I’m usually more suave than this. Take women on dates, a nice restaurant, a bottle of wine. I’m in a suit, them in a little black dress that while sexy is boringly the same each and every time. Small talk happens that doesn't really lead into any robust or inspiring conversations, doesn’t tell me anything about them. None of them are interested in me outside of the movie business. I then take them home, where they drape themselves over me, barely wearing a thing, maybe some expensive lace underwear or something. They usually have on too much makeup, which mixes when we kiss, tasting horrible.
But this… right now with Nikki… I’m hungry. I’m enamored. It feels organic, feels like real life and not a movie set. I’m engulfed by her, and I don’t want to stop.
“We’re going to break this chair,” she says into our kiss, grinding her hips down harder.
“Fuck the chair,” I say on an exhale.
“I thought you were trying to fuck me…”
Her unexpected forwardness has me groaning, pulling back slightly to look at her. “If James wasn’t right down the hall, believe me, I would be.”
A seductive smile pulls at her kiss-swollen lips. “You would? How? Tell me.” Fuck, I’m hard. Her breathy pants are faster now, her hips not slowing. I feel like a horny teenager and a man who’s totally smitten all rolled into one.
“I’d pick you up, rip your jeans open, and take you against the wall.” It’s in my vision now, and the only thing keeping me sitting is the deck of cards on the table reminding me of the little boy who was just here.
She moans softly. “Then what?”
“Then I would carry you to the floor in front of the fire, put your head down, pull your pretty ass up, and fuck you from behind. I’d slide in and out of your pussy so good…”
“Shit… Oh…” Her voice quivers, and I feel her fingers digging into my shoulders. Oh, hell yeah, she’s going to come.
“But I wouldn’t stop there…”
“No?” She can barely get the word out, and I feel my balls tightening. I’m going to come in my pants.
“Oh no… Then, my little Tinker Bell,” I grit out, my teeth grinding, trying to hold on. She pulls me against her, my head buried in her chest, and I suck her nipple through her shirt, biting teasing kisses along her breast.
Her breath catches. “That feels… so good…” She’s so fucking close.
“Then I’d have you riding me like this, taking what you want, my cock buried so deep you feel me for days… God, I want to fuck you.” I grab on to her ass so roughly, I know she’ll bruise. The way her jeans-clad hips rub against my own will be in my dreams for fucking eternity. We’re both going to be chafed, but I don’t really care.
“Ohmygod. Shit… Yessssss…” It happens. Her body locks before trembling, her hips thrusting wildly, and she comes on a silent cry of my name. “Sutton!”
“Fuuuuck,” I blurt out before biting my bottom lip, sealing my mouth shut as I come hard. I hold on to her tight as my release coats the inside of my briefs, burying my head in her chest. She shivers with one last aftershock of her orgasm, grabbing on to me just as tight.
We’re both panting, our bodies sealed to each other, and I can hear her heart thudding fast, my own matching her speed.
“Well… apparently, I’m an auditory learner as well.”
I grin against her, hearing the lightness to her voice. She has a way with words. She likes when I talk dirty to her, and I need to remember that.
Pulling back, I look at her, searching her face for any indication of embarrassment or regret and see none.
My smile is wide. “That was fucking hot.”
“It was.” She grins back at me. “But we have a slight problem now.” She looks down, referencing the issue I now have with my jeans. The wet patch is growing by the second, seeping through my briefs. “I found some men's overalls in one of the cupboards out back. Probably from the owner when he comes to clean up the place. I can grab them for you?”
“Probably a good idea,” I say, seeing headlights flash outside from Sawyer’s arrival.
I get changed and kiss her good night, making my brother wait a solid ten minutes because my lips don’t want to leave hers.
23
Nikki
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. It’s been a while since I’ve driven a car, and it’s the first time I’m driving this little van that Rochelle uses for deliveries. When I arrived at work today to see her sneezing and coughing, I knew she wasn’t going to last too long. Then when she asked me to run the deliveries today, a job she normally does, I knew then she must be feeling terrible. Because getting out and about is what she loves and what I hate. I’m so far away from the school and James, if anything should happen. Some would think that’s highly unlikely—blame me for having anxiety or something, call me a helicopter parent, but I need to be ready for anything.
Pulling up to a parking spot near the main entrance to the distillery, I sit in the van and look out. My chest burns. The logo of Whiteman’s Whiskey stands out, large and proud, on the building, reminding me of the whiskey bottle that Dad shared with me on my twenty-first birthday. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the emotions coming to the surface.
