A Love Letter to Whiskey
Page 30
“Is this the passion you’ve been missing? The urgency?” he asked, his lips on the skin beneath my ear. Chills broke on my skin and he sucked my earlobe into his mouth as his thumbs hooked under my bra. He didn’t take it off, just pushed it up enough to expose my breasts, and his large hands palmed each one easily. He rolled my nipples with a pinch and I arched my back into him, feeling his hard on pressed against my ass as he inhaled a stiff breath. His hands were cold. His kisses were hot. “Because I can’t fathom taking my hands off you right now.”
I bit my bottom lip, dragging my teeth across it slowly as Jamie’s words ripped me at the seams. I was completely open, completely exposed, raw and uninhibited with the power from his hands surging through my core. My first taste of Whiskey had been nothing. My first shot? Child’s play. I’d been holding back, delicately balancing on the line, afraid of drinking too much — but this was it. I knew it. I felt every inch of the fall from tipsy to drunk. I was completely wasted, and all I wanted was to feel this way forever.
Jamie dropped his hold on my breasts and snaked one hand into my hair, tugging it back until his mouth could catch mine. I moaned louder and his other hand slipped slowly down, catching on the skin of my stomach before finding the hem of my boy shorts that were peeking out above my sweat pants. His fingers dipped beneath the fabric as he ran a line from hip to hip and I bucked against the touch, his hand fisting in my hair, holding my head back, leaving me completely at the mercy of his touch.
I was writhing, waiting, my hands on his thighs as I braced myself for his touch. He dipped his hand under deeper, then withdrew it, running it back up my ribs to palm my breast again. I groaned, impatient, and grabbed his hand with my own before forcing it down again. He smirked against my mouth, tugging my bottom lip between his teeth and letting it go with a pop as I moved us beneath my boy shorts. The moment his fingers slid between my thighs, we both moaned.
“Oh fuck,” Jamie breathed, kissing me as I pulled my hand back to brace myself again. He slid his fingers down my slit and one finger entered me slowly. I gripped his thighs hard, my nails digging into the fabric of his sweat pants. He worked slowly, his one finger moving deeper and deeper each time until he thrust another inside and I broke our kiss, crying out loud at the sensation.
“Shhh,” he ordered, hand dropping its hold on my hair to cover my mouth. I bit down on his fingers, sliding my hand between his thighs behind me to grip him through his sweats. Jamie groaned, thrusting into my touch as his head fell back, and then, all at once, his hands were gone.
My body convulsed at the loss of him, but when I turned on my knees, his shirt was already over his head and I followed suit, stripping my clothes off as he did the same. His eyes never left mine, gaze only broken by curtains of clothes flying between us. When he dropped his boxer briefs, my mouth hung open at the sight of him and I swallowed. He was staring at me, too, chest heaving, and then our eyes met and we crashed together again.
My hands weaved into his hair and I pulled him down on top of me. He moved easily between my legs, blindly reaching for the top blanket and tugging it up over where our hips met and running the length of his erection along my wet slit. He slowed then, breathing hard between softer, longer kisses.
“We need to slow down,” he breathed.
“Like hell we do.”
He smirked against my lips, slowing my kisses. “I don’t have a…” He pulled back, our chests heaving together as he stared down at me. The moon lit him from behind, his strong jaw pronounced against the dark blue of the sky. “We don’t have protection.”
My eyes bounced between his. “It’s okay,” I dug my heels into the hard muscles of his ass, bucking my hips up to meet him again. “I’m on birth control. And I’m clean. Are you?”
“Yes.”
He said the word like a curse, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his forehead drop to mine as I dug my nails into his shoulders.
“Jamie,” I breathed, wrapping my hands around his neck and pulling his lips to mine again. “I can forgive you for kissing me, but I can’t forgive you if you stop right now.”
He groaned, low and throaty before he kissed me back. And then, with the slow steadiness of an expert, Jamie filled me, and we tumbled into hell together.
We both gasped, open mouths against each other, my hands on his neck and his forearms braced on either side of me. He withdrew even slower before pushing in again, this time hitting deeper than before.
“God, B,” Jamie hissed. “I’ve dreamed of what this would feel like, taking you, feeling you wrapped around me. But it doesn’t even compare. I can’t…” He shook his head, moving just a little faster. I felt each thrust through the movements of his thighs, his back, his shoulders, and I wrapped my legs around him tighter. “I’ll never—”
“I know,” I stopped him, because I did know.
He would never be the same, and neither would I.
If you asked three different whiskey distilleries what the best kind of whiskey is, you’d find three different answers. Some like their whiskey sweet, infused with honey or fruit and smooth on ice. Some prefer their whiskey bold, with sharp spices and mint. Me? Personally, I preferred whiskey that burned — slowly — in an all-consuming fashion.
And that night, I felt every inch of my body catch fire as I drained the bottle.
Jamie took his time, finding what worked for me and what didn’t. He explored my body, tasted my skin, and exposed me to a passion unfounded in my life before that night. I came first, tightening around him and fisting the sand at the edge of the blanket. Jamie followed closely, and I nearly lost myself again at the sound of my name on his lips as he fell apart.
He held me close as we climbed the stairs back to Earth. He was still inside me, and he kissed me softly, his eyes lingering on mine. I think Jamie was drinking me in that night, too. I wondered if I burned. I wondered if he liked it.
So you see, the addiction was born on a chilly February night in the soft sand of a private California beach. In that moment, wrapped in his arms under a woven blanket, I felt euphoric. But as we all learn at a young age, what goes up, must come down.
And oh how we crashed.
