Page 168 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
But she stared back at me, unwavering, chin held high.
I couldn’t admit it to myself, not even after hearing her say the words.
Still, I managed to push away from her as my heart screamed in protest. It begged me to ask again, to not let her go.
But what else could I do?
I love you. I always will.
I needed to tell her, but when I opened my mouth, I realized it didn’t matter.
She already knew it.
And it still didn’t change a thing.
So, I clenched my jaw, and then, just like I promised, I turned and walked away.
The steps I took across her apartment toward her door felt like a walk down death row. My shoulders slumped, chest aching, head pounding at the loss I couldn’t even truly understand. It was too big to wrap my mind around.
But this was it. She was getting married.
And not to me.
The door handle was cold when I reached for it, and then thunder grumbled through the apartment as B cried out.
“Wait!”
I paused, unsure if I’d really heard it or just wished for it so badly my mind was playing tricks on me.
I tilted my head, turning slowly.
And then I saw it.
She wore the look I’d seen since we were teenagers, the longing, heartbreakingly sad look that told me she loved me — even when she wished she didn’t.
And she wanted me, too.
My control snapped like a dry piece of pasta.
I crossed the room in five long strides, B’s breathing picking up more and more with every step. Her eyes stayed locked on mine, her hands against the window, and she opened her mouth to say something when I finally reached her, but I silenced whatever it was with a hard, passionate kiss.
Lightning flashed, and B gasped into my mouth before I ran the pad of my thumb along her bottom lip, savoring the way it felt to taste her again.
When her tongue chased my thumb, licking it, I groaned, and crashed my mouth onto hers once more.
Two years of pain and longing and anxiety dripped off me like rain as I pushed B against the window. I couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t find enough contact as I grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head.
“You’re not marrying him,” I growled against her lips, and like a good girl, B kept her hands suspended above her head as I grabbed the bottom of her tank top and peeled it up and over. I made quick work of her sports bra next, groaning at the sight of her after so long. And then, my hands were on her wrists again, and I dropped my mouth to suck one perfect nipple between my lips.
She bucked against the touch, writhing, and I grinned as I moved up to kiss her again before I turned her palms until they were flat against the window.
“Hold,” I told her.
And then I fell to my knees.
My little surfer girl panted and heaved as she watched me hook my fingers in her sleep shorts and strip them down to her ankles. I dipped one finger under her lacy panties with my eyes on her, and we moaned together as I slid that finger inside her, feeling how wet and ready she was.
B dropped her head back against the window as I fingered her, and then I wrapped my hands around the back of her thighs, holding her steady as I planted a feather-light kiss on her clit.
“Fuck,” she whispered, and I grinned against her mound before hooking my hand behind one of her knees. I brought it to my shoulder, careful to balance her as I ran my tongue along her slit before flicking her sensitive bud.
Her legs shook violently when I pressed two fingers inside her, tongue still lashing right where I knew she loved it.
“Oh, God.”
“Mmm,” I hummed, and she trembled again at the vibration. I sucked and licked and tasted her like a savage beast, like I hadn’t eaten in weeks, and she was a four-course meal.
She was close to coming when I crawled back up her body, kissing her with the taste of her pussy still fresh in my mouth. I grinned when I saw she’d kept her hands right where I told her to.
“Such a good girl.”
I backed up then, stripping my wet shirt off before I slowly unbuckled my belt. I kept my eyes on her, raking over every blessed inch of her toned body as I undressed. And when I dropped my briefs, my hard-on springing to attention, B lost control.
She pushed off the glass, desperate to touch me, but I caught her wrists again and spun her.
Pressing her chest into the glass, I held her wrists in place with one hand and dragged the wrapped condom I’d slipped out of my jeans along her arm, her ribs, the small of her back. My bare cock slipped between the supple cheeks of her ass, and she whimpered.
