Page 67 of Bourbon and Secrets

I play with him again. The same way, letting him part my lips and tease both of us as I rub up and down. “Watch,” I whisper as his eyes open to find me.

We both watch as I sink down slowly, my arms braced on his shoulders as I do. His thumb finds my clit instantly and pets her with enough pressure, like she’s being praised for taking him so well. The way he touches and watches amplifies everything as he stretches me until I’m impossibly full. I rock my hips forward slowly, feeling every inch of him. A gasping moan steals my breath as he pulls my hips forward, hitting even deeper than I just was. My forehead meets his as I gasp, “This?—”

A groan surges from his throat before he finishes my thought. “Feels so fucking good.”

As I roll my hips again, it ignites every single sensation along my body. He leans up, wrapping his arms around my waist as he captures my mouth. Our tongues dance at a faster pace, as if there’s not a single moment left to waste.

“I can’t get enough of you. I want—” he says as he drags his teeth along my shoulder, brushing his lips back to cover the harsh bite with something soft. At this angle, my clit grinds against him with each roll of my hips, but I need more. My whimper is all he needs to hear to deliver.

“Fuck that, I don’t just want, I need more. Hold on to me,” he says as he sits forward and rises to stand.

I circle my arms around his neck and shift my legs, wrapping them around his hips. He holds beneath my ass as he brings us to the side of the couch.

“I need to fuck you now,” he says as he guides my upper body down along the back of the couch. I’m nodding eagerly as he stands at his full height and grabs beneath each thigh before he does exactly as he said. He fucks me. Hard. Deep. And with a punishing rhythm that barely allows me to catch my breath. It doesn’t take long before I’m crying out his name.

My orgasm spurs him to hold me tighter. Skin slicked with sweat as his pace quickens, his release hits him so hard that even with clenched teeth, he moans so loudly that I get goosebumps. His body jerks just as he collapses forward, slumping as we pant for more air.

He kisses where his lips rest along my chest. “I’ll never be the same,” he mumbles in between soft kisses that have my heart stuttering. Because I can’t help but think how this just changedeverything.

“These are pretty,”he says as he drags his fingers along the lines of my tattoo. “The colors and flowers suit you.”

We’ve been lying here in a quiet daze, wrapped in each other’s arms. I hadn’t had the urge to move or overthink. Just enjoy the way we just devoured and worshiped the other.

“I had always loved how these vibrant floral tattoos looked on women. I love how it looks on me now.” I smile. There’s no meaning around the flower or the color, only that I thought it was pretty. I needed something pretty at that time in my life when everything felt so ugly and confusing. “When I left Fiasco, I had a hard time thinking that I deserved much. Let alone pretty things. I walked by a tattoo shop, just after seeing these beautiful dancers on stage at a burlesque show and decided to go in.”

I’m draped along his chest, my head resting right over his heart. And it shouldn’t be comfortable, someone as solid and built, but I’m moments away from falling asleep. Even with his chest hair tickling at my cheek.

“What does your tattoo...” I shift to trace the lines that wrap along his side and waist. “The Bourbon Boys.” His skin is still slick with sweat, but I don’t care. I like touching him.

“My brothers have it too.” He clears his throat. “Our mom used to call us that—her bourbon boys. If my dad was still here, I know he’d have gotten one too. He’d have done just about anything for her.”

I trace the window panes of his tattoo. “Flowers. For the girls?”

He nods and plays with the ends of my blonde hair.

“And the glass of bourbon is obvious.” I run the pads of my fingers along the blank square. “What about this one?”

“Everything was hard when they were smaller—so much harder than now.” He releases a long breath. “I hadn’t realized how much parenting I wasn’t doing until I was the only one left to do it.” A crooked smile quirks his lips as he laughs lightly, like he’s glad to not be so overwhelmed like he was a few years ago. “I would never remember to bring things for the girls to do. Liv used to always remember stuff like that—coloring books for restaurants, beads and pipe cleaners for waiting rooms, but I’d always forget. I was lucky if I’d get them places on time, never mind if I remembered activities to keep them occupied once I got there. I didn’t always want to hand over my phone for them to zone out on videos of kids playing with toys, so this gave them a space to color. They had to remember the markers, and I’d let them draw.” He smiles while talking about the memory. It’s too easy to smile in response.

He looks down at me while his fingers move along the outlines of my flowers.

I watch his hands glide along my skin. “It was just the outline for a while, and little by little, I added color,” I say with a smile dancing along my lips. “It took time but, eventually, these flowers felt like they were always supposed to be there.” My words linger as his fingers trace the lines.

He clears his throat and shifts. His fingers stop moving when he asks, “What were you doing at Blackstone’s auction last night?”

I knew I would only be able to go so long without having to explain that.

I pull in a breath for a little courage before I say, “Burlesque dancing isn’t the only thing I’ve been doing since I left.”

He turns his body just enough to keep me in his arms, but also to be able to watch me as I tell him more.

“I knew after that night in the cornfield that I couldn’t step foot inside that police station in good conscience. That wasn’t the kind of officer I wanted to be—starting out already harboring lies. Leaving made it easy to leave that part of myself behind. But then Del...” I smile, thinking about him. “He’d always been a mentor in a lot of ways. Ended up putting the idea of private investigating in my head. It was an easy certification process, and I had no expectations of myself or from anyone else.” I swallow and shift to my side, looking up at him. “Looking at the details, asking the right questions, and talking to people has always been my strong suit. Del would send me case information and I’d offer my feedback. It turned into other jobs. And now, one of those jobs has brought me back here.”

“Blackstone?” he confirms, brow furrowed.

I give him a nod and add, “I needed to get close to him. Surveillance, digging into his background, looking for things that would be helpful in understanding his clientele. The ones that weren’t ‘on the books.’ The FBI is building a case on someone he’s connected to in Fiasco. I needed to get into that auction tonight. I lied,” I say, swallowing my nerves at trusting him with this information. “Blackstone is business, not a friend.”

“Business that landed you back in your hometown and in bed with one of the people attending that event,” he says.

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