Page 93 of Sin With Me

He’s always been so strong, so stoic.

“Why?” I whisper and then squeeze my eyes shut at the insensitivity of the question, especially now when he’s clearly hurting. “I’m sorry—”

My words are cut off when I feel the slightly warmed mouth of the bottle press to my lips. My eyes snap open, meeting his. He presses harder, his brow tipping up in challenge.

“Drink, sweetheart.”

The command makes my body shiver, and without thought, I oblige. With my eyes on his and my lips around the bottle, I let my head fall back. He watches me swallow the room temperature liquid, searing me with his unwavering gaze. I’m surprised I’m able to stay upright. Though his body is tense, his hand is steady as he pours the wine down my throat.

Unable to help myself, I wrap my mouth around the bottle’s neck and suck before releasing it with a pop.

Isaac makes a choking sound, his brown eyes heating and his Adam's apple bobbing under his light coating of stubble. My tongue darts out, licking up a sticky drop just before it hits my chin.

“Christ,” he rasps, his jaw ticking. “Eve—”

My fingers lift from my thigh and I wrap them around the bottle, tipping it in his direction once more. I feel reckless. Out of control. My body is on fire for him, and, try as I might, I can’t stop.

Do I even want to?

“Drink,” I command, repeating his words at him.

I’m sure I’ll feel guilty about asking him to drink tomorrow, but I take comfort knowing he’d been drinking before he arrived. He was suffering like me, in drunken silence.

He needs this.

And so do I.

He huffs a breath as he snatches the bottle from me. His fingers graze mine and electricity sparks through my body, heating me from the inside out. With his hooded, dark eyes on mine, Isaac wraps his lips over the glass, savoring my taste from it as though it’s the sweetest ambrosia.

I whimper, feeling my pussy throb in response to the dirty, illicit act. It’s so wrong, so forbidden, yet my body can’t help but react to him. He’s not even touching me. Not speaking or doing anything lascivious, but I feel like his mouth is buried between my thighs, teasing me, tempting me.

“Isaac,” I breathe. Every inch of my skin is on fire. My short dress is thin, the straps barely there, but I feel like I’m covered in thick, itchy wool as I stand beneath the sun. Too hot. Too tight. Too much.

Not enough, my mind chants. More, it pleads.

His shoulders bunch at my breathy tone. The bottle slips from his fingers, landing between us on the bed. I swear under my breath as I scramble to grab it before it spills. Isaac moves at the same time, and our heads collide painfully.

I jolt, pulling my hand from the bottle to rub my aching forehead. The bottle tumbles off the bed and I vaguely notice a few splashes hitting my bare legs before it rolls across the wooden floor, leaving the sweet liquid to spill from it.

I groan and hear Isaac make a similar sound. And then his hands are on my face, pulling my attention from the runaway bottle.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he breathes. My eyes meet his and my hand falls to my lap. He sears me with that look—that frantic, heated look. He scans my face, my forehead, searching for injury. “Are you okay?” I can’t answer him, because honestly, I’m not sure.

“Your eyes are so dark,” I slur, swaying slightly into his body. Not because I’m drunk, but because of his proximity. This close, I can really smell his scent. Can clearly see the scruff lining his jaw. Can count the lashes framing his nearly black eyes. He’s overwhelming. He’s…

“Intoxicating,” I whisper.

His lip tips up, and his grip on my cheeks tightens. I shift, lifting and bending my leg to face him fully. I don’t want his touch to disappear. I want to lean into it.

Want more of it.

Need more of it.

“I think you might be, yes,” he rumbles, a slight chuckle to his words. His brows lower, and his usual disapproval shines through his expression, but there’s something else to it. Something that makes my already tense, hot body, heat further. “Are you drunk, Eve?”

I shrug, rubbing my cheek against his palms. God, he feels so warm. So good. My chest aches as the realization sinks in. Am I so touch starved that this feels magical or is it just him?

“I don’t know,” I murmur, answering both his question and my own. My eyes flit between his, searching for the answer. Does he have it?

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