosity as I reminisce, I promise, “I’ll take you there someday.”
“Really?”
Fuck, her hopeful excitement kills me. “You’d fit right in.”
“Because I’m loud?”
“And beautiful,” I bend down to kiss her pouting lips.
“Charmer.” The hand not holding mine slaps my thigh before settling there, squeezing gently. “I’d like that a lot.”
“So would I.” So fucking much. Picturing her there is easy. Meeting all my family, totally overwhelmed but fucking loving it. Happily rattling off broken Portuguese. Throwing herself into every situation wholeheartedly, no matter how new and unfamiliar. Fuck, the photos I could take of her.
It hits me that even beyond that, imagining her in my life is effortless.
Imagining her not is impossible.
I can’t, no matter how hard I try, conjure up a future without her in it.
“Amelia?”
“Hm?” She continues gazing at the sky, absentmindedly stroking my thigh.
“I love you.”
