Page 56 of Lucky 14

So I shove that thought away, taking a swig right out of the bottle. It burns in a welcoming, warming way.

Oakley is watching me, those eyes tracking every movement. I grin, toasting the bottle at him. “Want some?”

“No.”

“Oh, but I insist.” I glance around, not seeing any cups. So I shrug, moving up to him. “Open your mouth.”

Oakley’s eyes widen.

“I said open.” Even issuing the command makes my dick hard.

“I’m not… Let me pay the fine, and I’ll go back to my room.” Oakley’s eyes shift in that helpless look that makes me want to kiss the fear right out of him. I don’t like fear. I want to bury it. Smother it in anything I can get my hands on. And right now, that’s tequila.

“We’re getting there, impatient mousey.” I take another swig. Oakley looks hot even with that black eye. In fact, it adds to his look, making him look troubled and so, so sad.

I don’t like sad either.

“Drink.” I can’t keep the growl out of my voice. I don’t want to see Oakley sad. I don’t want his sadness to rub off on me. I need him to be happy. Loose. Off guard, so he can tell me why he’s here.

And why he’s so damn sad.

No. I glare at him until he parts those full lips. That bottom one sticks out in a kissable pout.

Heat is starting to warm my chest from the liquor. I see a look pass through Oakley’s eyes. It’s not sadness or fear…no, this time it’s anger.

Well, that won’t do. In a last-minute decision, I take the swig that was meant for him, then press my mouth over Oakley’s lips. He startles, trying to pull away, but I only chase after him, crushing our lips together, pushing the tequila past his closing lips into his mouth.

For a second, he’s frozen. Then I feel his tongue working and his lips close to swallow.

Only then do I let him pull away.

Oakley looks stunned, his lips puffy and his pupils dilated. That anger is gone, and he’s back off balance. I feel that warmth creeping into the room. The warmth that goes to both of us. The dangerous warmth.

Fucking hell. Playing with Oakley is like playing with fire.

I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I ask partially to do research on him later, and partially to satisfy my curiosity, “What’s your last name?”

He looks slightly confused, but still answers, “King.”

Oakley King. I roll it around in my mouth. “Middle?”

“Want my social and date of birth too?”

“While you’re at it.” I throw him a wink.

“Go fuck yourself.”

I take another drink, then hand the bottle to him. This time, he takes it without arguing. I wait to see if he’ll drink it.

He raises it to his lips, and then a flicker of that defiance is back. Immediately, I warn, “If you pretend to drink that, I’ll do it again, only you’ll be on your back.”

Suddenly, I’m flooded with the image of Oakley on his back under me, those eyes turned up at me with lust. I wonder if there’s another way I could get him to drink it? Pour the alcohol down my stomach and along my dick right into his mouth.

I grow so hard it hurts. Fuck, I want my dick in Oakley’s mouth. Would he try to bite it off? Would he gag? Fight me? Give in and grip my thighs in a silent plea to let him breathe?

My dick throbs against my leg, and I shift, watching Oakley take a real drink from the bottle. Then, he puts it down.

“My middle name is Rebel.”