Page 76 of The Bourbon Bet
I hand him a faded dish towel and watch as the head of Blackstone Bourbon, a man who probably hasn’t ever washed a dish, carefully dries a plate. His sleeves are pushed up, revealing tanned forearms, and there’s a slight furrow of concentration between his brows that makes me smile.
Here he is in my tiny kitchen, treating my thrift store plate like it’s fine china. It’s what draws me to him. I love how he makes everything in my world feel valuable simply by the care he shows it.
I hand him another plate, and our fingers brush as he takes it. The brief contact sends a little shiver through me, every nerve ending suddenly alive to his presence. The kitchen seems to shrink around us until all I can process is him beside me. Even the warm dishwater sliding over my hands and the gentle clink of dishes takes on new intensity, like an intimate soundtrack to our closeness.
“I think you missed your calling,” I tease, handing him another wet plate.
He raises an eyebrow. “As a professional dish dryer?”
“You are very dedicated to the task.”
“I’m dedicated to doing things right.” His eyes meet mine, and the intensity in them makes me forget about the dish in my hand. “Whatever I do.” He steps closer, close enough that the heat radiating from his body calls to me. His hand rises slowly, thumb grazing my bottom lip with a touch that lingers far longer than necessary. “You had a bit of sauce, just there,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper, but his thumb doesn’t move away. Instead, it traces along my lip, his gaze fixed, as if he’s memorizing every detail.
I lick the corner of my mouth. “Did I get it all?” I ask, holding his eyes.
His gaze drops to my lips and he sways forward, but then seems to catch himself. “Yeah, you’re good,” he says roughly, turning back to the sink.
I exhale unsteadily. My hands ache to run over his broad shoulders, to feel his strength shudder beneath my touch. The thought of his stubble scraping against my sensitive skin as his mouth explores mine makes me shiver. Biting my lip against a moan, I wonder how long we can keep up this dance before the tension snaps.
I force myself to focus on something safer. “Tell me the truth. Is this your first time ever drying a dish?”
He laughs. “I’d rather not answer that question.”
“Why?” I bump his hip.
“Because you might want to choke me with the gold spoon Daniel’s convinced was lodged in my mouth during my birth.”
I shake my head, smiling. “I bet there are diamonds on that spoon too.”
“Have you been talking to Daniel? He might have mentioned those as well.” A softer smile replaces his grin. “I’m thrilled my first time is with you.”
He leans in, brushing his lips along my jawline. I arch my neck, giving him more access, and practically moan, “I’ll make sure it’s a memorable experience then.”
His touch glides across my skin as playfully as his innuendo. As his mouth moves to my ear, desire spreads through me like wildfire.
He makes his way to my mouth and a soft sigh escapes me when our lips meet. The kiss tastes of root beer and longing. His tongue traces my lower lip and I open for him. Our tongues meet in a passionate rhythm.
Gripping my hips, he sets me on the counter. Water from the sink soaks through my leggings. I don’t care, all that matters is bringing him closer. I wrap my legs around his waist, my swollen need aligning with his erection. He doesn’t grind into me, only continues to kiss me slowly and thoroughly.
I rock against him. “Sebastian, please.”
He breaks our kiss and looks into my eyes. “Tell me what you want.”
The raw hunger in his gaze burns away the last of my hesitation. I slide my hands into his pockets, grabbing his firm butt. “You. In my bedroom.”
I’m about to cross a line to give myself fully to a man I’m certain I can’t keep. But right now, with his hands on my body and his eyes filled with undisguised desire, I can’t bring myself to care. All that matters is the heat between us, the promise of pleasure and connection.
His lips trail fire down my neck. My breath comes in short gasps, anticipation mingling with something darker. Thorne’s smug face flashes in my mind like an unwelcome intruder, but I forcefully shove it aside. Tonight is about Sebastian and me, nothing else.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I want this, want him, with an intensity that scares me. The weight of my secret presses against my chest, an invisible barrier between us.
Sebastian must sense my hesitation because he pulls back, his eyes searching my face. “Rosalia? Is everything okay? Should we stop?”
Forcing myself to smile and focus on his perfect touch, I run my fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I just... I want this to be right. You and me.” Withoutour lies killing everything we touch. The words are poison I can’t spit out. Not now, not when it could shatter this fragile moment of magic.
He cups my cheek. “It is right. You and me, together. That’s all that matters. But if you’re not sure about this...”
I swallow hard, my doubts rising like specters in the face of his tender concern. Am I sure? Can I really let myself have this, knowing I might have to betray him?
