Page 31 of Whiskey & Wreckage

“Thanks for today,” she murmurs.

“You made today.”

She hums, quiet for a beat. Then she shifts, her palm pressing flat against my chest, pushing herself up to face me.

I know that look. Mischief. Heat. A little hesitation. But her mind’s already made up.

She leans in and kisses me, soft at first, like she’s testing the waters. But I’m already gone. I tilt my head and kiss her deeper, sliding my hand into her hair and pulling her closer. Her mouth opens under mine, and we fall into it, fast and messy and good. So fucking good.

She shifts, straddling my lap now, her knees bracketing my thighs, her body pressed full against mine. I slide my hands up her back, and when I get to the edge of her tube top, I pause.

She breathes out, “Yes.”

That’s all I need. I pull it down, slow, until her bra comes with it and her tits spill free into my hands like a goddamn miracle. My mouth finds her nipple instantly, sucking it deep while my palm teases the other, and she gasps, this wild, broken sound that shoots straight to my cock.

She arches into me, fingers digging into my shoulders, riding that edge of pleasure and desperation. I switch sides, giving the other nipple the same attention, licking and sucking until her hips start to rock without even realizing it.

She shifts in my lap, the movement slow and purposeful, and leans in to kiss me again, this time deeper, hungrier. Her tonguebrushes mine, teasing, tasting. I groan against her mouth, gripping her hips tighter as she rolls them, pressing herself down on me with a little moan that sounds downright sinful.

And then she moves. Not away, just enough to slide one hand between us. Her fingers trail down my stomach, light and teasing, and I swear my whole body tenses. She doesn't ask permission, she doesn't have to. When her hand finds the hard line of my cock through my jeans, I hiss out a breath.

“Poppy,”

She bites her lip, watching me like she's studying the effect she has. And damn if she doesn’t already know.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first time you kissed me,” she murmurs, gripping me slowly. “Actually, maybe since you installed my deadbolt like a sexy handyman with secrets.”

I laugh, rough and low, but it cuts off fast when she rubs her palm over me again. My head drops back against the couch, a curse slipping from my lips as she works me through the denim, slow and deliberate. Teasing.

“Jesus,” I grit out. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Still think letting me do the dishes was your biggest mistake today?”

She unbuttons my jeans with one hand and slips her hand inside, skin to skin. When her fingers wrap around my cock, I bite down a groan so loud Bear actually lifts his head and snorts in protest.

I don't care. I couldn't stop her if I tried. Not when she’s touching me like this, like she owns me. Like she’scuriousandconfidentand a little wicked, all rolled up in vanilla and sunshine.

“You’re so hard,” she whispers, almost in awe.

I grab her wrist gently, not to stop her, just to slow her down before I come like a goddamn teenager.

“Baby,” I pant, “you keep doing that and this is gonna be over embarrassingly fast.”

“I want you,” she says, breath hot against my neck. “All of you.”

My control snaps. I growl and flip her, gently but fast, laying her back against the couch and hovering over her. Her hair fans out over the cushions, her chest rising and falling, her eyes wide and electric. Her tube top is still pushed down, her skin flushed, her lips swollen from our kisses.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” I say, voice rough as I slide my hand down her body. “But I plan to show you.”

Her breath catches, eyes locked on mine. And when I lower my head and take her nipple into my mouth again, she arches up into me like she’s been waiting for this forever.

I suck gently at first, then harder when she moans, this high, breathy sound that goes straight to my cock. I drag my tongue over her nipple, tease it with my teeth, and her fingers bury in my hair like she’s trying to anchor herself to something solid.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” she whispers, voice shaking.

“Good,” I growl against her skin. “That’s the goal.”

I trail kisses across her chest, her collarbone, up to her throat, and then back to her mouth, devouring her like I can’t get enough. Because I can’t. She tastes like beer and cinnamon gum and something purely her—addictive and wild and soft all at once.

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