14. Lindee #2
Fingertips trace along the ink, tickling me. I follow along with him, around each little branch and hexagon, knowing exactly which element he’s following—working his way through the equation.
“The carbon skeleton of whiskey…” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the tattoo.
“Specifically Tennessee Trouble,” I reply, my inner nerd unable to hold back.
“Is that this?” He skims along the branch that curves under my breast toward my sternum. “The tri hydrogen carbon with a star?”
My insides clench. Never in my life did I think I’d be turned on by chemistry—actual, legitimate, molecular chemistry—but hearing the way Brandt names the bond sends electricity through my veins.
“Luna…” He kisses the star, marking me with his reverence. “I’ve never been more turned on in my life.” He kisses it again, peppering me with his sweet, wet marks. “I thought you were pretty damn close to perfect before. Now…this confirms it.”
Oh, fuck me…
Brandt continues his way down my belly, his open-mouth kisses turning hotter and hotter, each one feeling like a branding iron. I get lost in the feeling, the mystery of where he’s going to touch me again, wanting my whole self to be covered by him. With his kisses.
It’s not until I hear the opening of the whiskey bottle in the background that I return to the moment.
Pushing up to my elbows, I watch carefully as Brandt brings the open bottle toward my body, hovering it right above my sex.
“Now time to combine two of my favorite things,” he says, giving me a wink. “Whiskey, and your pretty pussy.”
Cold liquid hits me, sliding through my folds, and I scream. It’s a weird, wild sensation, but it doesn’t last. Brandt’s mouth quickly replaces it, lapping at me to catch every last drop.
I scream again, the feel of his tongue against me sending me reeling. I’m still so sensitive from what he did to me in the church basement, plus all the drawn-out teasing, that the direct attention is mind-blowing. Pure, raw pleasure.
“Fuck, Luna…” He licks from bottom to top, making sure to hit my clit dead-on. “You make the perfect drink taste even better.”
He pours more whiskey onto me, this time not letting it sit for even a second before he’s back at it. Licking, sucking, nibbling. Pushing me toward an even stronger climax than earlier. One where I might need to actually know his middle name so I can shout it out when I shatter.
Turning his focus to my clit, he slides two fingers inside me, already knowing what I want. He’s playing me like a violin and he’s Niccolò Paganini. I’m nothing but a puppet, bending and acting on his will. As long as he gives me what I need, I don’t care.
Because the pleasure is all-encompassing. The sweet euphoria is surrounding me, like the fog on the creek in the mornings. Thick and heavy, pulling me in to get lost inside, clinging to me like a second skin. I want to break free, let go, and break into a million sparkly pieces. I’m so close.
“That’s it, baby…” Brandt coos, his deep voice swirling through the euphoric fog. “Come for me.”
I implode.
What starts as a hairline fracture grows, multiplies, spiderwebbing through me in an instant.
Then it comes crashing down around me. White-hot indulgence spreads through me, taking over all my senses.
I throw my head back, screaming, letting out everything that I’m feeling.
All the good. All the joy. All the happiness.
I gasp, trying to catch my breath as I crash back down.
My body heaves, my muscles not sure if they should contract or release, Brandt’s mouth still on me, staying with me as I crash.
My heart is racing at a million miles an hour, my brain a blank slate, unable to process anything.
Except the pure bliss coursing through me, my limp limbs, and the hot, wet mouth still working me over.
It’s perfect. Overwhelming. And leaves me wanting more.
Not just more. Him.
I shift, trying to pull away from Brandt. He doesn’t give in though. He moves to my inner thighs, branding them like he did my tummy earlier, teasing me with each new kiss.
“I…” I gasp again, trying to find my voice. “I need you inside me…please…”
Brandt stops, eyes flicking up to mine from where he’s nestled between my legs. A devilish grin spreads across his cheeks, the mischief in his eyes making my desire for him even stronger.
“Need, huh?”
Yes, I fucking need…
“Please…”
Brandt pushes up, biceps flexing, stretching the fabric of his tee to its limits. I swallow hard, watching, waiting, willing for him to move faster. He takes his time though, as if he has nothing better to do. Like there isn’t a naked woman splayed out in front of him begging him to fuck her.
Nope, this man is acting like he has all the time in the world.
Lazily grabbing his shirt by the back collar and yanking it over his head, in his own one-man modeling ad, he stretches, showing off his muscular torso and that patch of chest hair. It’s like he truly belongs on a billboard somewhere.
I blink and his pants are gone, leaving him in nothing but a pair of army green boxer briefs. My palms itch to help him out of them—to get my hands on the goods and play. But my body is still as useful as a limp noodle, too blissed-out to move.
Brandt is too fast for me anyway.
Another blink and the underwear is gone. Brandt faces me, sheathed cock in hand, stroking himself as he looks at me.
Ohhhhh…fuck…
Climbing back onto the bed, he looms over me like a villain, covering my whole body with his and slowly lowering himself down to kiss me.
He tastes like whiskey, mixed in a sweet tang I don’t recognize.
Oh, wait…that’s me. He tastes like whiskey and me.
I shudder, the realization sparking a new zing of lust to rush through me.
I’m needy, desperate, and about ready to start begging.
So I try to take matters into my own hands.
Reaching between us, I wrap my hand around his dick and lead him to my entrance. Brandt laughs into our kiss, not bothering to fight my movements, but not giving in to them either.
“Not yet, Luna…”
The way he says that fake name, like it’s real, makes my heart squeeze. As if this could be our always, and that sweet little moniker be what he—and only he—calls me.
“I need you,” I hiss, bucking my hips to get his attention.
He groans, his own hips reacting, dragging his dick through my wetness. The tip hits my clit and I bite down on my cheek, feeling the want crawl along my skin.
“And you’ll have me…” He kisses me again, repeating the move. Fuck, he’s teasing me, and he knows just what to do. “As soon as you admit this is a date.”
“What?”
“Say it, baby.” He lines his dick up, notching it into my entrance, playing with me. I moan, that little bit of him messing with my mind. “Say this is a date.”
I don’t know why that’s so important to him. But he’s right—this is a date. Best one I’ve ever had. Doesn’t matter what I said earlier, trying to play it off like there isn’t something between us. There is. Something deep. Something powerful. A connection that I can’t deny.
That I don’t want to deny.
Pulling back just enough, he moves away from my core. That’s my cue.
“It’s a date.” I huff out a sigh, looking for him to return to me. To give me what I want.
Oh and fuck, does he.
Brandt slams into me, hard, fast, not waiting for me to even finish my admission. The move steals my breath, right along with his slow withdrawal. He does it again, this time not waiting for me to adjust to him.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he mutters, picking up the pace.
I squeeze my insides, wrapping my legs around his waist, getting lost in the feel of him. I’m so full I could burst, my body still screaming for more. For him to go harder. To give me all he’s got.
“More…” I whisper into his ear, tilting my hips upward. I nip at his earlobe, the soft skin barely grazing my teeth.
“Oh, I’ll give you more…” he moans.
The fire returns to his eyes, releasing something inside him. His picks up his pace even more, his hips bucking wildly. I meet him thrust for thrust, and soon enough we’re a mess of limbs as we find our rhythm. The one that only we know.
No, it’s not just a rhythm. It’s a formula. One that combines every element of the two of us, making this work. Our own personal chemistry—steady, vulnerable, fierce, and explosive. That’s what we are.
That’s what he makes me feel.
A feeling I don’t want to abandon.