Page 4 of Whiskey's Redemption

Good.

At least I’m not alone.

Listening to her fingernails clicking on the surface, I imagine them scraping down my skin, leaving wide red marks that will hold for a few hours, even a few days. I wonder if she’d draw blood? I think I’d like that.

Trying to change the subject before my cock makes it apparent what I want, I ask, “Were you here seeing Circe?” Hoping to arouse her ire further, I add, “Was it my sister that kicked you out like a rat?”

Flinching slightly at my remark, her jet-black ponytail swings around in wild abandon. I have an urge to grip it tight. Part of me wants to train the wild out of her, but I’d rather have her fire. It arouses me. To tame a woman like her would be a fucking waste.

“Nope,” she quips, popping the ‘p.’ “Santa broke his back on my chimney last year trying to carry the sparkly new Benz down. I felt horrible for him, so I thought I’d bring him milk and cookies, as well as a mind-blowing blowjob. Mrs. Claus asked me to, as she’s too busy fucking the elves.”

That’s it.Pushing her shoulders up against the closed doors, I grind out, “Damn, woman.” Covering her filthy mouth with mine, the fire within her fights me just enough that I know she was hoping for it.

With her expensive bag falling to the floor of the elevator, her lips smash greedily against mine. Her long, perfect tongue fights for control as I try to keep her in my grip, and in my arms. Carli has this innate way of dragging an antagonistic attitude out of me. I learned that the last time we ran across one another.

Dammit, Iwantto push her. I want to crash against her body and hold her still, but at the same time, I want to let that fire loose. I want to let it engulf me.

She’s dangerous, and it’s so fucking attractive.

With a bing of the elevator, the doors open, invading our quiet. Grasping Carli by the hips, I drag her away before her lithe little body spills into the hall. Breaking away from my grip, I watch as she straightens her outfit, smooths her silken pony tail, and re-shoulders her Vuitton bag, making her the picture of perfection once more.

As an older couple walk inside, hand in hand, the two of us move to separate corners of the elevator, and as the doors close, I’m watching her every move. My blood still rises with the thoughts that are running rampant, and I’d love nothing more than to tell the people standing in our space that this carriage is occupied.

I want to hit that emergency button and show her how easy it is to tear off silk. But I don’t. The sweetness of the older couple restrains me.

Three floors later the doors open, and before I can say another word, Carli’s scuttling out beside the aged couple.

I don’t chase her. I should, but I don’t, even if I’d rather put that woman over my knee and spank the sass out of her.

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