Page 26 of Luca
When he pulls back, his eyes stay locked on mine. "You’re right," he murmurs, almost to himself. "It is nice. Much better this way than from the bottle."
I laugh softly, but inside, my mind's running full-speed. I've just given him a version of Sofia he's never met. One who doesn't choke or flinch, one who meets him drink for drink.
"Do you always say that to your drinking partners?" I tease.
His mouth curves, but there's no humor in it. "No. Only when I'm about to have them for dessert."
He takes his glass and mine, refills them both. The delicious scent hits me again and I can't help inhaling. He notices.
"Stand up," he says, voice gone velvet and command all at once.
I do. My sundress flutters against my thighs. He steps in close enough that his breath brushes my cheek. "This whiskey," he says, holding up the glass, "is extremely expensive. One of my prize bottles. I don't share it lightly."
"I'm honored," I say.
There’s no doubt in my mind, he knows I broke the seal on the bottle. I’m well aware the cameras are everywhere in this house.
He takes a slow sip, then tips the glass toward me. "I want to share it with you again. But not like before."
My brows lift. "No?"
"No."
His free hand trails down my arm to my wrist, turning my palm up. He pours the faintest stream into it. Warm, sticky, fragrant.
"Taste it,” he commands.
I glance up at him through my lashes, then bring my palm to my lips, licking it slowly. The whiskey is hotter this way, sharper, and I make a small sound I can't swallow back.
He sets both glasses on the low table. "Now, take off your dress."
I pause, pretending innocence. "Here?"
"Yes. Here."
We both know it's a game layered on top of another game. I slide the straps off my shoulders, let the dress slide down to the floor. His gaze tracks every inch of bare skin.
He picks up his glass again, takes a mouthful, and then bends, pressing his lips to the hollow of my throat. Warm liquid trickles from his mouth onto my skin. I gasp. He licks it away slowly, following the path down to my collarbone. The whiskey mingles with his breath, and my knees almost give.
"Hold still," he murmurs against my skin.
I try though it’s hard. Especially when he pours another slow ribbon down the center of my chest. His mouth tracks the trail as it slips lower, pooling between my breasts. His tongue is warm, his pace slow and deliberate. He'ssavoringme.
By the time he reaches my stomach, my breathing is shallow. I force myself to keep my expression soft, the way Sofia would. But inside, I’m pacing like a caged thing, wanting more, wanting faster.
He looks up at me from his knees, glass in hand. "Still like champagne better?"
I wet my lips. "This is... growing on me."
Something dark flares in his eyes. The glass is set aside, and his hands slide to my hips, pulling me forward until I'm pressed to his chest. His mouth is on mine again, deeper, hungrier, tasting the whiskey and my answer all at once.
"You've been lying to me, Sofia," he says against my lips, and the sound of my sister's name in his mouth alarms me.
I keep my tone mild. "About what?"
He tips his glass, letting another ribbon of whiskey trace my collarbone. "About what you like. About who you are." His gaze tracks the trail as it slips lower. "You told me champagne was your drink... bubbly, sweet." He dips his head and I feel the brush of his mouth as he follows the line with his tongue. "But you took my most expensive whiskey in one smooth swallow like you've been doing it your whole life."
"I was being polite," I reply, trying not to shiver.
