A Love Letter to Whiskey
Page 75
That time he said it as an incredulous statement, not a question.
“No.”
My back hit the window he’d just been standing in front of and I had nowhere left to go. My hands pressed into the cold glass behind my thighs and Jamie moved slowly, closing in.
“You don’t love me,” he asked again when his breath was close enough for me to feel it on my lips. Rain tinged on the glass behind me, my heart pounded in my chest, and Jamie moved slow and easy, confident and possessive. He was there to take what was always his. “You don’t want me, right now, right here?”
He whispered the last words, still damp hand running up my arm to cradle my neck, thumb lining my jaw.
I took a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed, and said no again. At least, I thought I did, but I couldn’t be sure. Every sound was morphed, every sense focused on the point of contact where Jamie’s skin touched mine. My only goal in that moment was breathing, and it was damn hard to accomplish.
“Say it,” he croaked, stepping even loser. The wet fabric of his shirt brushed my tank top, coating the lower part of my midriff just above my shorts hem. “Say you don’t love me. Say you don’t want me, and I’ll go.”
I cracked my eyes open then, and the vulnerability in Jamie’s sliced me open. He was being honest. If I told him, right then and there, that I didn’t want him — he would leave. I knew he would. It would have killed him, but he would have walked away. All I had to do was speak those four words and this could all be over.
I don’t want you.
I said it in my mind first, testing the truthfulness of it, but when Jamie pushed farther into my space I knew I didn’t have the time to think it over.
So the words flew from my lips.
“I don’t want you.”
Jamie stopped, his wet shirt still brushing against me as he breathed through the reality of what I’d said. His eyes flicked back and forth between mine, brows bent, heart unbelieving. He wasn’t expecting that. Hell, I wasn’t expecting that. It took him a moment to register. Then, slowly, he stepped back.
Chills broke along my skin where his body had been, the cool air of my apartment stinging like an ice cube. Jamie opened his mouth to speak but paused, clamping it shut again with a flex in his jaw. And then, just as he promised, he turned and walked away.
What happened in the next few moments was something unexplainable, something tangible and wrapped up in chemistry, because as soon as he took the first step away from me, my heart kicked into overdrive. It literally hit with a force that propelled me forward off the glass, and I opened my mouth with a ragged breath. He took another step and a white light invaded my vision. Another step, and my chest squeezed, ribs threatening to strangle my lungs.
My mind raced as I watched Jamie fulfill his promise. Panic ripped through me like a merciless rip tide, a thousand what ifs assaulting me like brutal waves. I tried to make sense of it all, but the wine clouded what grip on reality I still had, and when his hand landed on the doorknob, I kicked hard, emerging from the wave.
“Wait!”
Jamie’s hand gripped the knob and his neck tilted, head down, like he was unsure if the word he’d heard was in his head or real. He turned slowly, and it was the last thing he took his time with, because as soon as he saw the tortured look on my face, he knew. He knew I wanted him. I always had.
I always would.
He crossed the room in five long strides. One, I took a breath. Two, I nearly cried. Three, I almost told him to stop. Four, I realized I never could. And five, lightning crashed behind me as Jamie’s lips claimed mine.
My back hit the glass and my conscience hit the road, leaving me behind with a shake of its head. But Jamie’s thumb grazed my bottom lip, and my tongue caught the saltiness of his skin.
That’s all it took.
One taste, and every voice of reason was killed mid-sentence.
We both exhaled the moment our mouths met, hard and pleading, two years of pain and hurt and still-unresolved distance stoking the fire that had laid dormant for so long. Flames caught, and I gasped with the new oxygen, Jamie’s wet body pushing into mine and pinning me against the window.
His hands ran down my arms, clasping hard around my wrists and pushing them over my head as his hips tilted forward. He kissed me like he’d never kissed me before, like he’d kissed me every day of his life, and like he’d never get the chance to kiss me again. Barrel-aged Whiskey and water mixed together, flavors exploding on my tongue with every sip. It was heaven. It was hell. It was wrong and right and I wished I’d never started yet I never wanted to stop. Loving Jamie was the sickest and sweetest oxymoron.
