Page 51 of Tennessee Trouble

My insides clench. Never in my life did I think I’d be turned on by chemistry—actual, legitimate, molecular chemistry—but hearing the way Brandt names the bond sends electricity through my veins.

“Luna…” He kisses the star, marking me with his reverence. “I’ve never been more turned on in my life.” He kisses it again, peppering me with his sweet, wet marks. “I thought you were pretty damn close to perfect before. Now…this confirms it.”

Oh, fuck me…

Brandt continues his way down my belly, his open-mouth kisses turning hotter and hotter, each one feeling like a branding iron. I get lost in the feeling, the mystery of where he’s going to touch me again, wanting my whole self to be covered by him. With his kisses.

It’s not until I hear the opening of the whiskey bottle in the background that I return to the moment.

Pushing up to my elbows, I watch carefully as Brandt brings the open bottle toward my body, hovering it right above my sex.

“Now time to combine two of my favorite things,” he says, giving me a wink. “Whiskey, and your pretty pussy.”

Cold liquid hits me, sliding through my folds, and I scream. It’s a weird, wild sensation, but it doesn’t last. Brandt’s mouth quickly replaces it, lapping at me to catch every last drop.

I scream again, the feel of his tongue against me sending me reeling. I’m still so sensitive from what he did to me in the church basement, plus all the drawn-out teasing, that the direct attention is mind-blowing. Pure, raw pleasure.

“Fuck, Luna…” He licks from bottom to top, making sure to hit my clit dead-on. “You make the perfect drink taste even better.”

He pours more whiskey onto me, this time not letting it sit for even a second before he’s back at it. Licking, sucking, nibbling. Pushing me toward an even stronger climax than earlier. One where I might need to actually know his middle name so I can shout it out when I shatter.

Turning his focus to my clit, he slides two fingers inside me, already knowing what I want. He’s playing me like a violin and he’s Niccolò Paganini. I’m nothing but a puppet, bending and acting on his will. As long as he gives me what I need, I don’t care.

Because the pleasure is all-encompassing. The sweet euphoria is surrounding me, like the fog on the creek in the mornings. Thick and heavy, pulling me in to get lost inside, clinging to me like a second skin. I want to break free, let go, and break into a million sparkly pieces. I’m so close.

“That’s it, baby…” Brandt coos, his deep voice swirling through the euphoric fog. “Come for me.”

I implode.

What starts as a hairline fracture grows, multiplies, spiderwebbing through me in an instant. Then it comes crashing down around me. White-hot indulgence spreads through me, taking over all my senses. I throw my head back, screaming, letting out everything that I’m feeling. All the good. All the joy. All the happiness.

I gasp, trying to catch my breath as I crash back down. My body heaves, my muscles not sure if they should contract or release, Brandt’s mouth still on me, staying with me as I crash. My heart is racing at a million miles an hour, my brain a blank slate, unable to process anything. Except the pure bliss coursing through me, my limp limbs, and the hot, wet mouth still working me over.

It’s perfect. Overwhelming. And leaves me wanting more.

Not just more. Him.

I shift, trying to pull away from Brandt. He doesn’t give in though. He moves to my inner thighs, branding them like he did my tummy earlier, teasing me with each new kiss.

“I…” I gasp again, trying to find my voice. “I need you inside me…please…”

Brandt stops, eyes flicking up to mine from where he’s nestled between my legs. A devilish grin spreads across his cheeks, the mischief in his eyes making my desire for him even stronger.

“Need, huh?”

Yes, I fucking need…

“Please…”

Brandt pushes up, biceps flexing, stretching the fabric of his tee to its limits. I swallow hard, watching, waiting, willing for him to move faster. He takes his time though, as if he has nothing better to do. Like there isn’t a naked woman splayed out in front of him begging him to fuck her.

Nope, this man is acting like he has all the time in the world.

Lazily grabbing his shirt by the back collar and yanking it over his head, in his own one-man modeling ad, he stretches, showing off his muscular torso and that patch of chest hair. It’s like he truly belongs on a billboard somewhere.

I blink and his pants are gone, leaving him in nothing but a pair of army green boxer briefs. My palms itch to help him out of them—to get my hands on the goods and play. But my body is still as useful as a limp noodle, too blissed-out to move.

Brandt is too fast for me anyway.