Page 368 of Phobia
“I really can’t.” How could I drink when I wished every day that Papa would stop? I would feel like a hypocrite if I caved into the pressure.
Bastien tipped his head to the side. “Suit yourself.” He brought it to his mouth again and took another gulp as if it were water.
I eyed the bottle. Would it be so terrible to try one sip? Perhaps it would be fun to experience something new.A new experience with a new friend.
I grabbed the slender neck from his hand.
“Attagirl!” he praised me, watching intently. “Give it a nice smell before you drink.”
I brought the bottle just above my lips and inhaled deeply. The syrupy scent arrested my nostrils.
“Don’t it make y’er mouth water?”
It did, oddly enough. The sweetness should have turned me off, but instead, I found myself craving it.
“Drink and yeh will see.” His voice had grown thick and gravelly.
I glanced at him from the side, catching his gaze on my lips. With my eyes trained on him, I lifted the bottle and drank.
“Good girl. Don’t let it drip from y’er mouth.”
The cool liquid splashed over my tongue, then heat scorched my throat as I swallowed. I sputtered droplets out, directly disobeying his order to keep all of it in.
He let out a low and rumbling laugh that rattled my core.
I winced. I must have been a joke to him—an inexperienced girl who couldn’t swallow a mouthful of alcohol. I hated that my failure amused him. I struggled with feeling unimportant at home, and here I was in my supposed safe place feeling minuscule and self-conscious.
Determined to wipe the smirk off his mouth, I quickly brought the bottle to my lips again and drank. This time, I filled my mouth until it couldn’t hold any more. I paused, bracing myself for the burn when I swallowed again.
“Swallow,” he commanded.
My body obeyed, and by some miracle, I didn’t choke. Our eyes remained locked the entire time.
“Does it feel nice sliding down this slender throat?” he rasped low and huskily, like he was telling a secret meant only for my ears. “Feel how it warms y’er belly and fills yeh? Only good things feel like that, little songbird.”
I wasn’t sure if one could get drunk off one and a half swigs of rum, but my mind was swimming. All of Bastien—his voice, his scent, his presence—engulfed me.
He leaned in closer to my ear, his lips tickling the tiny hairs on my lobe. “How can anythin’ that feels so good be so bad?”
My breath hitched, yet my stomach was quivering. It could have been the effects of the alcohol. My guess was that it was the effects of my drinking partner.
The things he had said seemed to be euphemisms, but I’d lived my entire life at home and had never interacted with a man for fear of my father finding out and attacking me in one of his drunken rages. Anything I had ever learned about sex had been from Sophie Lapin and Clarisse Beau after Sunday service. Those girls knew everything and didn’t hesitate to share.
But the bravery from the rum had killed any shyness that might have lingered. “Was everything you said sexual?”
Bastien leaned back slightly, his expression incredulous. “Blunt girl, yeh are.”
“I have trouble understanding when things have hidden meanings. Papa says I’m dumb.” He always criticized me for asking for clarification whenever I couldn’t comprehend sentences. Maman was a bit nicer. She called me her “special girl” and had a little more patience.
Bastien’s jaw clenched. “Well, yeh ain’t dumb, and I don’t want to hear yeh call y’erself that again.”
I nodded; his words had struck my dormant ego and brought it to life. “So, was it all sexual innuendo?”
He took a languid puff on his cigar and passed it to me, but I refused. Drinking alcohol was enough for one night.
“How much do yeh know about sex?” he asked.
Our relationship had been inappropriate from the beginning. Here I was, a sheltered seventeen-year-old meeting with a man who was probably twice my age in the middle of the night with no other family members present. The town would have a field day if they ever saw us together. But I didn’t think there were any more lines that we could cross, so I answered. “Not much. Just whatever my friends have told me.” If you could even call Sophie and Clarisse friends. I just feigned friendship with them since our parents were close and I didn’t want to have any discussions with Maman about how I needed to come out of my shell more.