“You’re not marrying him,” Jamie growled against my lips, and though that sentence should have pained me with guilt, it only fueled my desire. I kept my wrists high as Jamie dropped his grasp, reaching for the hem of my tank top and ripping it up and over. My simple sports bra came off next, and then his hands found my wrists once more, tightening their grip. The cold, wet fabric of his shirt brushed my nipples and I moaned, arching off the glass and into him.
He dropped his mouth to my peak then, sucking the already tight skin, my hips bucking with the suction, wrists still pinned. Jamie’s lips caught mine again, teeth nipping at the wine stains as he flipped my hands, forcing my palms against the glass over my head.
“Hold,” he murmured against my mouth, and then he dropped to his knees.
Breaths expelled from my throat in bursts, chest heaving as I watched him hook his fingers beneath the band of my shorts. He slid them down to my ankles, fingertips searing my skin every inch of the way, and then he dipped one finger under the lace of my panties. We moaned together as he easily slid inside, and when Jamie’s eyes caught mine, the stare was too intense. I dropped my head back against the window, fingers desperate for a grip the glass couldn’t provide.
Jamie slid my panties down next, hands wrapping around the backs of my thighs as he planted one soft kiss against my center. I was completely exposed for him, save for the tube socks still on my feet.
“Fuck,” I whispered, chest aching with want. He hooked his hand behind one knee and brought it to his shoulder, allowing him better access, and his tongue slid along my opening before circling my clit. He sucked hard, sliding two fingers inside me at the same time, and the leg holding me up shook. “Oh, God.”
“Mmm,” Jamie hummed against me, fingers deep and working with the rhythm of his mouth. The front of me was still wet from his shirt, my back slick with sweat against the glass, and my leg trembled as I balanced. He was so skilled, such an expert with his tongue, with my body. He knew me well — too well — and maybe that had always been my downfall. No one knew me like Jamie. No one ever would.
“No.”
My back hit the window he’d just been standing in front of and I had nowhere left to go. My hands pressed into the cold glass behind my thighs and Jamie moved slowly, closing in.
“You don’t love me,” he asked again when his breath was close enough for me to feel it on my lips. Rain tinged on the glass behind me, my heart pounded in my chest, and Jamie moved slow and easy, confident and possessive. He was there to take what was always his. “You don’t want me, right now, right here?”
He whispered the last words, still damp hand running up my arm to cradle my neck, thumb lining my jaw.
I took a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed, and said no again. At least, I thought I did, but I couldn’t be sure. Every sound was morphed, every sense focused on the point of contact where Jamie’s skin touched mine. My only goal in that moment was breathing, and it was damn hard to accomplish.
“Say it,” he croaked, stepping even loser. The wet fabric of his shirt brushed my tank top, coating the lower part of my midriff just above my shorts hem. “Say you don’t love me. Say you don’t want me, and I’ll go.”
I cracked my eyes open then, and the vulnerability in Jamie’s sliced me open. He was being honest. If I told him, right then and there, that I didn’t want him — he would leave. I knew he would. It would have killed him, but he would have walked away. All I had to do was speak those four words and this could all be over.
I don’t want you.
I said it in my mind first, testing the truthfulness of it, but when Jamie pushed farther into my space I knew I didn’t have the time to think it over.
So the words flew from my lips.
“I don’t want you.”
Jamie stopped, his wet shirt still brushing against me as he breathed through the reality of what I’d said. His eyes flicked back and forth between mine, brows bent, heart unbelieving. He wasn’t expecting that. Hell, I wasn’t expecting that. It took him a moment to register. Then, slowly, he stepped back.
Chills broke along my skin where his body had been, the cool air of my apartment stinging like an ice cube. Jamie opened his mouth to speak but paused, clamping it shut again with a flex in his jaw. And then, just as he promised, he turned and walked away.
