Page 38 of Whiskey Proposal

My brain’s been haywire since our kiss, and I’ve spent too much damn energy keeping my body under control. I give in to the constant lust simmering under my skin. My erection hardens to the point of pain, and I choke it with my hand. Fuck.

Yesterday, she was pressed against me in the bakery, her hot little curves teasing my ever-growing fantasies. When I think about how she crowded closer to me when something bothered her, my head nearly explodes from the pressure.

That woman.

I’m brutal with my dick. Squeezing and pumping. My ass cheeks are flexed and my eyes are closed to the onslaught of water. Too many damn showerheads.

Pressure fills the rest of my body until desire is a pulsating, expanding, and demanding sensation.

I’d push her against the wall and kneel down. Emerson Langley should be worshiped by a man on his knees in front of her. Then I’d lift one of her legs to my shoulder and delve into those juicy⁠—

My orgasm hits stronger than ever. The source of my arousal has never been so close, and it shows in the strength of the orgasm. A long, rough groan leaves me, sounding too damn loud, echoing off the walls of the shower. I come long and hard. What would it be like coming inside her?

I keep going when my hand should be slack. I’m going to chafe myself, but no fucks are to be had. I shake through my climax, trying and failing to cut off my grunts. I let it sweep me away, and barely stifle a roar. Then I sag against the wall, and a shiver runs through me.

It’s goddamn lucky I still have hot water.

I push off and start to clean up when I hear something. I clean the rest of my release down the drain and flip the water off.

“—okay?”

Shit. Did she hear me? I grab a towel and hurry through a quick towel off, and then wrap it around my waist. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

She sounds close, so I pad across my room to the door and open it.

Her mouth is open like she’s going to holler something at me again. “Oh.” It comes out shaky.

Satisfaction snakes through me as her gaze travels down my chest, stops at the hook of my towel around my waist, then jerks up again.

That pink tongue of hers licks out to wet her bottom lip. “I, um, heard some sounds and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

She likes what she sees. My dick twitches like I didn’t just get done throttling it. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You sounded like you were in pain.”

Hell yes, I was in pain. So damn close but miles away from what I really want.

I shouldn’t push. I should be patient. But it’s been almost a month and a half since I kissed her. I’m craving sweet Emerson Langley, and after her little moan over Elodie’s red velvet muffins yesterday, I’m growing mindless. My patience is getting sapped by each glimpse of her tongue and every pleased sound she makes. And now that she seems concerned I’m not being myself. . .

“I was in the shower,” I say slowly against all good judgment, “making noises that aren’t used only in distress.”

Confusion clouds her eyes before they flare wide. “Oh. You were . . .” She licks her lips, and I might have to duck into the shower again.

The urge to tease her is too impossible to ignore. “I guess there are other ways.”

Her gaze flickers before she frowns and crosses her arms, a hip kicked out. “We might not be married for real, but I’m not going to be humiliated by you fucking around.”

A dry laugh leaves me and I advance on her. “Em, the only thing I’m fucking around with is my right hand. Sometimes my left if I want to pretend it’s you fumbling with my erection.”

She backs up until her back thumps against the closed door of my office, now her office. Her chest rises and falls, but she doesn’t duck out of my way. “I don’t fumble.”

I close my eyes for a heartbeat and moan. She’s going to be the end of me.

My eyelids lift, and I take in her parted, shiny lips. “Have you got lip gloss on?”

“Yes. Why?” She’s breathy. If I looked down, would her nipples be prodding against the fabric of her shirt, begging to be sucked into my mouth and rolled around on my tongue?