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Her mouth hangs open comically wide, and I use my free hand to push it closed. I rub my thumb across her bottom lip and her tongue pokes out, licking the path I just made as if she needs a reminder of my taste. The temperature around us heats up, our faces so close together our breaths mingle as one. The raw desire to taste her, to have my lips, teeth, and tongue on her sweet flesh is all consuming.
“Tequila,” she squeaks out, breaking the spell between us. Cleaning her throat, she tries again. “I want to try your tequila. I heard from a few different people on the beach that Jiménez Casa Agavera tequila is the best. Show me what you’ve got.”
“I haven’t decided if you can stay yet,” I snipe, removing my hand from her throat and grazing my fingertips over her collarbone. Her nipples are hard peaks, pushing against the thin fabric of her bikini top and fuck, I want them in my mouth. I’m salivating like a goddamn baby and that is unacceptable.
She rolls her eyes and ducks away from me. “We both know you’re not kicking me out Mr. Grumpy Pants. Accept it, I promise it’ll be easier once you do.”
It’s clear her words have a double meaning, and I fist my hands at my side so I don’t reach out and draw her back to me, or worse, bend her over my knee and slap her creamy, pert ass for being a brat.
She’s not yours.
Fuck, I need that imprinted on my brain. Every second I’m around this wild doe, I lose any semblance of restraint. It’s unfathomable, but no less true. She is everything I shouldn’t want and yet, I crave her nonetheless. In a single short plane ride she found her way through my carefully crafted defenses and imprinted herself on me so that she is the only thought bouncing around my brain on an endless loop. Her sharp tongue, foolish demeanor, and sexy as fuck body have hypnotized me in a way I’m not entirely sure I can recover from.
“Fucking hell,” I groan and head to the back of the cellar to grab a bottle of tequila. An añejo. The tequila I shared with the tourists earlier was a silver, time to give them something heartier—full of depth and flavors that sit well on the tongue.
The air is thicker back here, the temperature cooler. I pull in a slow deep breath and let it center me. I control my thoughts. My actions. My words. Not the other way around. No one has control over me. Let’s get this shit show over with. I need a cold shower and at least six hours of sleep to reset.
“This is our añejo tequila,” I announce walking into the tasting room with the amber liquid. I place it on top of an older barrel in the center of the small room and silently thank Manny for setting up the shot glasses, limes, salt, and aloe vera leaves ahead of time.
“This specific one is aged two years and six months before being bottled—not a day less. Its flavor is rich and boasts of earthy notes. It’s also my personal favorite. When my ancestors started this farm, it was with a handful of agave plants and dreams of bringing the best tequila to Puerto Vallarta.” I pour a few ounces into the glass I’ve claimed as mine, and take a sip. The smooth oak and dark caramel flavors are robust on my tongue and slide down my throat easily.
Just as smooth as I remember.
“And in my not so humble opinion, we have succeeded.”
I slice up the limes and filet the aloe vera. “This is my father’s favorite way to shoot tequila,” I tell them, rimming a new shot glass with aloe before rolling the edge in salt and filling it with añejo. “It’s something his father taught him and though it’s not my preference, it’s not bad either.” I lick the rim of the glass and empty the liquor into my mouth, swallowing it down before sucking on a lime.
Heat floods my veins while the sour taste twists my lips. Definitely not my favorite. I fill a few shots like that and step back, letting the horde get their taste in. They’ve already sampled our blanco and reposado tequilas, this is the last one and clearly the best from their murmurs of excitement and approval. Although, that could just be the hefty amount of alcohol swimming in their systems already. I tend to have a heavy hand when pouring.
Phantom whispers echo through the room; I can almost hear my mom's chiding voice, laced with amusement, as I poured shots for my uncles during parties. I was only a young kid then, but the habit never left. My skin itches when the memories I’ve forced myself to lock away come out to play, pressing down on me. Where the fuck is Manny? He said he’d be back by now. I don’t want to be in this cellar a moment longer than I have to.
My eyes lock on a pair of vibrant green ones, noting the desire swimming within them. She hasn’t moved to try the tequila and that just won’t do.
“Come,” I demand, harsher than I intended. Oh fucking well.
She purses her lips and raises an eyebrow at me. “What am I, a dog?”
“No, you’re trouble and a pain in my ass,” I mumble, grabbing the bottle of tequila and taking it to her.
“Tilt your head back and open your mouth like a good girl,” I challenge. “Flatten your tongue and let me fill you up so you can taste the decadence that is Jiménez … tequila.”
Fuck. Me. She actually does it. Her eyes shutter with lust as she gives herself over to me, again. Doesn’t she know how dangerous that is for her? I’m not a simple man. I’m not a gentle man. I want to taint her with darkness, devour her very essence until I’m bathing in her light and sharing my dark. I’d never take her shine away, but fuck if I might leave a few rough scars behind.
My hand glides up and down the column of her neck, feeling the flutter of her pulse as I pour the tequila into her mouth. She swallows every drop that I give her and I bite back on the good girl comment, trapping it in my mouth so it doesn’t slip out for a second time. She is not mine, and we have no contract in place. I cannot treat her as I would the others, she has no idea the depth of my depravity or the height of my praise.
And why the fuck do I have to keep reminding myself of that? She. Is. Not. Mine.
“Fuck, that’s hot. Can I be next?” a short, young, blonde woman asks, sidling up next to me.
She’s been annoyingly obvious in her advances, even after I clearly and concisely made it known I was not interested. I’m tempted to kick her and her mouthy friend off the tour, but fuck knows what backlash these media obsessed young twenty-year-olds could wreak on my father’s business. Instead, the sharp retort on my tongue turns to ash and I curl my lip up in a soundless snarl, giving her a cold look of dismissal.
“He’s tapped out. He doesn’t have time to play with anyone else, sorry girls.”
The venom dripping from Bambi’s voice is thick and cloying. Why do I find it so goddamn sexy? I give her a speculative glance, and she shrugs like it was nothing, but I don’t miss the pink tinting her cheeks. Ah, so she didn’t mean to show the touch of jealousy there, interesting.
A hand clasps on my shoulder and I tense. “Hola amigo, lo siento. Getting out of the city center was hell. Too many people in one place. ¿Cómo estás?”
I greet Manny, shrugging off his hand in a way that isn’t dismissive, no matter how much I want to take a few steps away. I wasn’t kidding when I told the doe that touching people without their express consent is unacceptable. I realize that might be hypocritical coming from me when I very obviously blur the lines with her, but she gave me her consent, and if she truly didn’t want me to touch her, I wouldn’t.
