Page 102 of Whiskey Splash

“If you give any of them the attention they want from you,” I say lowly and with a growl. “If you act like you give a shit what a single one of them thinks aboutwhojust walked in the room, andwhojust braved every judgmental eye on her—” I tilt my head to the side to make sure he knows just how serious I am. “Trust me, I will walk right back out and you will never see me again.”

My heart hitches at the silence that cinches through the room. Desmond’s Hawaii slut just crashed the party, marked her territory, and without a word screamed: “So you’ve seen a photo of us fucking? You know what? I don’t care!”

Desmond’s eyes catch me with his expression, as if he’s never seen this side of me and he’s not sure who I am, except—he still loves her.

His mouth crushes against mine—hot and lustful—making me blush and burn and meet his fervor. His arms wrap around me and I shudder like a virgin about to be undressed and deflowered. The wicked eyes of everyone in the room are on us. I can feel the balmy heat of their disapproval, judging. Who kisses likethatin front of everyone? What kind of person has no shame? What kind of person dares show her face after such a humiliation? Why isn’t she humiliated? Why isn’t he?

Desmond keeps kissing me till my blood broils and my body wants us to find a dark corner where I can wrap my mouth around what I feel hardening against my stomach. I pull away before things get completely out of hand, and turn to face the men Desmond was speaking to before I rudely interrupted them.

“Esme,” I say, wiping the bottom of my lip. The lipstick inevitably amiss. “I’m Desmond’s girlfriend.”

They raise their eyebrows as if such a declaration goes without saying after our very public display of tonsil hokey, but the real reward is Desmond’s arm around my waist, pulling me closer against him as he echoes the word “girlfriend,” like it has a new exotic ring that he can’t stop saying.

A whistle comes from behind us and we all turn as Arie walks up to us with a tray of flaming cocktails.

“Hot damn!” she exclaims. “If you didn’t notice, that’s my twin sister,” she says to the room. “And if she wasn’t already taken—” A nod goes to Desmond. “I’d fuck her myself!” Arie’s hand slaps on my ass, filling every hot-blooded man-in-the-room’s mind with late-night fodder of kinky-twins-bedroom delight.

“Hi,” I say softly to my sister, and she just smiles something wicked.

“It’s been about six years,” Arie says smoothly. “But I’m glad you finally arrived for the party.” Her eyes flicker up to Desmond sneakily. “And you, my friend, are one lucky mother-fucking bastard.”

His eyebrows raise in alarm and Arie snickers.

“Oh, don’t you dare pretend you don’t know exactly the hot-piece-of-pussy you just snagged and—”

Desmond’s eyes shoot to me in surprise. “Oh, she’s worse in person,” he exclaims. “Muuuuuch worse than the texting assault. You didn’t think to warn me?”

I smile wickedly, Arie’s hand still on my ass, and the tray of flames heating our faces.

“What did you expect? She’d turn down the heat?” I say sassily, stepping forward into Desmond’s personal space again. “Did you forget? This is Flambé!”

His arms wrap around me again and we’re kissing, everyone watching, a-thousand-pictures-they-might-be-taking be damned!

* * *

The constellation dress on the floor of my bedroom and Desmond lies naked under my princess sheers, staring up at the dreamcatchers on the ceiling. I’m snuggled into the crook of his arm, basking in the scent of his skin and the indigo shadows that trace over our nakedness.

“You’re really going to move to Los Angeles?” he asks again, as if he can’t believe I suggested such a thing.

I roll over on top of him, his broad body beneath me as I look down through my hair at his beautiful face. “What part are you having trouble with?” I ask defiantly, his hands running down my ribs to cover my ass. “The starting my own company part? Or the fact that I’m going to be living in my parents’ guest room for at least a year as I get this independent contractor gig off the ground?”

He leans up to capture my mouth. “It’s the part where you’ll be in my city with me and I won’t have to be flying back and forth from Hawaii constantly to get my fix.”

“You would’ve done that for me?”

“Are you kidding me?” His hands massage my backside. “I was about to buy my own private jet to save on expenses.”

“Well, now you just get to hang out in my parents’ house,” I tease.

“Are you implying we’re going to have to be quiet when they’re home, because—” He flips me over, laying me out on my back beneath him, his thickness hard and ready again as it presses against my abdomen. “Let’s be honest about this—you’re not very quiet.” He kisses me wickedly, his hands scalding my sides. I’m moaning as he tugs on my bottom lip, egging me on.

“No sex in my parents’ house!” I scold.

“Is that a rule?” He asks, sheathing himself with a new condom and sliding lower so his cock slips between my legs, making me pant. “They do know who your sister is, right? I’m pretty sure your parents’ house was never the virgin chapel of—”

“I’m not my sister, you know!” I snap, as he positions himself, making me croon and open wider for him. “No sex in my parents’ house is definitely a rule,” I insist. “You’re just going to have to take me to whatever incredible fancy Beverly Hills mansion you live in and fuck me there.”

“You promise?” Desmond asks, parting me slowly and making me moan. “Can I pay you in orgasms for all those naughty massages you’re going to give me?” He pumps deeper into me and I nod, already lost in the wicked pleasure of his vitality.

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