Page 86 of Whiskey Splash

“Purchase for what?” His fingers squeeze, pinching my nipples crassly. “A wedding? Charity event?”

“Nothing important,” I repeat, nipping at his lip and shrugging like his assault isn’t a sinful purgatory.

“Yeah, you already said that,” he growls, pulling the strap of my bra down and palming my naked breast, before devouring my mouth. I weaken into his onslaught, our tongues fencing, before I nudge him back and yank my bra strap back up, righting the cup.

“We’re in a store!” I hiss.

“You think I give a damn?” he says, dropping to the floor and un-tanging the dress from my feet and delicately placing it on the bench of the dressing room, the motion far too careful for the heat in his voice.

“I give a damn!” I say, even though heat is streaking through me at the sight of him below me on his knees.

“Are you going to invite me to whatever wedding or event you’re wearing this dress to?” he hisses, sliding his big hands up my naked calves.

“I don’t know,” I throw back. “Are you going to invite me to theFlambéwrap party?”

His eyebrow rises like he’s suddenly seeing through this whole charade, but then he says, “Do you mean to tell me that your sister didn’t show you the guest list with your name on it?”

His hands snake up the back of my thighs, and my eyes widen at both his advance and what he just said. “Putting my name on a guest list is not the same as asking!” I rasp out, suddenly hearing the sound of the saleswoman’s voice off in another part of the dressing room.

Desmond moves his face toward the apex of my legs, either not hearing the woman out there or not caring. “Do you want to go to the wrap party with me?” he asks, the heat of his breath blazing against the pinstripes of the panties, wetting my core.

“That woman is out there!” I hiss through my teeth, keeping my voice down. “She’s already pissed you brought me here! But the second she walks into that back room and doesn’t find you there, she’s going to think—”

“I’m doing this?” he interrupts, pulling the fabric of my panties to the side and licking the bare skin beneath.

“Holy shit!” I grab his hair, digging my nails in. His tongue flicks like a flame along the line of my folds, softening me. “Desmond! You can’t—”

“I already am,” he says against my pussy, his tongue darting deeper in search of my clit. My body creams and I almost topple over on top of him. My eyes flash to the mirror across from us, where I stand with a bed of dresses at my back, tulle and lace framing me. The view of him kneeled in front of me is worth the price of every dress in this store. My skin is spotted in patches of red, and my tits in the sheer bra are so fucking hot, even I’m turned on, my nipples a dusky rose. I start to whimper as his head bobs, his mouth beginning its wicked worship.

“Not here!” I beg him. “Please! I’ll be too loud.” His tongue parts my folds again and I have to grab the dresses next to me and cover my face to stifle my moan. “Desmond, not here! Please, take me back to my house and I’ll let you do anything you want to me, just let me buy the dress and leave.”

“The dress you’re wearing to the Flambé wrap party, right?”

“Yes! Of course, now, please—!”

He rings my clit, making my entire pelvis buck against his wicked face, before moving the sheer fabric back over my throbbing core and standing up, his eyes dark and his lips soaked. “Anything I want to do to you at your house, huh? You promise?”

“Not if you walk out looking like that!” I grumble, reaching up to wipe off his slick mouth.

“I was saving that,” he complains, like he had food on his mouth.

“I can’t let you out in public, can I?”

“Probably not advisable,” he quips, bending down to pick up the dress and replacing it on the hanger. “I’ll get this wrapped up for you.”

“Don’t you dare buy that!” I warn. “If you do so much as lay a penny down for that dress, I’ll never let you taste my cunt again!”

His eyes flare and he kiss me again, wild, passionately, dragging the taste of me over my own gasping breaths. “You drive a hard bargain,” he says. “But you also know exactly what will bring me to my knees.”

“Literally.” I raise my eyebrows and he smiles.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Not before you make me come a few hundred more times, I hope,” I sass.

He steps back, shaking his head at me in mock disapproval, but his eyes say the opposite. “My, my, Miss Noel,” he purrs. “If I didn’t know any better, I might say you’re just as foul as that sister of yours.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that.”

---