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“Ouch.”I wince and reach for her tumbler, but she smacks my hand away.
“No mixing booze and painkillers.”
“I didn’t take the painkiller,” I say.“Not the loopy one, anyway.I’m on regular old ibuprofen.”
“So, you’re not being nice because you’re high,” she murmurs.
“Painkillers don’t make me nice; they make me sick to my stomach,” I say, taking a sip of her drink and setting it down with an appreciative hum.“Nice.Bourbon?”
“Whiskey, but I put some homemade bitters in there.Cardamom bitters with a touch of orange blossom honey.”
I nudge her knee with mine.“See?You’re a damned genius.Even your sad girl drink is a work of art.”
“I’m not a sad girl, I’m a sad woman.”She skims her nails down my thigh through my pajama pants.“Don’t you forget it.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I say, my voice low and soft.“Believe me.Especially when your nails are in any way involved.”
“Don’t talk about how much you liked the way I clawed up your back in November,” she whispers, her gaze fixed on her hand as her fingers curl around my leg, making it increasingly difficult to fight the erection thickening behind the seam of my pajama pants.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll want to do it again and we can’t.”
Cock swelling despite my best efforts, I ask again, “Why not?”
“You’re hurt.”
“We can be careful,” I counter, fully erect now and not the slightest bit ashamed of it.
“We can’t.OrIcan’t, anyway.I know I can’t.When I’m with you…”
“When you’re with me…” I prompt, dying to cover her mouth with mine and taste the honeyed whiskey lingering on her lips.
“You make me wild.Crazy,” she whispers.“Crazier than I’ve ever felt before.Even with Ben.I want to rip you apart and devour every piece.”
“Please do.”I curve my hand around her hip, cupping the side of her tight ass in my hand.“Devour me.I’m a willing victim to your cannibalistic urges.”
“No,” she says again, more firmly this time.“I’m seriously afraid I would hurt you, and I know I would regret it in the morning.But I probably won’t regret this, at least not too much.”
She reaches between my legs, stroking me through the flannel fabric of my pants.I swallow a groan, but quickly lose the battle against self-control when she slips her hands behind my waistband, her cool fingers curling around the burning length of my cock.
“Fuck, Freckles.”I thread my fingers into her soft hair as she presses closer to my side.“That feels so good.”
“Don’t talk, kiss me,” she says, lifting her face to mine.She kisses me hard as she continues to work my shaft, up and down.Our tongues dance and tease and the whiskey tastes even better on her lips, just the way I knew it would.
But as good as her lips taste and her hands feel, this isn’t me.
I’m not a taker.Not unless I’m positive I get to return the favor…
“If I let you do this, I get to take you upstairs to my room after,” I say between kisses.“You know you want to ride my face until you come all over my tongue.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Liar.”I stifle another groan as she teases her thumb around the leaking tip of my cock.I’m about ten seconds from losing it when she pulls back, lifts her hand to her lips, and licks my pre-come from the pad of her thumb, and suddenly control is a word I used to know.
I fist my hand in the hair at the base of her neck and drag her mouth back to mine, kissing her hard and deep, until a hungry sound escapes the back of her throat.
I’m so in love with that sound, I almost don’t notice the other sound.
