Page 64 of Whiskey Proposal

My skin is shrinking again, and the desire from a minute ago comes roaring back, filling me to bursting. I place another kiss under the tattoo and a third one between his shoulder blades. I skim my hands down to his waistband and unbutton the jeans. His abs are clenched, and when I lick along his spine, a low growl echoes against the glass.

“You can have your fun, Em, but then you’re mine.”

“You sure about that?” I lower his zipper, and the pressure behind it is impressive.

“I promise you, wife.”

My breath shudders in. The peak of one nipple scrapes against him, thanks to the undone flap of my overalls. Need shivers down my spine. I move his underwear out of the way and wrap my fingers around his searing-hot erection. He fills my grip, throbbing underneath my hold.

I pump up and down, fascinated by the way tremors roll through him.

“Of all the things I pictured, it wasn’t this,” he says on a pant. “You behind me, my dick in your hand.”

“How did you picture it?” I want to hear every word, every fantasy, but the flood of hormones in my blood is going to take over. The throb behind my thighs beats a demanding rhythm.

“Fuck. You on your knees, mouth stretched wide, looking up at me.”

“Like this?” I turn him around, and it’s the first time I see his cock. A proud crown at the top with a thick vein lining its length, it’s every bit as formidable as he is. I drop to my knees.

Air saws in and out of him. “Goddamn. With those sweet ponytails making you look like you don’t have the sassy mouth you do?” I lick across the tip, and he drops his head back. “Fuuuuck.”

I finally have control of something. I like that it’s Lane Foster.

I place another kiss, wetting my lips with the drop of precum. His salty flavor mixes with my watermelon lip gloss. A mixture of us on my taste buds. I suck him into my mouth.

A long groan is the only sound he makes as he braces himself.

I look up at him, and his blue irises are eaten up by his pupils. His hair’s rumpled from my hands, and it shadows his face. He looks dangerous. Like the bad boy he never wanted to be.

He’s a good man, and that turns me on even more.

I pump him up and down, running my tongue along that vein. He flexes his hands, moving them from my hair to the window behind him and back, like he doesn’t know what to do. Another heady experience.

I hum, and he jerks.

“Em, I’m gonna come, and it’s going to be long and hard.” His voice is rough. “But I won’t be done. I’m going to make you fall apart as much as you do to me.”

A quiver traces down my body, and then I hold on to his hips. He slaps his hands against the glass, and a snarl rips from his throat, just as his hot release spills down mine.

“Fucking hell, Em.” He bucks, his palms squeaking along the glass.

Then he sags, but not for long. I’m getting lifted to my feet.

I grab for the second flap, but he takes my hand and kisses my palm. “No. I get to undress you.”

I glance out the window. The last rays of sunlight fade behind the trees. The lights aren’t on in his office. It’s open, but it’s private. “Then undress me. Husband.”

Why did I say that?

It’s just harmless fun. Like this, it’s just sex. A release of pressure. Something I badly need.

His nostrils flare, and he unhooks the metal latch, flicking the flap over my shoulder and tugging them down. I’m in nothing but a snug baby-pink shirt and my underwear.

“Better than Christmas,” he murmurs before yanking me into him and claiming my mouth.

He picks me up and walks to his desk. My ass hits the edge, and I kick my overalls all the way off my feet and toe out of my shoes. His taste is on my tongue, and I just . . . need.

He pulls my shirt over my head and drinks in the sight of me in my bra. Flipping the cups down to free my nipples, I moan at the brush of the fabric. When he sucks one into his mouth and flicks it with his tongue, I cry out and hug his head to me.