My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap.
Something shifted between the four of us after what happened on the beach—something unsettling.
When Tiffany suggested it, I didn't hesitate. I let Vincent undress me, watching as she knelt in front of my husband, her head tilted up, her hands and mouth working to arouse him.
But my pulse really kicked into overdrive when Vincent pushed between my thighs, his body pressing against mine—
Then, without warning, my husband shoved Tiffany aside and yanked me close. His lips brushed my ear, his voice barely a whisper. "The wine is drugged."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. At first, I thought he was joking—until I saw the deadly seriousness in his eyes.
Panic clawed at my throat. I gripped his arm. "What?"
His voice was rough, urgent. "Someone messed with the wine. Stay calm. We need to play this smart."
My mind went blank. Dizzy, I clung to him. "What do we do?"
"Find an excuse to get back to the room. We'll handle it there."
An idea sparked. I slapped his cheek—just hard enough to sell it—then raised my voice. "That's it! I'm done!"
Perfect. The outburst snapped their attention toward us.
My husband froze, then played along flawlessly. "Baby—"
Before he could finish, I shoved past him and stormed off, quickening my steps.
He rubbed his face and chased after me. "Wait—I'm sorry!"
Back in the room, my heart still hammered, but at least we were alone. I paced, my head spinning—whether from the drugs or sheer terror, I couldn't tell. My skin felt clammy, my eyelids leaden.
How could people we'd laughed with hours ago do this?
The doorbell jerked me back to reality. "Sweetheart, it's me. Open up."
I bolted to the door, checked the peephole, then yanked it open.
I crashed into his arms, shaking. "What the hell is happening?"
He gripped my shoulders, steady. "We're okay. I've got you."
Without another word, he dragged me into the bathroom, cranked the faucet, and ripped off the showerhead. "Drink. Now."
"Just trust me," he urged, jaw tight. "I don't know what they used, but we need to flush it out."
Gritting my teeth, I forced the showerhead into my mouth and gulped until my stomach revolted.
He bent over the sink, guzzling water to make himself throw up.
The flood of liquid choked me, triggering violent heaves. The second my body convulsed, I dropped the showerhead and collapsed over the toilet, retching until there was nothing left.
By the time we finished, we were both sprawled on the bathroom floor, drained. My throat was raw, my limbs useless.
I didn't know if we'd gotten all of it out—but we'd bought ourselves time.
Our eyes met, silent relief passing between us. In that moment, I'd never felt closer to him.
When I flly caught my breath, I whispered, "How did you know?"
He swallowed hard, his voice strained. "Sweetheart… does Vincent's face look… familiar to you?"
When Tiffany suggested it, I didn't hesitate. I let Vincent undress me, watching as she knelt in front of my husband, her head tilted up, her hands and mouth working to arouse him.
But my pulse really kicked into overdrive when Vincent pushed between my thighs, his body pressing against mine—
Then, without warning, my husband shoved Tiffany aside and yanked me close. His lips brushed my ear, his voice barely a whisper. "The wine is drugged."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. At first, I thought he was joking—until I saw the deadly seriousness in his eyes.
Panic clawed at my throat. I gripped his arm. "What?"
His voice was rough, urgent. "Someone messed with the wine. Stay calm. We need to play this smart."
My mind went blank. Dizzy, I clung to him. "What do we do?"
"Find an excuse to get back to the room. We'll handle it there."
An idea sparked. I slapped his cheek—just hard enough to sell it—then raised my voice. "That's it! I'm done!"
Perfect. The outburst snapped their attention toward us.
My husband froze, then played along flawlessly. "Baby—"
Before he could finish, I shoved past him and stormed off, quickening my steps.
He rubbed his face and chased after me. "Wait—I'm sorry!"
Back in the room, my heart still hammered, but at least we were alone. I paced, my head spinning—whether from the drugs or sheer terror, I couldn't tell. My skin felt clammy, my eyelids leaden.
How could people we'd laughed with hours ago do this?
The doorbell jerked me back to reality. "Sweetheart, it's me. Open up."
I bolted to the door, checked the peephole, then yanked it open.
I crashed into his arms, shaking. "What the hell is happening?"
He gripped my shoulders, steady. "We're okay. I've got you."
Without another word, he dragged me into the bathroom, cranked the faucet, and ripped off the showerhead. "Drink. Now."
"Just trust me," he urged, jaw tight. "I don't know what they used, but we need to flush it out."
Gritting my teeth, I forced the showerhead into my mouth and gulped until my stomach revolted.
He bent over the sink, guzzling water to make himself throw up.
The flood of liquid choked me, triggering violent heaves. The second my body convulsed, I dropped the showerhead and collapsed over the toilet, retching until there was nothing left.
By the time we finished, we were both sprawled on the bathroom floor, drained. My throat was raw, my limbs useless.
I didn't know if we'd gotten all of it out—but we'd bought ourselves time.
Our eyes met, silent relief passing between us. In that moment, I'd never felt closer to him.
When I flly caught my breath, I whispered, "How did you know?"
He swallowed hard, his voice strained. "Sweetheart… does Vincent's face look… familiar to you?"
End of My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap book page.