“For you?” I grin against her skin. “Every fucking time.”
I take my time licking every drop from her—her hips, her ribs, the dip of her waist. When I finish, I look up at her.
“You like being my glass, sugar?”
She nods, breath catching. “Do it again.”
I pour another slow trickle, this time lower. Right above the spot where I want to bury myself again. The whiskey slides between her thighs, and I follow it—tongue greedy, rough, sucking her clean until she’s shaking again.
“Fuck,” she cries out. “Please—God, please?—”
“Please what?” I look up, mouth wet with her and whiskey. “Say it.”
“Please fuck me again. Hard.”
I growl, crawling back over her and flipping her onto her stomach with a firm hand on her hip. “You want hard?” I press my cock between her legs, thick and already stiff again. “You’re gonna take every inch.”
She moans into the pillow as I slide inside her from behind, slow at first—just enough to tease. Her body sucks me in like she was made for it.
I grab her by the hips and slam into her, rough and deep. The slap of skin fills the room, and she’s gasping, clawing at the sheets.
“Feel that?” I grunt, pounding into her harder. “That’s mine. This whole body—mine.”
“Yes—God, yes—yours, all yours?—”
I reach around, fingers finding her clit again, working it in tight circles until she’s breaking apart beneath me, body shaking with her second orgasm.
I don’t stop.
I chase mine right through hers, driving into her until I spill inside her again with a roar, so deep and hard I see stars behind my eyes.
When we finally collapse—sweaty, breathless, tangled together—I press a kiss between her shoulder blades.
“You,” I whisper, “are going to be the death of me.”
She laughs. “You’ll die happy.”
“No doubt about it, sugar.”
Her body’s limp against the sheets, skin slick, thighs still trembling from the last round—but I’m not finished. I’m buried deep in the scent of her, in the feel of her, and fuck if I can stop now.
I run my hand down her spine, slow and firm, loving the way she arches into the touch even though she’s sensitive. Overworked. Used.
“Too much?” I murmur against her neck, my voice thick and gritty with want.
She shakes her head, breath catching. “Never.”
I grin, low and wicked. “That’s my girl.”
I roll her to her side, sliding in behind her, spooning her close so she feels all of me—my chest against her back, my hand possessive over her belly, my cock hard again, thick and already nudging against the swollen slick of her entrance.
“You feel that?” I grind just enough to make her whimper. “Still hard for you. Still hungry. You wreck me, sugar.”
She whines, trying to press back against me. “Then take me. I’m yours. Always.”
“Damn right you are.”
I ease into her slowly this time—inch by inch, stretching her open again, groaning at the feel of her still fluttering around me. She’s soaked, ruined, and yet so damn ready. My hand cradles her stomach as I thrust deep, grinding into her with long, deliberate strokes that make her gasp every time I bottom out.
