Page 67 of Bourbon and Lies

He lets go of my hand and moves toward his workbench. On the shelf above, he pulls down an unmarked bottle of bourbon. “It’s an escape from everything. The life I chose. The one I couldn’t live up to. The person I no longer recognized. And then people looking at me like...”

Shaking his head, he steps closer to me, erasing the space and pouring some of what he just pulled out into one of the glasses.

I stay quiet, watching and hoping he’ll keep talking. But instead of finishing his thought, he holds up the glass, tipping his nose inside to smell the notes before bringing it to my lips. “This is mine.” I keep my eyes trained on his as he tilts the rim of the glass, letting him do it for me. “My year.” My head moves back with the motion, my tongue catching the first bite, opening my lips just enough to let more in. The warm vanilla and smoked oak flavor hits my palate first, and then a burned caramel takes over as it travels farther, coating my tongue and throat.

A few drops escape my lips, but as I move to wipe it, he stops my hand and holds it back. I search his eyes for the briefest moment before he leans forward and licks from my chin up to the corner of my mouth, making my core clench. “Tastes even better on you,” his voice rasps.

“More?” I ask as I swipe my tongue along my lower lip.

I dip my finger in what’s left in the glass.

He watches as I pull my pointer up and toward his mouth and drag the pad of my finger around his lips, dousing them with his bourbon. Leaning in, I kiss the trail I left. Our tongues move so slowly together, a sensual push-and-pull I’m eager to keep the tempo on.

The rumble that comes from his throat vibrates his lips, through my body, down to my chest, swooping into my belly and setting everything below it on fire. As I pull back, he hooks his finger into the thin strap of my dress, dragging it down over my shoulder, and kissing along my jaw. “I’m still thirsty, honey.”

“Don’t stop,” I breathe out.

That’s all that he needs to unleash whatever he’s been keeping at bay.

He rips the rest of my strap down, exposing the pink lace bra that matches the cheeky undies under the skirt of this dress. I thank the humidity that forced me to choose something light instead of the smoothing efforts that Spanx would have offered.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says as he drags his calloused fingers along the tops of my breasts, dipping just inside the cups. “So beautiful.” The scratch of his touch along the tops of my nipples has goosebumps appearing in its wake. I practically pant for more. Eager for his praise and starved for his touch.

Reaching behind his neck, he pulls off his shirt in one fast motion. I’ve seen him without a shirt on before, but never with the undercurrent that I could touch. That even if it’s just for tonight, he’s mine. I don’t even realize that I’ve started running my fingers down the front of his chest, across the tattoos that start on each shoulder and meet in the middle. My fingers lift when I hear another rumble in his throat. I can’t keep the smirk off my face, knowing I’m turning him on the same way.

“Your turn now.” He grabs the bottle of bourbon and takes a swig. “Let me see what I’ve been dreaming about sucking on, Laney.”

It’s not sweet or swoony, but those words make me all too eager to do exactly as he says. I roll the rest of my dress down my stomach and past my thighs until it hits the hardwood floor, and I watch as his eyes follow. They skim up my body, never stopping until they reach my eyes again. When I flick the clasps of my bra and let it drop, he licks his lips. “The way I’ve thought about you, just like this. Offering yourself to me...” He rubs his hand across his mouth, and the look on his face is enough to give me full-body tingles.

Holding out my hand, I look toward the bottle he has looped between two fingers. He steps closer, passing me the heavy glass bottle, almost full, minus the dram he poured when he opened it. I press the opening to my lips and take the smallest sip. I leta bit dribble from my mouth, and then pull it away, tilting it just enough to trickle a path of bourbon from the top of my chest down the slope of my breast and tip of my nipple.

The smirk that dances on his lips is all I need to encourage my next words.

“Drink up, cowboy.”

He lets out a quiet growl and a “Yes, ma’am.” Dipping low, his tongue drags across the top of my breast, lapping up the trail of bourbon. But he doesn’t linger there. Instead, his lips are back on mine in a starved kiss. His hands dive into my hair and tilt me exactly where he wants. As his mouth travels down my neck, his hips push into me, backing us against the wall. His head drops lower moments later, trailing a path of kisses from just below my ear, down my neck, and to my collarbone, pulling airy moans from my chest. One of his hands still fixed along my neck, cups my jaw as his thumb draws a path over my lips. He presses it in, past my teeth and to my waiting tongue, wordlessly telling me to suck.

“The things I’ve imagined doing to this pretty mouth...” he says, lowering to his knees and cupping my breast. His tongue swipes along the curve of the other, and then teases my nipple where a drop of bourbon waited patiently for him. “This body.” It’s not enough, I want more. Arching my chest, I practically drive my hips toward him for some kind of friction. I drag my free hand into his hair, my nails scraping against his scalp.

“Don’t tease me.”

“You want more? Then keep pouring, baby.”

“I’m going to waste too much,” I laugh out.

“It’s the best bottle I’ve ever had. And it’s got nothing to do with the notes or the year, and everything to do with how I’m drinking it.” He leans up, licking the valley right in between both breasts, and then smiles up at me. “Now pour.”

So I do exactly as he says, because if I’ve just realized anything, it’s that I like when Grant Foxx tells me what to do. I more than like it. I’m practically getting off on his words alone.

Small rivulets of bourbon pour down the peaks and valley of my chest, toward his waiting lips. Teasing across each breast with his tongue, he makes a path down the slope of my stomach. As he gets closer to my panties, he peppers open-mouthed kisses past my navel. He looks up for permission as his fingers hook into the waist of the pink lace.

I bite my lip and give him a smiling nod. I rock my hips forward as he drags my panties achingly slow down my thighs until they reach my cowboy boots. When I step out, he tosses them somewhere behind him. “The boots stay on.”

I hum at the way his hands run back up the path they just came.

“When my tongue kisses this sexy pussy, is she going to be nice and wet for me?”

I can’t hold back the nervous laugh. I’ve never had anyone talk to me like this. His words have sparked an entirely new level of sexual confidence within me, one I want to embrace.

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