Page 15 of Whiskey Darling
Honey. I’d bet my entire fortune you taste of honey. Like the smoothest of bourbons tinged with the nectar of wildflowers. I’d give up my last penny to taste your sweetness when you finally come. I’d pay a fortune to taste it on my fingers. My tongue. See it coating my cock.
I’d fuck you until you screamed my name. Then I’d push you to your knees, slide inside your pretty mouth, and I wouldn’t stop until you choked on me.
Allie slams her journal shut, interrupting my perverted fantasy. She wipes her hands down the front of her low-waisted, pinstripe blue capris, unaware of my filthy thoughts. A snappy, white French cuff blouse shows off her golden skin. Her curling mass of blonde hair is pulled into a low ponytail, perfect for my hand to wrap itself in. I can’t get the image of her in that damned bikini out of my brain. Can’t erase the memory of her breasts flush against my chest and how warm she was that morning.
How would she react if she knew, when I left her on the pool terrace, I headed straight for my oversized shower? I shucked my clothes, turned the water on full blast, and surrounded by Italian marble, I jerked myself off.
Imagining it was her hand stroking my cock instead of my own.
Groaning her name when the orgasm hit me, my knees buckling with the strength of it.
I’ve tried keeping things professional, but my thoughts are far from it. I like Allie Darling, and there are a million reasons why I shouldn’t. Many are enumerated in my own ledger book. My position as her employer is number one.
That hasn’t stopped me.
Lately, she’s thrown me plenty of sidelong glances. Hungry stares so full of heat and questions that I can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same thing I am.
Like how amazing it would be if we banged each other’s brains out with no worry about the consequences.
“I have a bad habit, calling people by their last names. I didn’t mean it the way it came out—” I start explaining.
“I know. I’m getting used to it.”
Allie regards me calmly, more so than when I first entered the barrel room when she looked almost… frightened.
“Did you call me ‘honey’?” I ask, slightly confused. “A moment ago?”
“Did I?” Her head tilts. “You misunderstood, Mr. Alexander. I was just thinking out loud. An idea which may appeal to the elusive female market you are determined to conquer.”
I’m curious to know more, but her eyes shift away when I come closer, a slight intake of breath revealing how I affect her. My immaculate suit feels tight in the groin area. That’s no surprise. Just thinking about Allie Darling gets me hard.
“Told you before you can call me Flynn. Everyone here at Devil’s Gold is on a first-name basis.”
“Seems terribly informal. I’m not comfortable with it, honestly.”
I scowl. “You call Rush by his first name.” That comes out in an accusing tone.
She blinks. “Sawyer’s a friend.”
“Does taking you to dinner a few times qualify any man as your friend?” Now I sound jealous, and for fuck’s sake, how did we get off-topic?
“Depends on where he takes me.” She doesn’t hide her smile.
I can’t hide the fact her answer pisses me off.
“Neither Rush nor myself engage in romantic activities with employees. It leads to messy conflicts and situations we don’t have the time nor the energy for.”Sounds good when said aloud. Like I might actually follow my own company policy. Sounds like I’ll keep my distance. Ignore the sparks between us.
Allie finally bristles, eyes snapping fire. “Mr. Alexander, Sawyer is interested in my friend. We’ve talked about her during those dinners. We discussed markets I’m researching for product placement. There’s been nothing romantic about any of it. And while I hate bursting your egotistical bubble,you’veno reason to worry I’ll set my sights on you. You aren’t my type at all.”
Now, I’m the one bristling. My ego just took a direct hit. Like a game of Battleship, Allie sunk my fleet in one crushing blow.
“What does that mean? Not your type?” I demand, flustered.
“It means what I said.” She comes closer, stabbing at my chest with an index finger. “You’re not my type. You are so far from it, you aren’t even a blip on the radar.”
Against my better judgment, ignoring the portion of my brain screaming I shouldn’t touch her, I grip her arm.
The tension building for weeks between us swells like a tidal wave, and I’m left reeling.