What happened in the next few moments was something unexplainable, something tangible and wrapped up in chemistry, because as soon as he took the first step away from me, my heart kicked into overdrive. It literally hit with a force that propelled me forward off the glass, and I opened my mouth with a ragged breath. He took another step and a white light invaded my vision. Another step, and my chest squeezed, ribs threatening to strangle my lungs.
My mind raced as I watched Jamie fulfill his promise. Panic ripped through me like a merciless rip tide, a thousand what ifs assaulting me like brutal waves. I tried to make sense of it all, but the wine clouded what grip on reality I still had, and when his hand landed on the doorknob, I kicked hard, emerging from the wave.
“Wait!”
Jamie’s hand gripped the knob and his neck tilted, head down, like he was unsure if the word he’d heard was in his head or real. He turned slowly, and it was the last thing he took his time with, because as soon as he saw the tortured look on my face, he knew. He knew I wanted him. I always had.
I always would.
He crossed the room in five long strides. One, I took a breath. Two, I nearly cried. Three, I almost told him to stop. Four, I realized I never could. And five, lightning crashed behind me as Jamie’s lips claimed mine.
My back hit the glass and my conscience hit the road, leaving me behind with a shake of its head. But Jamie’s thumb grazed my bottom lip, and my tongue caught the saltiness of his skin.
That’s all it took.
One taste, and every voice of reason was killed mid-sentence.
We both exhaled the moment our mouths met, hard and pleading, two years of pain and hurt and still-unresolved distance stoking the fire that had laid dormant for so long. Flames caught, and I gasped with the new oxygen, Jamie’s wet body pushing into mine and pinning me against the window.
His hands ran down my arms, clasping hard around my wrists and pushing them over my head as his hips tilted forward. He kissed me like he’d never kissed me before, like he’d kissed me every day of his life, and like he’d never get the chance to kiss me again. Barrel-aged Whiskey and water mixed together, flavors exploding on my tongue with every sip. It was heaven. It was hell. It was wrong and right and I wished I’d never started yet I never wanted to stop. Loving Jamie was the sickest and sweetest oxymoron.
“You’re not marrying him,” Jamie growled against my lips, and though that sentence should have pained me with guilt, it only fueled my desire. I kept my wrists high as Jamie dropped his grasp, reaching for the hem of my tank top and ripping it up and over. My simple sports bra came off next, and then his hands found my wrists once more, tightening their grip. The cold, wet fabric of his shirt brushed my nipples and I moaned, arching off the glass and into him.
He dropped his mouth to my peak then, sucking the already tight skin, my hips bucking with the suction, wrists still pinned. Jamie’s lips caught mine again, teeth nipping at the wine stains as he flipped my hands, forcing my palms against the glass over my head.
“Hold,” he murmured against my mouth, and then he dropped to his knees.
Breaths expelled from my throat in bursts, chest heaving as I watched him hook his fingers beneath the band of my shorts. He slid them down to my ankles, fingertips searing my skin every inch of the way, and then he dipped one finger under the lace of my panties. We moaned together as he easily slid inside, and when Jamie’s eyes caught mine, the stare was too intense. I dropped my head back against the window, fingers desperate for a grip the glass couldn’t provide.
Jamie slid my panties down next, hands wrapping around the backs of my thighs as he planted one soft kiss against my center. I was completely exposed for him, save for the tube socks still on my feet.
“Fuck,” I whispered, chest aching with want. He hooked his hand behind one knee and brought it to his shoulder, allowing him better access, and his tongue slid along my opening before circling my clit. He sucked hard, sliding two fingers inside me at the same time, and the leg holding me up shook. “Oh, God.”
“Mmm,” Jamie hummed against me, fingers deep and working with the rhythm of his mouth. The front of me was still wet from his shirt, my back slick with sweat against the glass, and my leg trembled as I balanced. He was so skilled, such an expert with his tongue, with my body. He knew me well — too well — and maybe that had always been my downfall. No one knew me like Jamie. No one ever would.
