Page 46 of Whiskey Splash

When I turn back to Tam he’s looking desperately at Desmond.

“You're the first,” Desmond confirms, his hot eyes narrowing at me and asking what game I’m playing. Only, I’m studying Tam’s reaction.

“Is that true?” I press, and the kid jams his hands in his pockets awkwardly.

“Uh, um, he—” Tam smacks his lips, fumbling for words.

“Oh, I see.” I look back at Desmond with a cheeky grin. “I must be number two or three. Heck, who's counting!”

“No, it's not—” Tam struggles to explain, but Desmond interrupts him.

“It's fine, Tam,” he says, finally walking into the room after me and giving me a heated stare. “She's just playing with you.”

Tam shakes his head, completely flustered, and excuses himself into the elevator. I wave goodbye and give Desmond a moment to tell him … well, whatever he's going to tell him.

Leaving them behind, I stride through the first room and into the second. It opens up to a giant living space with cozy modern furniture, white walls, and lots of tropical plants. The ceiling is high with several gold chandeliers sparkling with crystals. Looking toward the ocean are several arched windows that open to the bay, which I can’t see with the thunder and rain outside still rumbling.

Instinctively, I start turning off the lights, darkening the massive room before I walk past the couches and bar to the patio balcony on the far side. I drop my tote bag on the coffee table and let my eyes adjust to the darkness, opening the French doors that lead out to a gorgeous pergola-style trellis and it makes my stomach flutter with the romance of it.

Thick vines coil and weave through the structure blocking out the rain, a lush of dark leaves covering the poles and sides of the trellis. Large yellow trumpet flowers dangle like jewels dripping with rainwater from the underside, hanging above a small pool and creating an arch-like cave of vines. The entire patio and pool are laid with Spanish tile, starting with tiny designs on the cool glaze beneath my feet and erupting into more elaborate geometric patterns as the markings dip into the pool.

I walk up to the long horizontal basin and notice one side is a tiled ramp allowing you to wade into the waters, the floor covered in swirling images—mandalas, and starbursts, and floral patterns. Lightning flashes off in the distance, igniting the expanse of dark clouds that span all the way to the horizon and painting the sky in an amber purple hue.

“Would you like a fresh towel?”

Behind me, Desmond is leaning against the open French door, tossing his hair with a fluffy towel and offering me the second one folded in his free hand.

Graciously, he hasn’t turned any of the lights back on, which helps put me at ease. I watch him a moment as he dries his face and hair, then the front of his chest where his shirt is still open.

Awake under his gaze, I drop the wet towel clutched around my torso and kick the sopping lump across the tile toward some patio furniture. Immediately, my body prickles without the weight and shield of it, the dress clinging to my shoulders and tits. I walk toward him, legs and stomach exposed, the cotton fabric gripping my body with a hot sense of desperation.

I take the towel he’s offered, the rich cotton fabric is extra decadent, and nuzzle my face into its softness. Tilting to the side, I dry my hair, the graze of the towel against my ears and scalp absolutely heavenly.

“I'm sorry about Tam,” Desmond says. “I wasn't trying to make things awkward. I forgot he was here, and then there’s the issue of your dress.” His eyes skate down my body and I pretend to wring out my hair to distract myself. “The dress is wet and—”

“I look naked,” I say blatantly, dropping the towel on a patio chair and not bothering to dry the rest of me. I stand before him, the warmth of the night air sticking to my body, leaving little to the imagination.

In the darkness, I can still see Desmond’s eyes sparkle.

“You shouldneverwear that in a rainstorm again,” he scolds.

“No?” I loft back, my voice light. “Are you going to punish me if I do?”

He steps forward and cups my jaw so delicately I almost tremble. “Damn right, I am,” he says harshly, wetting my lips with his. For all the delicacy of his fingers, his mouth is hot and demanding, licking and opening me till I'm drunk on his teasing. His hands feather down my neck till they’re at the collar of my dress, the heat from before is softer now, his fingers delicately unbuttoning. I don't stop him, his knuckles and thumbs grazing my cleavage as he pops each button.

The talent of his mouth has my lips buzzing, and I slide my fingers up his exposed chest and it’s my turn to explore his warm skin. He inhales sharply when my fingers dally at his stomach, tracing the ridges of muscle, inching down the soft fuzz that leads to his belt buckle.

“Maybe I’m the one punishing you,” I whisper into his mouth, my hands fanning along the top of his jeans.

“All bloody night,” he affirms, punching the last button through the loop and peeling open my dress. His fingers drag across my bare stomach and set me on fire. I match my fingers with his, mimicking as I open the fabric of his shirt to circle his ribs as well, our skin tacky and hot from the rainwater.

“I’ve wanted you since that night at Flambé,” he says, his wide fingers massaging my waist. “I wanted you in the spa, at yoga.” He growls ferally, his wicked hands sliding up over my breasts, hungrily cupping them and making me gasp. “How badly did you want me?” His dark voice asks, caressing my tits with his erotic worship.

I pant against his mouth, arching into the talents of his amoral fingers, fondling, kneading, only to whimper when his hands glide up my collarbone and neck till he's holding my chin in both palms and reeling me in. His kisses are like drowning, soft and hot, and demanding my surrender.

I follow each wave of sensation as his tongue plays with mine, our bare stomachs brushing, the bulge in his pants grazing my belly button. The whispering touch is so erotic, I suck his bottom lip into my mouth again, demanding more heat from him.

“Needy,” he teases, before dragging his mouth down my jaw, my neck, his lips a blaze of heat along my windpipe. I look at the pergola above us, flowers blooming and trembling with rain, delicate as his teeth rake my neck. I slide my hands into his hair, clutching the silky strands and lacing them between my fingers.

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