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I need to think it’s all going to work out okay—that the sky will clear, and there’ll be a double rainbow instead of another storm.
There are tears in my eyes and a moan in my throat, and I can’t remember when I last felt so many things at once. It’s as if I’ve been saving them up all year, or maybe all my life.
His mouth moves from my nipple to my throat, kissing me in a spot that makes my need flare. I shift, my legs opening as if he just pressed a button—and nearly knock over the drinks I made us.
“Oh,” I say in surprise. “I made you a drink before they left.”
“I’m otherwise occupied,” he says, dropping another kiss on my neck and then grazing it with his teeth. He’s standing in between my legs, his bare chest spot lit by the kitchen lights. One of his big hands is wrapped around my hip. He looks delicious. Positively edible.
“But I think this is the one, Danny.”
He stops what he’s doing—and I instantly regret it, but I also don’t, because no one’s ever looked at me this way. So enraptured, as if what I’m about to say is more interesting than anything that’s ever been said in the world.
“The better-than-beer drink?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows. My eyes dart to that tiny scar, and there’s a tightening in my throat.
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
“Even if it is, I’m not convinced it’s worth the interruption,” he says, leaning in to suck my nipple again. I bury my hand in his thick hair, and when he pulls away, his lips slightly shiny, I can only kiss them. He’s smiling when I edge back.
“You must really want me to try this, huh?”
Yes. No.
I do want him to try it, but I also want his hands and teeth on me. His cock inside of me.
I’m going to miss him, when I’m back at the bar.
I’m going to miss these nights together.
When I get home, he’ll be asleep. When I wake up, he’ll be working.
My throat suddenly feels like it has a grapefruit lodged inside it, choking me, but I clear it and grab the glass closest to my spread legs. “Bottoms up.”
He takes the glass with the hand that was on my face, his other hand still wrapped around my hip like he doesn’t want to let me go. “Moment of truth.”
It feels like one. I realize I’m holding my breath as he lifts the glass to his lips. My entire being is focused on it, on his reaction, on my ability to make this man a drink that will impress him. I feel pathetic for caring about that, for wanting to impress him, but there it is…
I care what he thinks.
I value his judgement.
I value him.
I…
He watches me over the rim of the glass and takes a sip.
I’m frozen. Everything in me is waiting, hushed in anticipation, like a child who gets up too early on Christmas morning.
He gives me a slow smile I feel down to my marrow. “What’s in it?”
“It’s a twist on an Old Fashioned. I figured we could make it a whole thing for our new menu—twists on classics. Sometimes people don’t realize the classics are popular for a reason.”
“It’s good,” he says, his hand caressing my hip, moving in little rhythmic circles that are making my desire for him into a pulsing, living thing. A kind of thing that has teeth. But I still need his answer. My nipples are cold, wet from his mouth, butI still need his answer.
“Better than beer?”
He pauses for a moment, and my heart nearly thumps out of my chest.
