‘The boyfriend, or current lack thereof, may be the reason for my shopping spree.’
‘Don’t tell me. He has a thing for novelty underwear.’
‘More like he was the reason I needed cheering up. And the reason we’re no longer together.’There. That didn’t sound so loser-ish.
‘My commiserations,’ he murmurs as I allow him to take the glass from my hand a second time. ‘He must be very stupid.’
‘Or very unfaithful. But I don’t want to talk about him anymore.’
‘You don’t want to talk about him?’ he asks carefully. ‘Or you don’t want to talk anymore?’
My grandmother believed in the restorative powers of whisky, often likening it to magic. And maybe she was right. Maybe whisky is its own kind of magic as I find myself gripping the front of his shirt to pull him closer. His lashes cast dark shadows against his cheekbones before his mouth meets mine. His lips are so full and soft, but his kiss isn’t tentative, even if it’s occurring at my instigation. One hand slides to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he holds me in place. Our kiss deepens at that moment, and the idea of been held by himforhim ignites something deep inside me. A primal urge to fight him. To mark him. To make him mine. For the moment at least, as I sink my teeth into the lush flesh of his bottom lip.
My hot neighbour—I can’t call him James because we’re not friends, and after tonight, I somehow know I won’t see him again—releases a masculine groan, pulling back, his fingers reaching to touch the sting. In an instant, his hand tightens in my hair, his mouth a husky rasp at my ear.
‘You’ll pay for that.’
‘Promise?’ My answer sounds rough with need, and I’ve no idea where it came from as he draws my earlobe into his mouth, testing it with his teeth. My breath hitches as he flicks his tongue over the sting, my exhalation stuttering as he wraps his arm around me, banding my back.
‘Where’s your bedroom.’ It’s not a question but more like a demand.
‘Upstairs.’ As I answer, I’m pushing my butt from the worktop.
‘Not so fast. I haven’t finished kissing you.’ And he holds me there, just taking his time, kissing me. And kissing me. Glorious lips and sensuous tongue until I’m aching and desperate like I never ever have been before.
It’s not the whisky but him that’s making me lightheaded. Drunk on his kisses. Who would’ve thought that was even a thing?
My first one-night stand, the little devil whispers.Better make it count.
‘The things I’m going to do to you.’
‘I respond much better to kinaesthetic learning over aural.’
‘You want me to show you, not tell?’ His amusement is in his velvety chuckle. ‘Or perhaps that was your way of telling me I’m not allowed to eat you out?’
Such coarse words in that refined accent.
I splutter and maybe even choke a little. I’ve never had any man say that kind of thing to me. I mean, I’ve had vulgarities hurled at me from passing cars and been leered at by drunks in clubs, but never... not up close and personal.
Worse, I think I might like it.
Do all boys grow to be men like him? Men with the power to tease a woman to the brink? Because it’s clear I haven’t been held by such power before.
‘You didn’t answer the question.’ His deep voice rumbles against my cheek, his face pressed against mine. ‘I believe I can feel you blushing.’
‘Am not.’ His chuckle is a puff of warm air against my ear, and he wraps his arms around my waist, my feet suddenly touching the cold floor and leaving me staring at his broad chest. I know from his workout sessions that the man is ripped, and that he’s tall and so very well put together. But right here, standing next to me? Crowding me in? He’s like some kind of bronzed god.
He reaches for my hand. ‘Let me take you to bed.’
‘I think you have that the wrong way around,’ I reply, leading him from the room.
The hallway is dark and full of shadows, but I don’t go looking for the light, not as his strong arm bands around my waist, bringing my back flush with his chest. His free hand gently gathers my hair to one side, his fingers light against the nape of my neck already making me quiver. I close my eyes and stifle a moan as he presses a small, sucking kiss against my neck.
My kryptonite
‘I thought we were going upstairs.’ Any further protest I might have disintegrates as his hand feeds from my waist to my breast, his thumb and forefinger pinching my nipple. My stuttering moan hits the air, my body reacting as though struck by electricity.
‘You like that, do you?’
