Olivia groaned. She didn’t want to sing, damn it. But as the strains of "Margaritaville" started and a microphone was thrust into her hand, she had a bad feeling that’s exactly what she was going to do.
Her singing fool of a fiancé motioned her closer and then looped his arm over her shoulder, swaying with her as he began. "Nibblin’ on sponge cake. Watchin’ the sun bake…"
Her shoulders wilted in defeat as he serenaded the cheering crowd. He didn’t seem to notice she hadn’t joined in until he reached the chorus. Tightening his hold on her, he grinned down and yelled, "Sing with me now. ‘Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville.’"
"I thought we were going to get married," she called into his ear.
Her groom waved that thought away with his hand. "Relax, honey. We’ve got plenty of time." Then he lifted his mike, and the room joined in with the rest of the chorus.
As everyone around them sang on, he leaned down to talk directly into her ear. "Know what your problem is? You just gotta loosen up. Hey, waitress!" he called to a passing server. "My fiancée here needs another drink."
Then he grinned at her and repeated, "Fiancée? Hey!" He brought his
microphone down to his mouth and hollered through the speaker system. "Yo, everybody. We’re gettin’ hitched tonight!"
Olivia blushed as the roar of applause exploded around them. What followed was a barrage of complete strangers buying them each a congratulatory margarita.
The man at her side was so busy singing his own slurring rendition of 'My Girl', he didn’t bother with his drink. So, wanting to settle her nerves, Olivia slugged back both cocktails. When her fiancé finally hauled her out the door, she felt good and buzzed. The idea of getting married no longer seemed like such a determined mission; it felt like a fun, exciting adventure.
~ ~
They stopped at four clubs before making it to a wedding parlor. At each place, her fiancé ordered his first drink only to lift it over his head and loudly announce their pending nuptials. Then he’d set his glass aside, forgetting his own earlier motto that one should never let good alcohol go to waste, and pull her onto the dance floor.
The last place they hit hosted lively salsa music. The dance floor was full of hot bodies, and with the bongos, trumpets and saxophones pulsing through her bloodstream, Olivia wanted to stay there and boogie for the rest of her life. She wanted to slide her body against this man who was proving to be the best time she’d ever had—this perfect, wonderful man who made her sing, and dance, and laugh.
Olivia grabbed his arm and dragged him onto the floor. They were both too smashed to hit any good moves, but they had a blast trying. Olivia gyrated with her back to him while he slipped his hands around her hips and pulled her ass flush against his crotch.
His fingers stroked her bare waist; she had to admit she liked his touch. She liked the way he grew aroused. Leaning against him, she lifted her arms and jiggled her hips to the rhythm. He bent forward and nipped the sensitive flesh on her shoulder as his hand moved around to the front of her stomach and ground her back even harder against his erection. His fingers cupped her breasts through black leather.
Olivia gasped, her body instantly quickening. She’d never acted so slutty before. But this felt good. This felt incredible.
When she glanced around, she noticed other couples doing provocative things ten times worse than what she was doing. So she didn’t worry about pressing her backside against his hard-on and grinding for all she was worth.
Behind her, he made a harsh groan and snatched her wrist, hauling her toward the exit. Once they were outside in the fresher air, he spun her around and cupped her face with both hands, yanking her close for a kiss. Olivia let out a surprised yelp—which he promptly smothered with his mouth—and the sound transformed into a needy whimper.
But whoa. Her hottie fiancé could kiss. Liquor must’ve made his lips especially soft and pliable because it felt like he brushed pure silk across her mouth. He tasted of tequila and chocolate. Where he’d gotten chocolate, she had no idea. But she moaned and opened as soon as his seeking tongue traced the seam. Wet velvet entered and batted her tongue playfully before curiously sweeping across the back of her teeth.
Olivia clutched his hair and returned the favor. He growled, pressing her spine against the building as he cupped her ass and lifted her.
She tried to spread her legs so he could step between her thighs and get closer to the place that needed him the most. But her skirt was too tight to allow much movement. Whimpering in frustration, she bit his tongue and tightened her grip on his hair.