Page 47 of Whiskey Proposal

A whimper leaves me, and he drops his hands down my torso to grip my butt and jerk me closer to him. The knot of the arms of his coveralls grinds into me, and so does the erection beneath that.

It’s not enough and too much at the same time.

He rips his mouth off my lips and kisses along my jaw. “I know what you need.”

“No, you don’t,” I say with a grunt, trying to get closer to him. My legs are as wide as they go.

Instead of arguing, he chuckles, and his hot breath gusts over the shell of my ear. Shivers cascade across my skin, winding me up tighter. I clamp my legs around him, the need pulsating inside me refusing to be ignored.

He works my shirt up. “I can prove it, Em.”

He sounds so confident, so cocky, that I want to push him away. But the cool shop air wafts over my breasts. He’s got my shirt pushed up and he’s hooked his fingers over the cups. Meeting my gaze, there’s a challenging glint he saves just for me.

“You might not need this part.” His voice is gruff. “But you want it.”

God, yes. I do. I want it so much.

With a tiny smirk, he tugs the lacy cups of my bra down until each breast pops out.

He groans. “I knew they’d be fucking perfect.” He cups one and draws the pearled nipple into his mouth.

There’s a direct line from his mouth to every nerve in my body. I light up, and I’m nothing but a haze of lust and need. “Yes.”

He gives me a satisfied grunt as he tongues across my nipples, switching sides until I’m a writhing mess.

“More” slips out, but I don’t regret it. Not if he can live up to that cocky attitude and give me what I need.

“I’ve got you, Em.” He doesn’t move except to tunnel a hand down my shorts.

Another needy moan leaves me. Are we really doing this? Am I really letting him imprint himself on me more than he already has? After one kiss, I have a hard enough time not turning into a puddle around him. But then his rough fingertip hits my clit, and I don’t care. There’s nothing in my world that isn’t the pleasure this man can give.

He releases his mouthful of my breast. “You’re fucking soaked.” Sliding his hand down farther until he’s cupping my pussy, he lets out an approving groan. “All this is for me.”

“Yes,” I say with a gasp and shamefully grind on him.

He lifts his head. All the planes of his face are hard edges, but his gaze is lazy. Languid. He twitches a finger, and dammit, it’s not enough. “You need this.”

“Yes.”

“What do you need?”

I’m too gone in my arousal to differentiate the question. “This.”

“No,” he says right by my ear, his voice silky. “What do you need?”

“To get off.” I rock against his hand. His hold is firm. He’s giving me enough room to move, but nothing more.

“You could use a vibrator for that.” He traces my ear with his tongue, and the energy inside me grows with nowhere to go. Only he does this to me. That control I wanted to take back is getting handed over to him. “What do you need?”

Fuck, I know the answer. It’s obvious. I could use my hand, a vibrator, or go to that dive bar I’ve driven by on the edge of town and pick someone up. I’m not interested, and if I was, it wouldn’t be like this. I wouldn’t be on the razor’s edge of ecstasy like I’ve never known or utter, soul-crushing disappointment if he doesn’t move that damn hand.

I exhale. “You. Now get me off.”

His deep chuckle rumbles through me, only heightening all the sky-high sensations inside me. He adjusts the angle of his hand, and his thumb hits my clit a half a second before a finger pushes inside.

“God, yes,” rips out of me. I crush my mouth to his, grab on to his shoulders, and buck against him.

He’s not even moving. I’m doing all the work. I’m taking and he’s giving me everything I need, but no more. Almost as if he’s saying this is just the bare minimum of what he has to offer.