“Durban. Yes. Please, I need—” I catapult over the edge, fracturing apart and exploding outward. I have to bite my lower lip to keep from shouting. I squeak and gasp instead, not at all ashamed of how I sound.
He continues licking and plunging his finger in and out. I rock on the desk, digging my heels into him, stretching the pleasure out as far as it will go, and with Durban, it becomes a long damn time.
I nearly collapse backward, but Durban must sense I’ve reached my limit. A tumble off furniture will draw attention when the tasting room is right below us.
He shifts my underwear back into place and places a kiss over it, soaking the fabric even more than before. “Just as amazing as I thought.” He gently lowers my legs down and prowls up my body.
“Did you? Really think of it?” I brush the spots of dust off his shoulders from my boots.
“If I told you how much, you’d think I was a creep.” He wipes off his face with the back of his wrist.
“It’s not creepy if it’s hot.”
A raspy chuckle leaves him. “In that case, morning, noon, and night.”
I like that answer. I use the end of my skirt to wipe off any lingering trace of me from his face. The intimacy of the gesture startles me. So does the way he seems to be looking right into me. I want to shrivel against his heavy-lidded gaze, while at the same time, I’m unfurling, ready to be seen for who I really am. Durban sees something else, something not many people take the time to view. I am whatever is convenient for them, but he’s taking the time to get to knowme.
“After I brought you to my house,” he says almost hesitantly, “I was a goner.”
“I was just a drunk girl.” Not my finest hour.
“You were hurting.”
I was in a lot of pain that night. The unfairness of it all had crashed down on me and I tried drinking my problems away. I would’ve made more pain for myself if it hadn’t been for him.
Satisfaction hums through my body, echoing loudly thanks to the empty feeling inside me. I liked this. I’d doit again in a heartbeat. Now even, but we don’t have the time. Yet that’s all it is. I can’t have more complications.
He picks up the little bottle of whiskey balancing on the edge of the desk and offers me a drink first. There’s less than half left, and I leave some for him. Will I have another chance to siphon some from him?
He finishes it off, and I’m fascinated by the way his throat works when he swallows. Then he props his hands on either side of me. “I’m not going to be able to drink that line again without tasting you.”
“I can’t believe we did that.” We did that during the tasting, with Stanford and his bride and his family underneath us. I’m feeling smug.
“Believe it.” His mouth is close to mine again. The whiskers of his mustache tickle my lips. “When’s the next shindig?”
A full-body quiver runs through me. “They’re taking the weekend to go to Glacier and Stanford wasn’t able to justify dragging me along. I told them I need the weekend to set up the cake tasting with Elodie, and I have another event Monday.” When a question flickers in his gaze, I brush imaginary dust off his shoulders. “Hookers and Booze night.”
“Is that the name Edna’s going with?”
“It kind of stuck, and it makes me want to dig out my grandma’s crochet hooks.”
His eyes soften, and I really like that it’s from me. It’s not the look of consternation he used to wear around me. “I’m covering for Iverson all weekend, but I’ll be here on Monday with Haven. I told Eden I’d help serve her and her friends.”
Lucky club.
He rubs the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. Heat coalesces in his eyes. “It’s all puffy from biting it.”
“You shouldn’t have made me come so hard.”
He grins, and the urge to take off my underwear and throw it at him makes me grip the edge of the desk. His eyes dance and twinkle, and whatever pheromones he’s putting off are stamping themselves into my DNA. Or however that works. His ex could tell me.
That thought dulls my inner glow.
He traces my silver necklace with his fingers. “You’re always wearing this. It must mean a lot.”
He noticed? “My parents gave it to me in high school. Stanford’s mom once told me that I shouldn’t wear it or my clients might not think they’re dealing with a professional. So I’m wearing it every day until the wedding.”
The corner of his mouth tips up. “The quietest of fuck-yous. I like it.” He runs his fingertips along the charm. “You need to get back down there,” he says. “Every time they make you feel like you’re nothing, think about how loud you could’ve been with my mouth on your pussy.”
