Page 72 of Whiskey Throttle
To the point, I have to ask, “Well, don’t you have anything to say?”
He breathes deep, jaw tight.
“Yeah. A hell of a lot to say. It would be easier to use women. Sleep with them, dump them, and all that bullshit.”
I wrinkle my nose. What did I expect of a guy in his early twenties?
“But then I’m thinking about waking up tomorrow and not touching you because I watched you leave. Practically dared you to go because it’s easier than admitting I’m feeling things. I’m scared I’m more invested than you.”
My hand raises to my neck, fingering the leather band around it. His eyes drift to it for a moment, then back to mine.
“I’m thinking about Dom finding out and what that’ll do. I’m thinking there’s a version of my life where I keep my distance, pretend this never happened, and just act like strangers at the next hundred events we’ll have to go to separately. A woman I knew intimately and now know not at all.”
I blink back the sting behind my eyes.
The truth is suddenly too harsh.
“That version, Barbara, makes me physically sick.”
He reaches for my hand, the one still playing with his necklace, warm from where it’s rested against my skin. I let him take it, my palm slipping into his. His rough callouses brush against my soft skin.
“Your turn.”
My throat, thick with emotion, burns.
“I’m thinking about how easy it would be to call a car and go back to my perfect life,” I admit, and his hand tightens over mine, not wanting me to leave. “Where no one looks at me twice. Where no one wants me, not like this. Where there’s no scandal. No headlines. No guilt. But no passion or desire. No feeling young and free. No living, to be honest.”
I step forward, my body touching his. Our hands clasped at our sides.
“And how desperately I don’t want all that.”
That breaks something in him. Eyes darkening. His chest rises in pride. The anger and frustration clear away until his lips curl into a soft smile.
“What do you want?”
His hand rises to stroke my cheek, cupping my chin to have me look deeper into his eyes. His thumb brushes the side of my throat.
“This.”
I slip to my knees, breaking all contact with him. The intent is clear. It’s not a game. It’s not about power or teasing or control. It’s a surrender, and he knows it. This time, I’m not just giving him head. I’m giving him the one thing I haven’t offered anyone in years.
“Are you sure?”
His question is valid, but I pull down his pants, which he lets me. Steps out of them to stand completely naked like a blonde god over me. His cock is half hard, and staring at me, waiting for my mouth once more.
I pool saliva in my hand, stroking him while his hips gently rock forward. Wanting and needing this to happen as much as I do.
“Why didn’t you just pick me up and fuck me like you did yesterday?”
His gaze is locked on my fist, working his shaft while my thumb smears his precum over his tight red tip.
“I would have, trust me.” A shuddering exhale releases. Not out of frustration this time, but out of how I’m making him feel. “But all my condoms are in my room. I wasn’t about to run naked through the house, with my cock bouncing everywhere to go get some.”
I laugh, loud and hard.
That’s the kind of harsh truth I like.
With a new understanding between us, I dive onto his cock. His groan is endless as I take him as far as I can. My fingers cupping his balls lightly and even stroking his taint with my longer fingernail. He squirms and rocks away from it. But with how fast his cock is hardening against my tongue, I know he’s enjoying the whole experience.
