Page 12 of My Bloody Valentine

“My own creation. A chocolate cream liqueur unlike anything else in the world.” His voice drops lower. “I make it in small batches. For special occasions.”

The alcohol warms my blood, making my head swim. Or maybe it’s his proximity, the way his fingers brush my skin deliberately.

“Another taste?” He doesn’t wait for my answer before pressing the glass to my lips again.

The liqueur slides down my throat, warming me from the inside out. Each sip makes my thoughts hazier and my inhibitions lower. Adrian’s touches become bolder, his fingers trailing patterns on my bare shoulders.

“How many of these have I had?” I do my best to hold my voice steady.

“Worried I’m trying to get you drunk?” His breath fans across my neck.

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“I prefer my guests... aware.” His hand molds to my face. “Dulled senses defeat the purpose of our tasting, don’t they?”

I lean into his touch despite myself. “Then why the alcohol?”

“The liqueur opens up different flavor profiles. Helps you taste...” His thumb grazes my bottom lip. “...deeper notes.”

But there’s something calculated about how he keeps the glass at my lips and measures each pour. The blindfold makes me feel defenseless, unable to track how much I’m drinking. I can’t tell if the room tilts from the wine or his closeness.

“I should go.” The words escape in a hurried whisper.

“Should you?” His other hand slides to my waist. “Your body says otherwise.”

He’s right. Every nerve ending crackles with awareness. The liqueur has loosened my muscles and made me pliant under his touch. But my mind remains sharp enough to recognize the danger—and to want it anyway.

“How much of this is the alcohol?” My hand moves for the blindfold.

Adrian’s fingers encircle my wrist. “You know it’s deeper than that.” His grip is gentle but firm. “You’ve been craving this since you first tasted my special chocolate.”

His fingers trace patterns up my sides, each touch deliberate and maddening. The silk blindfold continues to heighten every sensation as Adrian’s hands trace the contours of my waist, never straying too far but somehow making me ache for more.

“Your skin is so responsive.” His thumb follows my collarbone, drawing a shiver from me. “Every touch makes you come alive.”

I grip the counter’s edge behind me, trying to steady myself as his fingers drift across my throat. He measures my pulse, a satisfied hum escaping him when he feels it racing.

“Please...” The word slips out.

“Such sweet begging.” His touch burns against my skin. “What are you asking for?”

His other hand trails my bare arm to my shoulder, rendering me speechless. His touch is feather light as he traces the strap of my dress, following it down to where it meets the fabric at my chest.

I yield to his touch, seeking more, but Adrian maintains that maddening distance. His fingers dance across my stomach, making me tense. Every caress builds the tension coiling inside me.

“Your heart’s pounding.” His palm flattens against my sternum, feeling each rapid beat. “Are you afraid? Or excited?”

“Both,” I whisper, tilting my head back as his hand slides up to my throat again.

He cups my jaw while his other hand continues its torturous exploration of my waist, hip, and lower back. Each touch is precise, never crossing any lines but somehow more intimate than if he had.

“You’re trembling.” His fingers trace my spine through my dress.

I am. Every nerve ending is on fire, desperate for more than these teasing touches. But Adrian maintains perfect control, his hands never straying beyond what’s proper even as they drive me mad with want.

6

ADRIAN

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