Page 107 of Bourbon and Proof

And I know he wasn’t expecting it, because I can hear a small laugh sniff out of him.

His wrist twists again, pulling the lace tighter along my pussy as his hand moves in between my legs to rub along the material covering my clit. “What did I say about that bratty mouth?” He grips my skin, twisting the material until it rips.

“Oh god,” I rush out. It steals my breath when he follows it up with a graze of his teeth, and this time, opens wider, biting down.Fuck. He runs his tongue along the indented marks thathis bite left behind, and for reasons that I’ll never understand, I’m panting and needy.

He leans from behind me, over my body, and says quietly, “Tell me what I want to hear.”

“More, Daddy,” I beg. I don’t think twice about what he wants from me.

Moving back, he kisses my shoulder tenderly. I can hear him reach for the box of goodies he brought me, and I peer over my shoulder just as he finds my favorite little vibrating rose. He turns it on the slowest mode and drags it to the front of me, nestling it right on top of my clit. It offers the perfect suction that I know will set me off almost immediately. With the toy firmly placed, he drags his thumb from his other hand up and down my slick slit, never pushing inside, simply teasing and making me wetter with every pass. He hums in approval as I moan and hold my breath just as my orgasm hits, tingles running down my spine and settling deep in my core. My skin heats as I gasp for another breath. On my exhale, he flips me over and then nestles his shoulders between my legs, shoving them as wide as they’ll go. With his eyes locked with mine, he licks up my cum, making me whimper.

I blink slowly, still aroused, and half-dazed as he says, “Another one, sugar.”

Before I can register what he’s demanding, he focuses on my pussy, kisses my thigh, and then slowly fucks two fingers into me. My clit is so sensitive that I can feel the pressure of his entry there too. “Yes,” I draw out, ending with a moaning plea of his name.

He curls the tips of his fingers, searching for my G-spot, and finding it within a few seconds, like some sort of sexual GPS that’s been integrated into his digits. His other hand trails to my lower abdomen, increasing the pressure. I lose track of anything other than the build of another orgasm as his fingers quickentheir pace, as if he’s chasing and coaxing an orgasm that I know is going to tear through me.

“That’s it, soak my hand, sugar.”

My eyes are watering, breaths stuttering, legs trembling, and he doesn’t slow. If anything, the motion of those two fingers increases until the muscles in my stomach tighten, and suddenly I scream out as Ace removes his fingers and with them a flowing release that feels like a fucking awakening. My body shudders, and I try catching my breath, but Ace’s palm rubs wildly, drawing it further out of me.

I open my mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a quiet laugh. “You just made me squirt,” I say, trying to sit up, never not in awe of what he’s capable of doing with my body. But he doesn’t let up. Instead of letting that be his trophy, he wants more. My limbs feel weak, spent like putty, but he’s doing just as he promised—whatever he wants. His mouth covers my clit, sucking it into his mouth, and my hands grip onto his shoulders like a lifeline.

“Please,” I pant. “I can’t . . . I need . . .”

He tips his head up from between my legs, and with my arousal glistening from his lips, he says, “You can tell me what you need, but we both know you’re not in charge right now.” Reaching for something, he shifts slightly, and seconds later, his lips are softly kissing my clit. He peppers more kisses along my pussy lips and softly draws along the edges with his tongue. It’s soothing and slow, and my eyes drift closed momentarily until one fast, stinging slap hits my pussy. And then another. On the third, when my eyes fly open, I realize he’s using the riding crop. But it’s the fourth time that the worn leather meets my sensitive skin that has one more deliciously earth-shattering orgasm erupting from me, and with it, a throaty moan that I barely recognize as mine as stars fill my vision.

“Look at you dripping for me.” Kissing the inside of my thigh, he runs his fingers up and down the other, easing my body down and adding the perfect version of praise. “That’s it. My beautiful fucking girl.”

I should be depleted, but I’m riding whatever kind of high this is as I smile and drag my fingers through his hair. “I thought you said all night, husband...”

He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me into his arms, shifting us to the other side of the room and depositing me right onto the edge of the bed that’s nestled against the wall.

Moving away, he grabs his bottle of bourbon. “We’re nowhere near being done. And you fucking know it.”

I grow more and more giddy as he twists the top and rocks off the stopper to this particular bottle.

“Open,” he demands. The dominance laced in his voice has my body buzzing all over again.

I open my mouth. And because I’m an overachiever when it comes to what this man desires, I stick out my tongue and spread my knees.

He practically growls in response. “That’s my girl.”

I hum and let a smile break at hearing him call me his girl. Every time, it’s the same feeling—special, safe, loved, worshipped. I never understood what it meant for a man to worship my body until I experienced the way my husband touches me, kisses me, teases me, tastes me.

“I want to see you tease my cock with the taste of bourbon on your tongue.”

My mouth waters. Whatever that says about me, I couldn’t give a shit.

“Play with that pretty pussy for me,” he demands.

His tongue reaches the rim first, just as he flashes a smirk with his eyes locked with mine. He takes a pull, and I watch ashe works it down his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing, lips and chin wet.

“Would you like some?” he offers.

I nod slowly.

He glances down at his pants. “Take it out.”

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