Page 24 of Missed Exit

There’s a wicked glint in his eyes. A challenge.

Two can play, music man.

I close my fingers over his wrapped around the bottle and pull it in my direction. Leaning my head down, but making sure my eyes stay lifted to his, I let my tongue trace the rim. His attempt to mask his body’s reaction falls short.

Having him off his game could be fun. No way am I stopping now.

Again, I trace the mouth of the bottle . . . and then, I dip my tongue inside, curling it as I pull it back out. His jaw locks, and his eyes hood. I may have lost the bet, but I’m going to wipe that smug smile right off his gorgeous face.

I inch the bottle into my mouth and close my lips around it, and then I pull it out—oh, so slowly, suctioning my cheeks before I release it. I tongue the opening again, reaching deeper this time.

His eyes are glued to the show. Turning the tables on him is so much fun.

I slip my tongue farther into the bottle and twist it slightly.

He lets out a prolonged groan.

I pump my mouth on the bottle a few times, letting my tongue go deeper.

My confidence soars . . .

Right up to the moment I realize how badly I’ve fucked up.

Oh, shit. The stakes just got too damn high.

Increasing the force when I pull only makes it worse. I’ve created a vacuum.

My tongue is stuck in this fucking bottle.

Panic rises, and I’d rather die than have him know what’s happening, but if I don’t let him know what’s happening, I may literally die with my tongue stuck in this fucking bottle!

This cannot be how I die.

Law’s confused expression makes it clear he’s not entirely sure what’s happening.

I point to the bottle. “Izz sthuck!”

His mouth quirks, and I swear, if he laughs right now, I’ll slam this bottle into the wall and stab him with a broken shard.

“Okay, I need you to try to calm down,” he says, making the condescending lowering motion with his hands.

What you need is to gird your loins and hope I don’t hit an artery when I stab you with a piece of broken glass!

Forcing the tip of his pinky between my tongue and the lip of the bottle, he manages to press his knuckle against my tongue, and then tip the bottle just enough to break the vacuum.

He quickly slips the bottle off my swollen tongue. His smile is heroic.

And then he laughs.

And, so do I.

I laugh hysterically.

I’m not sure if it’s the sheer relief of knowing I’m not going to die, or just the absolute absurdity of the whole situation. Of all the fantasies I’ve had about being naked with him, never once was there a bottle hanging off my tongue.

He wraps both his arms around me, and my laughter subsides as his mouth closes on mine. I’ve forgotten all about being naked until his warm hand slides down my back to cup my ass. I don’t need to be someone else anymore.

Breaking the kiss, he murmurs, “Can I get another taste if I promise to leave the bottle on the table?”

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