Page 31 of Whiskey Throttle
His groan rumbles against me. I push him back until his spine meets the column. Then I press in, our bodies flush until there is nothing polite or respectful about this moment. His cock is hard again, pushing into my stomach. My mind flutters with possibilities. All the things I could teach him, he could teach me. I moan as thoughts come racing in, demanding more of him and this.
I steal the breath from his lungs. Bite his lower lip just enough to make him gasp, then soothe it with my tongue. He said he wanted to make me feel everything, but I want to take everything.
His hands grip my waist like he’s trying to survive me. It tickles my brain and tightens my core. I’m not kissing him like a woman testing boundaries. Those stopped existing the moment he came in his pants.
The champagne on his tongue lingers on mine. His cologne is light, barely there, but still envelops my senses. His body is now hard everywhere. His hands grip with restraint or perhaps to ensure this doesn’t end. Either way, he’s addictively young and devastatingly handsome. Entirely him.
Our moans are getting louder. His hands slide over my back, embracing me tighter, anchoring me to him. When I finally pull back, we’re both breathless. Staring in surprise at the level of chemistry flowing between us.
A blush appears on his cheeks in the romantic lighting here. My hand slips off his lapel to rest gently on his taut chest. His fingers press into my flesh, knowing he has to let me go, but reluctant to do so.
“Holy mother of sin.”
Low and reverent. Felt in my chest and in between my legs. His cock twitches against my stomach, ready to continue this if things and places were different.
The corners of my mouth lift. Not the careful kind of smile I give to society women across white-linen luncheons. This one is feral and free.
I lean in, brushing my lips against his ear, my voice velvet-wrapped wickedness.
“Definitely not your mother. Certainly a sinner.”
CHAPTER 9
HOLLISTER
I left through the back. Not in shame, not exactly, but with damp boxers, a pounding heart, and a thousand things unsaid still lodged behind my teeth. She didn’t follow. She couldn’t.
There were still patrons inside, hands to shake, art to sell, and photographs to be taken by her name etched in gold at the entrance. She had to return to the festivities. Had to slip back into that perfectly poised hostess role, smooth the event over with smiles, and make small talk while my taste is still on her tongue.
I waited on the veranda behind the gallery for a full ten minutes, letting the night air dry the evidence of just how undone I was by her. Letting my mind absorb everything that had happened between us. Then I rapidly began making plans to see her again.
Very discreet. Very careful. Very sure.
Yeah, I was going to make sure I was all those things. I called my family driver to pick me up and drop me back at home, but not before arranging my plan. Send him to her house the next morning before sunrise. I didn’t ask her. Didn’t demand.
Just sent it with a simple note for him to give her.
If you’re serious about being a sinner,
come find me.
—H
I could have texted. Should have, as I stand here waiting. But something about the car and note made it more bold, daring, and romantic. Now I’m here on the tarmac. My shirt’s half-buttoned, sleeves rolled, linen pants loose around my hips, both blowing in the wind. My sunglasses fix on the horizon, searching for that sleek black car, carrying my private little sinner.
The jet gleams behind me. Crew waiting, engine idling.
With every passing second of the sun rising and beating into my back, I wonder if she’ll come. My patience thins when I look at my watch for the dozenth time. I knew this was a huge risk. Having shut off my phone to intentionally block out any protest she could have sent, denying me this weekend.
It’s a gamble. One I’ve never taken for a woman. Yet she’s not just any woman. She’s badass Babs Barrett.
Stunning, perfect, and elite.
I force my gaze away from the gates where the car should be pulling through. Exhaustion pulls at my body. I sketched all night. Badly, I might add. Distracted. Every line turned into her. Every stroke of charcoal circled back to the curve of her shoulder, the ridge of her mouth, the heaviness in her stare. All with a hard cock and more feelings in my chest than I’m used to.
I can’t believe I came in my pants like a damn teenager. It speaks to how much I want her. She could touch me right now, and I’d probably bust a load even though I jerked off twice since she kissed me last night.
Fuck if that wasn’t a win.
