Chapter 8
EIGHT
Alivia
Ididn’t know what time it was when my eyes opened, but the room was completely dark, not even a single bit of light was coming in through the blinds. Positioned on my side, I had a perfect view of Whiskey, his eyes open as he lay on his back, appearing like he was staring at the ceiling.
“You’re awake?”
He huffed, “I’m always awake.” He turned his neck to look at me. “I wish you hadn’t woken up. You were sleeping so soundly. Except at one point, you laughed—whatever you were dreaming about, your reaction was cute as hell.”
“If I remembered my dreams, I’d share the goods with you. Unfortunately, I only remember the nightmares.”
“Do you have a lot of those?”
I let out a soft breath. “Almost every night. But I didn’t last night—or tonight.” An extremely interesting tidbit and something I hadn’t thought of until just now. Was it because I hadn’t slept at home? Or because I was in a bed with Whiskey? “Do you know what time it is?”
We’d climbed in here around midnight. I wondered how many hours or minutes were left until my alarm went off. It was set for five so I’d have enough time to shower and get to work.
“It’s a little past two.”
Three-ish hours. Something told me I wouldn’t be going back to sleep, so I leaned up on my elbow. “What were you thinking about before I woke up?”
He turned his whole body toward me and held my cheek, my face instantly warm from his skin. “The things that fuel the stress in my life. That’s what I constantly think about.” He went quiet. “Well, that is, until you showed up at my door.”
“I thought I silenced the noise?”
“You did. Except you fell asleep. Which I don’t blame you for—you’re allowed to sleep.”
My fingers stretched across his chest. I wasn’t sure why, but the roughness of his hair and the feel and temperature of his skin were so comforting.
“Anything you want to talk about? I know I’m basically nothing more than a stranger, but maybe that’s a good thing.
Someone who knows nothing, just your side of things. ”
“I don’t know how to talk about it.”
“Is it that?” My fingers tightened into a ball. “Or are you afraid that once you pull out the cork, all the water will drain?”
“Huh. Isn’t that a good question?”
“Some people don’t like to let it all out, in fear that once those words are spoken, they can’t take them back. Some people worry that once it’s all out, there won’t be anything left.”
“Which one are you?”
I laughed. “Oh, no. You’re not going to turn this around on me. The spotlight is still on you, I’m afraid.” I tapped one of his pecs.
He stroked my lips. “I love your laugh.”
“Whiskey … you’re trying hard to change the subject. It’s not going to work.”
“I’m doing no such thing. I’m just telling you, I love your laugh.” He paused. “And I’m going to miss it.”
I was weirdly going to miss laughing in front of him.
An admission that was as powerful as the statement he’d just voiced.
I slowly filled my lungs with air. “I’m going to take a guess and say you’re the type who’s worried if there will be anything left. It’s not that you want to hold on, it’s what will you reach for once you let it go.”
I could feel his eyes moving over the shadows of my face.
“You’re far beyond twenty-three—you know that?”
“That’s because I’ve lived a thousand lives.”
His exhale was even louder than mine, and he rolled onto his back. “You’re right—to answer your question.”
“I know.”
“If there isn’t anything left, I don’t …” His next exhale made a whistling sound, and he folded his hands behind his head. “I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s consumed me for so long. Who am I without it?”
I leaned up even further. “Do you need that answer now?”
“Not now, no. But soon.”
“Why?”
He didn’t immediately reply. “If I walk away, I need to know what I’m walking to.”
“Sounds like those steps could give you some mental and physical freedom.”
He laughed. “There’s that, yes.”
“How about happiness?”
“I hear you, Sky. There’s that too.”
“And fun?”
“I’m only thirty-five, which, to you, probably sounds like a big number, but to me, it feels a tad too young to have that much time on my hands that will solely be monopolized by fun.”
“Not necessarily.” I sat up and pushed my back against the headboard. “Think of how busy you’ll keep yourself with all the things you like to do. Like if I wasn’t here, what kind of trouble would you find yourself in?”
“That’s part of the problem. I don’t even know what I like to do anymore.”
My fingers spread across his chest. “You have some homework to do, mister.”
“You’re not wrong—and it pains me to admit that.” He rolled toward me, but this time, when he faced me, his position was different. It seemed almost temporary.
“It pains you?” I coughed out some air.
“Taking advice isn’t one of my strengths.”
“But I wasn’t giving you advice.” I tucked some hair behind my ear. “I was just mowing the grass, so if or when you decide to walk, there won’t be any long blades or weeds in your way.”
