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Supporting her shoulders with one arm, I trail my hand up over her stomach. Her belly flutters under my palm. I study her face as I trace her cleavage with a fingertip before cupping her breast. For the briefest moment, her eyelashes flutter. The dilation of her pupils doesn’t lie. Neither does the way her nipple hardens beneath my touch. My hands turn her on.
Her lips part slightly as I weigh her breast before stroking the curve gently. My gaze is drawn to the beauty spot at the corner of her mouth. A memory of her pressing her lips on the rim of a mug rushes into my head. I want more of that too. I want her to tease me, to drive me out of my mind with need for her, because she’s always been an expert at that without even trying.
When I stop caressing her to pick up my glass, a barely audible sigh falls from her lips.
“Ever tried Scotch?” I ask.
“Yes, but I’m not a fan of hard liquor.”
“It’s an acquired taste.” Taking a small swallow, I savor the notes on my tongue. “Malty and buttery with a spicy finish.”
I take another sip and lower my head. Her eyes widen when she realizes my intention, but she doesn’t protest when I press my mouth on hers. She parts her lips and lets me feed her, accepting the alcohol and the kiss.
The taste of Scotch infuses our breaths. It lingers on her tongue as I suck it into my mouth, relishing her flavor as I prolong the kiss.
When I come up for air, she’s panting, her lips red and swollen already.
“Do you like it?” I ask, not sure if I mean the drink or the kiss.
The look in her eyes is both coy and uncertain as she peers at me through her dark, long lashes. “As you said, it’s an acquired taste.”
I raise a brow. “One you can get used to?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
Not a yes or a no. But permission to go ahead. And I grab it with both hands.
She watches me as I tilt back the glass and fill my mouth with another sip of six-thousand-euro Scotch. She already parts her lips as I swoop down, but this time, her mouth isn’t my destination. I dip my arm, laying her over my lap with her head on the armrest before locking my mouth around the tip of her breast. She gasps when the liquid bathes her nipple. The bud contracts, growing hard in my mouth. Both her feel and taste are addictive. I swallow, sucking her curve deep into my mouth. She moans and arches her back, encouraging me to take more.
I lick her nipple, enjoying the coldness of her flesh on the warmth of my tongue. I’m achingly aware that her pussy is only a hand’s reach away. The urge to slip my fingers between her legs is huge, the pull almost irresistible, but I don’t want her wet tightness on my fingertips. I want it on my tongue.
She studies me with a question in her eyes as I leave the glass on the side table, push a cushion under her head, and shift out from underneath her.
Standing, I loom over her naked body. “Bend your knees.”
She holds my gaze as she complies.
“Good girl. Now spread them wide.”
She does what I tell her to do without posing questions. This round, her obedience turns my cock harder than a steel rod because it’s not just for show. She’s wet. Her arousal glistens on the pink lips of her pussy. She wants this, whatever she thinks I’m going to give her.
Taking a long drink, I plant a knee on the sofa and go down between her legs. Her hips lift off the seat when I tease her clit with the liquid in my mouth. She gasps when I part her with my tongue. But when I drown her pussy in Scotch, she fists her fingers in my hair and offers herself like the most exquisite vessel for my drinking. And I do. I drink straight from her delicious cunt, sucking her dry, and when she’s writhing in the gentle clamp of my teeth around her clit, I eat her out.
She comes with a cry, her nails doing damage to my scalp. Beyond stopping, I can only carry on, wrenching aftershocks from her body until her shoulders collapse on the sofa and her arms fall at her sides. Until she begs me, “Stop, please. No more.”
I oblige, sitting back and spreading her pussy lips with my thumbs to look at my work. Her clit is red and swollen from my teeth and my lips. Arousal slickens her slit. The smooth skin of her inner thighs is scraped from my stubble. Her head is thrown back, her hair a wild mess around her face. Breathing hard, she watches me watching her. She’s a picture of perfect devastation, drunk on pleasure and wearing the perfume of Scotch.
There’s one sip left in the glass and nothing of my control. I take her hand and pull her into a sitting position. Cupping her head, I pick up the glass and bring it to her mouth. I turn the rim so that her lips are pressed on the same spot from where I drank. She drinks. Swallows. Her throat moves delicately with the action.
I have no idea how long I had my head buried between her legs. How long have I been here? An hour? Two?
She’s still watching me, measuring me, licking a drop of Scotch from her bottom lip while she stares up at my face. Urgency fuels my steps as I walk to the kitchen and switch off the oven. When I return to the lounge, she’s still sitting where I left her.
I go over and lift her into my arms. Nothing is said as I carry her upstairs. Words are redundant. Language is insufficient. Our bodies are enough. Lust is all we need to communicate. It’s perfectly clear when I push the main bedroom door open with a shoulder.
She clings to me as I carry her to the bed, and the strange act touches something inside me. It makes me want to hold her and tell her she’s mine to protect, that I won’t let her go.
I lay her down on the side of the bed, releasing her only long enough to take off my clothes. Naked, I crawl over her, covering every inch of her skin with mine. Her warmth and smell melt into my senses, warming me in places that have always been cold. Something clicks in place when I intertwine our fingers and stretch her arms above her head. She opens her legs for me, letting me in. My cock knows the way. It slips home easily, finding her wet and hot and tight and too much.
