Page 43 of Whiskey Splash

I look left, then right, assessing.

There are no lights in the ally.

It’s dark and stormy with nothing but a sea of rain and darkness to mask us. No onewouldsee us. And the wind and thunderwouldmuffle my cries.

Our eyes lock, shadows of desire igniting between us—and impatient, his fingers dip inside my panties and lash across my folds. I cry out, grabbing his wrist before he undoes me completely, the wind stealing my moan. I hold him firm, staring at him as my pussy aches for me to unleash his fingers.

“Not here,” I rasp out, clutching his wrist, his pulse matching my eager body. “Not outside. It’s too public. The waiter will come back. Someone will catch us.” I slip his hand out of my skirt, untangling myself from under the weight of him, as a low rumble in his throat matches the thunder.

I step away, needing space, as I brush myself off and straighten my dress. “Call the driver and take me back to the resort.

Desmond growls in disappointment, thinking I want this to be over, and I grab his neck and kiss him, wild and passionate.

When we separate I drag my lips to his ear. “Don’t you have a penthouse suite to show me?” His fingers tighten, realizing I simply mean nothere. “If you take me against this wall I’ll come too quickly,” I warm. “And trust me, they’ll all hear.”

My pussy pounds something fierce, surprised by my own brazenness, and I step back to look at him. His eyes are black, my body strung, all of me excited to have said something so direct and dirty, something completely out of character.

“I’ll go back into the restaurant and get my bag and pay the check,” I explain. “You get the driver and I’ll meet you at the front.” I slide a hand up his leg, grazing the bulge in his jeans and teasing him wickedly. “We don’t want anyone knowing what you’ve been up to out here.”

I turn toward the restaurant, completely turned on by the commanding authority in my voice. Only, Desmond growls and grabs my hips.

“Not a chance!” He spins me around and crushes me into him with another heart-pounding kiss. I indulge him for a moment, the rain pounding against our bodies before I pry myself away again, knowing this will get out of hand if I don’t.

“I’ll just be a moment,” I say. “Get the driver and—”

“Have you seen how you look in that dress!” Desmond snarls, ravenous. “White dress. Rain. There’s no way I’m letting anyone see you in that right now.” His voice is low and predatory.

I look down and all the thin flowy fabric is slicked to my body. All the places where the dress touches skin—which is all of me—the fabric is transparent. Except for my bra and the lines of my thong, I look naked. Hell, my nipples are so hard that even my bra leaves nothing to the imagination!

“Oh, God!” I swear, wrapping my arms over the front of my body, totally embarrassed. I was running around and twirling on the beach like this? And the whole time, to Desmond, I looked like I was—oh shit!

He grabs my neck and drags his lips against mine. “Trust me, it was extra hot because you didn’t realize it.”

I breathe heavy and shake my head. “I’m mortified!” I rasp out. “Once again you’ve caused me to blush some incandescent shade of hot pink.” I try to pretend this is all just fine and not let it ruin the fact that up to this moment everything had been so damn perfect.

“Oh, I count on it,” Desmond says, kissing my forehead. “And I can’t wait to see what color your pussy turns when I’m sucking on your clit.”

My mouth drops open and he smiles, like that was exactly the desired reaction.

“I’ll get your bag and the check,” he says forcefully, moving a hand down to the bulge in his jeans to adjust his cock. “Everyone expects to see my character walking around fully aroused, so this shouldn’t faze them.” He points to the end of the ally. “Wait at the top of the lane and I’ll meet you in a minute.”

I nod, and he steps back to look at me again—my dress slicked to every curve, nipples peaked, body on display. The heat in his eyes tells me he wants to get back to the resort as fast as possible, so he can finish what he started.

And honestly, that doesn’t seem fast enough.

Chapter Twelve

The rain patters against the rooftop of the sedan, a symphony of drumming that matches my internal throbbing.

The storm hasn’t abated, in fact, most of the island is getting ravaged. Out the car window, palm trees whip back and forth with the wind, and the wipers slosh so furiously I can barely see through the windshield, the sheet of water is so dense.

Our windows are cracked open to deal with the condensation of breath that lines them, and a chill of air conditioning leaks into the back seat, blooming goosebumps across my body.

The driver found us two towels in the trunk and I’ve wrapped the terry cloth over my shoulders and front so I don’t feel so exposed, leaving my ribs and legs wet. Desmond’s hair sticks up in every direction from him ruffling it with a towel and, despite his attempts to dry off, his blue button-up still clings to him provocatively.

My bare feet are grimy and covered in sand, the toes curling against the felt flooring where the contrast is both sensual and harsh. I’m overly aware of every sensation on my skin, probably because of how close Desmond is and how long this car ride seems to be. I know it’s not that far, but what did Einstein say about relativity? Wasn’t it something like … when you’re hot and turned on and unable to satisfy your need, a minute feels like an eternity? Yeah, close to that, but more eloquent.

Water runs down the back of my calves and the tangy-wet feel of my skin is wildly sexy. I can’t stop imagining turning off the lights in his Penthouse, peeling this fabric from my skin, and lying back naked in a giant bed mounded with pillows, my sandy toes digging into the puffy comforter.

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