“You are”—as his voice drifted off, he grabbed the top of the blanket that was at the center of my chest and gradually lowered it to my knees—“something else.”
Goose bumps covered my skin.
And it wasn’t because the cold air in the room had hit me.
“Something else … and someone who’s right.” I smiled, although I wasn’t sure he could see it.
“Do you just want to hear me say that? So you can gloat?”
“Whiskey, you’ve told me these super-intriguing things about you, but whether you’re really this hard-ass who’s never wrong, that’s up for debate unless I see it with my own eyes.” I rubbed my bare arms. “All that to say, I don’t know you well enough to gloat.”
His hand went to my stomach. “Trust me. I’ve fired people for saying far less than you have tonight.”
“It’s a good thing you can’t fire me, then. I’ll be gone in less than three hours anyway, and, shit, you probably won’t miss anything more than my laugh.”
He moved into an almost-push-up position and hovered over me, his lips going to my neck. “I’d better make the most of my time.”
I looked to the side to give him more space to kiss. “This is how you plan on spending that time?” I giggled as he lowered to my chest, the combo of the brisk, windy air-conditioning and his hot mouth making me ticklish.
“No.” He continued to go further, past my tits and stomach, and stopped at my pussy, wrapping his arms around my thighs. “I plan to spend it right here.”
I couldn’t control the sounds that were coming out of me. The breathing. The moaning. And his tongue hadn’t even touched me yet.
He bent my knees, his face directly between my legs. “I’ve been dreaming about doing this.”
I knew not to ask if he was joking. So, I said instead, “You have?”
“Since you chose for me to kiss your lips over this, yes, I have. I’ve tasted almost every other spot on your body except right here.”
I couldn’t see his face, so when I felt him on my clit, I gasped. The sensation wasn’t wet, which told me it wasn’t his tongue.
“Damn it, you smell so fucking good.”
That meant it had to be … his nose?
His exhale ricocheted off me, confirming my guess.
“Whiskeeey.” I gripped his hair, my back arching as I anticipated the next feeling, my legs straining to stay open. “What are you doing to me?”
“I think the better question is, what is your cunt doing to me?”
When I finally felt wetness, it wasn’t on my clit. It was all around my pussy—the sides, the top. It was as though he was outlining his territory and teasing me in the process.
Every inch he dragged his tongue, I moaned louder.
“You’re making me want to beg,” I panted.
“You already are. I hear it in your breaths.”
“I just don’t think you understand how good this feels.”
He would get dangerously close to the center and back away, keeping his tongue on me, but not giving me what I craved.
“This isn’t one-sided, Sky.” He kissed under my thigh. “It feels the same way for me.” He moved to the other side. “Knowing I can make you feel this way, hearing it—that’s a whole different type of satisfaction.”
I couldn’t see his face; in the darkness, it looked like a large blob. So, all I could do was wait, foresee, and try not to jump when he landed on a new spot. Not out of shock, but out of pleasure.
The back of my head ground into the headboard, and my hands squeezed the pillows.
“I’ve … never had this before.”
“What?” His mouth was on the left side of my bikini line.
“I’m not sure why I admitted that, but, yeah, you’re my first when it comes to doing this.”
His chuckle was like a vibrator, and a wave of trembles moved through me, going on for an entire breath.
“Because of that, do you have any idea how hard you’re going to come?”
“I … don’t think I do.”
“I was going to torture you and let this play out for as long as I possibly could, but this news just changed everything.”
“What did it change—”
I cut myself off when his tongue swiped a spot he hadn’t licked yet. A spot directly between me and right at the top, a place that was the most sensitive of all.
“Oh”—I drew in air, holding it in—“fuck!”
It had just been a single flick, and it was the most explosive feeling I’d ever experienced. There was no way it could feel that way a second time. Not when I knew what to expect.
But, damn, I was wrong.
And when he did it again, he didn’t pull his tongue away. He kept it on me, massaging it across my clit, and thrust inside me with one of his fingers.
“What the fuck?! Oh my God!”
I couldn’t explain it in my head. I couldn’t define what was even happening. All I knew was that he was licking me back and forth, and somewhere, at some point, he was sucking on me, and I was completely gone.
Not just my mind.
My body too.
Even though he wasn’t able to list the things he liked to do, I swore this should be on it. Because no one could be this incredible at eating a woman’s pussy and not love it like a hobby.
“Argh!”