FOR THE FIRST THREE MINUTES of consciousness that next morning, I lived in complete and total bliss.
I lie in bed, stretching my arms high above me and flexing my toes as a sleepy smile moved in on my face. I was deliciously sore, aching both physically and yearningly. I wanted more, I wanted to relive last night, I wanted to stay in that memory forever.
I bit my bottom lip, dragging my teeth across it slowly as Jamie’s words ripped me at the seams. I was completely open, completely exposed, raw and uninhibited with the power from his hands surging through my core. My first taste of Whiskey had been nothing. My first shot? Child’s play. I’d been holding back, delicately balancing on the line, afraid of drinking too much — but this was it. I knew it. I felt every inch of the fall from tipsy to drunk. I was completely wasted, and all I wanted was to feel this way forever.
Jamie dropped his hold on my breasts and snaked one hand into my hair, tugging it back until his mouth could catch mine. I moaned louder and his other hand slipped slowly down, catching on the skin of my stomach before finding the hem of my boy shorts that were peeking out above my sweat pants. His fingers dipped beneath the fabric as he ran a line from hip to hip and I bucked against the touch, his hand fisting in my hair, holding my head back, leaving me completely at the mercy of his touch.
I was writhing, waiting, my hands on his thighs as I braced myself for his touch. He dipped his hand under deeper, then withdrew it, running it back up my ribs to palm my breast again. I groaned, impatient, and grabbed his hand with my own before forcing it down again. He smirked against my mouth, tugging my bottom lip between his teeth and letting it go with a pop as I moved us beneath my boy shorts. The moment his fingers slid between my thighs, we both moaned.
“Oh fuck,” Jamie breathed, kissing me as I pulled my hand back to brace myself again. He slid his fingers down my slit and one finger entered me slowly. I gripped his thighs hard, my nails digging into the fabric of his sweat pants. He worked slowly, his one finger moving deeper and deeper each time until he thrust another inside and I broke our kiss, crying out loud at the sensation.
“Shhh,” he ordered, hand dropping its hold on my hair to cover my mouth. I bit down on his fingers, sliding my hand between his thighs behind me to grip him through his sweats. Jamie groaned, thrusting into my touch as his head fell back, and then, all at once, his hands were gone.
My body convulsed at the loss of him, but when I turned on my knees, his shirt was already over his head and I followed suit, stripping my clothes off as he did the same. His eyes never left mine, gaze only broken by curtains of clothes flying between us. When he dropped his boxer briefs, my mouth hung open at the sight of him and I swallowed. He was staring at me, too, chest heaving, and then our eyes met and we crashed together again.
My hands weaved into his hair and I pulled him down on top of me. He moved easily between my legs, blindly reaching for the top blanket and tugging it up over where our hips met and running the length of his erection along my wet slit. He slowed then, breathing hard between softer, longer kisses.
“We need to slow down,” he breathed.
“Like hell we do.”
He smirked against my lips, slowing my kisses. “I don’t have a…” He pulled back, our chests heaving together as he stared down at me. The moon lit him from behind, his strong jaw pronounced against the dark blue of the sky. “We don’t have protection.”
My eyes bounced between his. “It’s okay,” I dug my heels into the hard muscles of his ass, bucking my hips up to meet him again. “I’m on birth control. And I’m clean. Are you?”
“Yes.”
He said the word like a curse, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his forehead drop to mine as I dug my nails into his shoulders.
“Jamie,” I breathed, wrapping my hands around his neck and pulling his lips to mine again. “I can forgive you for kissing me, but I can’t forgive you if you stop right now.”
He groaned, low and throaty before he kissed me back. And then, with the slow steadiness of an expert, Jamie filled me, and we tumbled into hell together.
We both gasped, open mouths against each other, my hands on his neck and his forearms braced on either side of me. He withdrew even slower before pushing in again, this time hitting deeper than before.
“God, B,” Jamie hissed. “I’ve dreamed of what this would feel like, taking you, feeling you wrapped around me. But it doesn’t even compare. I can’t…” He shook his head, moving just a little faster. I felt each thrust through the movements of his thighs, his back, his shoulders, and I wrapped my legs around him tighter. “I’ll never—”
“I know,” I stopped him, because I did know.
He would never be the same, and neither would I.
If you asked three different whiskey distilleries what the best kind of whiskey is, you’d find three different answers. Some like their whiskey sweet, infused with honey or fruit and smooth on ice. Some prefer their whiskey bold, with sharp spices and mint. Me? Personally, I preferred whiskey that burned — slowly — in an all-consuming fashion.
And that night, I felt every inch of my body catch fire as I drained the bottle.
Jamie took his time, finding what worked for me and what didn’t. He explored my body, tasted my skin, and exposed me to a passion unfounded in my life before that night. I came first, tightening around him and fisting the sand at the edge of the blanket. Jamie followed closely, and I nearly lost myself again at the sound of my name on his lips as he fell apart.
He held me close as we climbed the stairs back to Earth. He was still inside me, and he kissed me softly, his eyes lingering on mine. I think Jamie was drinking me in that night, too. I wondered if I burned. I wondered if he liked it.
So you see, the addiction was born on a chilly February night in the soft sand of a private California beach. In that moment, wrapped in his arms under a woven blanket, I felt euphoric. But as we all learn at a young age, what goes up, must come down.
And oh how we crashed.
FOR THE FIRST THREE MINUTES of consciousness that next morning, I lived in complete and total bliss.
I lie in bed, stretching my arms high above me and flexing my toes as a sleepy smile moved in on my face. I was deliciously sore, aching both physically and yearningly. I wanted more, I wanted to relive last night, I wanted to stay in that memory forever.
