13. Greta
13
Greta
How I'm Not Gonna Die
I still can’t believe the Cardinals failed me like this. But if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s doubling down when I should’ve cut my losses. I raised the stakes, and now, I’m his naked beer maid while we wait on the grocery store take-and-bake pizza in my oven to finish cooking.
Honestly, I think he expected me to try to get out of it, but I don’t skip out on a bet. Besides, I hate being underestimated.
So, I took it all off like the supremely confident woman I’m currently pretending to be as his eyes roam over my body.
Law accepts the cold bottle from my hand and snakes his other arm around my lower back to pull me closer as he takes the first sip of the beer.
“How do you like it?” I know it’s his favorite beer, but I’m playing a role here, and staying in character is my only hope of getting through this.
“It seems a little more hoppy than usual.” He touches the tip of the bottle between my breasts, and I try not to jump. When he pulls it down between my ribs, I maintain eye contact. He drags it lower, pausing at my belly button for a moment, trying to read my reaction, but I’m doing everything in my power not to give him one.
My gaze is steely. It has to be. The brown bottle slides down my abdomen. A shiver wracks my spine when he slips it between my legs.
Am I really about to let him do what I think he’s about to do?
The glass lip is no longer cold when it makes contact with my pussy. He continues his critique. “I think it needs a little sweetness to take the edge off.”
Okay, I did not expect this when I decided to pay up, but I’m not going to let him unnerve me. I can match his energy.
He glides the mouth of the bottle back and forth between my seam. I smile, still staring straight into his eyes even as my walls clench in anticipation. When he pushes it inside me, he almost breaks my resolve. He doesn’t go far, just the first few inches, but my heels leave the ground, and my breath stutters.
I forget to breathe at all when he brings the bottle back to his mouth and traces the rim with the tip of his tongue before taking his second sip. “Yeah, that’s better.”
There’s a wicked glint in his eyes. A challenge.
Two can play, music man.
I close my fingers over his wrapped around the bottle and pull it in my direction. Leaning my head down, but making sure my eyes stay lifted to his, I let my tongue trace the rim. His attempt to mask his body’s reaction falls short.
Having him off his game could be fun. No way am I stopping now.
Again, I trace the mouth of the bottle . . . and then, I dip my tongue inside, curling it as I pull it back out. His jaw locks, and his eyes hood. I may have lost the bet, but I’m going to wipe that smug smile right off his gorgeous face.
I inch the bottle into my mouth and close my lips around it, and then I pull it out—oh, so slowly, suctioning my cheeks before I release it. I tongue the opening again, reaching deeper this time.
His eyes are glued to the show. Turning the tables on him is so much fun.
I slip my tongue farther into the bottle and twist it slightly.
He lets out a prolonged groan.
I pump my mouth on the bottle a few times, letting my tongue go deeper.
My confidence soars . . .
Right up to the moment I realize how badly I’ve fucked up.
Oh, shit. The stakes just got too damn high.
Increasing the force when I pull only makes it worse. I’ve created a vacuum.
My tongue is stuck in this fucking bottle.
Panic rises, and I’d rather die than have him know what’s happening, but if I don’t let him know what’s happening, I may literally die with my tongue stuck in this fucking bottle!
This cannot be how I die.
Law’s confused expression makes it clear he’s not entirely sure what’s happening.
I point to the bottle. “Izz sthuck!”
His mouth quirks, and I swear, if he laughs right now, I’ll slam this bottle into the wall and stab him with a broken shard.
“Okay, I need you to try to calm down,” he says, making the condescending lowering motion with his hands.
What you need is to gird your loins and hope I don’t hit an artery when I stab you with a piece of broken glass!
Forcing the tip of his pinky between my tongue and the lip of the bottle, he manages to press his knuckle against my tongue, and then tip the bottle just enough to break the vacuum.
He quickly slips the bottle off my swollen tongue. His smile is heroic.
And then he laughs.
And, so do I.
I laugh hysterically.
I’m not sure if it’s the sheer relief of knowing I’m not going to die, or just the absolute absurdity of the whole situation. Of all the fantasies I’ve had about being naked with him, never once was there a bottle hanging off my tongue.
He wraps both his arms around me, and my laughter subsides as his mouth closes on mine. I’ve forgotten all about being naked until his warm hand slides down my back to cup my ass. I don’t need to be someone else anymore.
Breaking the kiss, he murmurs, “Can I get another taste if I promise to leave the bottle on the table?”
“The answer is yes,” I confess. “With or without the bottle. Your call.”
“No bottle this time,” he says, but he picks it up, anyway. “Let’s take it to the bedroom with us in case we want to use it again later.”
“Later? Somebody’s confident.”
“Trust me, we’re going to be a while.”
“Not if we never get started.”
“Oh, we’re about to get something started, sweetheart.”