Page 91 of Call You Mine

He interrupts me, crashing his lips to mine. His tongue pushes into my mouth, needy and hot, forcing its way around as it tangles with my tongue. This kiss is carnal, urgent, like he needs to taste me more than ever. “Never pegged you as an exhibitionist.”

I pull back, looking up into his lust ridden eyes. “Oh, I’m definitely not.”

He kisses me again, tugging my bottom lip between his teeth until he draws blood. “Good, because no one gets to see this pussy but me. No one gets to see what you look like when you come apart from me. Mine, Wynter. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

Reaching down between us, he pushes my skirt up over my ass until it’s bunched up around my waist. In one swift tug, he tears my drenched thong off me, shoving it into his back pocket before pushing my legs open with his. They ache as they’re pushed as far as they can go. Lifting my right leg up, he places my foot on the edge of the bar top, leaving me completely exposed to him.

My pussy is throbbing, the need to have him inside me so fucking powerful. Lowering his head, he blows softly against me. His hot breath mixed with the cool air of the room makes me gasp.

Straightening up, he reaches to his right, grabbing an almost empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the edge of the counter.Popping off the spout we use for an easier, quicker pour, he chugs the liquor left, a little over four ounces.

Lowering the bottle to my pussy, he slowly presses the mouth of the bottle against my skin, rubbing it back and forth along my wetness. I’m dripping wet, so it easily becomes coated in my arousal. A wicked gleam appears in his eyes when he smirks up at me.

On instinct, I spread my legs wider, adjusting myself on the bar so my foot doesn’t slip off.

“You ever been fucked by a bottle, Princess?” he asks as he slowly pushes the tip of the bottle inside me.

I moan, shaking my head, because no why would I, even though at this moment, I sure as fuck am contemplating why not.

Without speaking, he slides the bottle up and down my swollen lips. The cold glass feels amazing against my throbbing clit. He angles the bottle enough to apply the perfect amount of pressure as he pushes it inside me once more.

“Oh, God” I whimper, the sensation too much. “Getting bored with me already, we have to get creative,” I joke, but the look in his eyes says he’s not playing. He pushes the pottle deeper inside me until the entire neck of it disappears.

My legs shake as he moves the bottle in slow, even thrusts. I want to rub my nipples, to bring me closer to my climax, but I’m afraid if I let go of the bar top, I might just fall. His steady movements are fucking torture.

His lips fell on mine as he quickened his pace. He tastes incredible. Sweet and spicy, minty fresh, yet I can taste the light citrusy notes of the whiskey. Suddenly my body goes stiff, bile rising in my throat as the taste of the whiskey coats my mouth.

No, no, no. not now, please not now.

“Come for me baby,” he says in between kisses, but I’m no longer in the mood.

Fuck. It’s coming, and if I don’t get up and move, I’ll be puking all over him instead of coming for him.

I try to restrain myself, but I can’t. “Damon, please stop,” I cry out, and he immediately goes still. Moving back from me, he pulls the bottle out of me, his face morphing into some bewildered expression.

“Wynter, what’s wrong? I’m sorry if I…”

I don’t stay to finish hearing what he has to say. No, I bolt, running as fast as I can manage toward the restroom.

I don’t get the chance to lock the bathroom stall, barely making it inside, before Damon enters right behind me.

I dry heave into the toilet, nothing but yellow bile coming out of me. I haven’t eaten or drank anything since the last time I was in here during my last break of the night. Hell, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast this morning. Nothing stayed in, nothing sounded or smelled appetizing.

I had been fine this last hour, but the taste of the liquor on Damon’s tongue, no, I couldn’t handle that.

“What the fuck is this, Wynter?” Drake shouts, shocking me as he stands over me in the stall. I’d almost forgotten he was here.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and risk a glance up at him.

There’s no sugar coating it. No way around what I’m about to confess. Especially not when my skirt is bunched up around my waist and he’s staring down at me puking in the toilet with my bare ass up in the air.

I fell to my knees, not able to look up at him. “I’m pregnant,” I spout out right before I dry heave once into the toilet once more.

Silence.

No loud gasp, similar to the one I let out I took when I first realized my period was late. Nor the shrill cry left me like whenI took the pregnancy tests earlier today. Nothing but deafening silence in the room threatening to swallow me whole after my eerie confession. A confession I am still struggling to believe.

I almost think he didn’t hear me.

---