Page 66 of Whiskey Proposal

Those words. I squeeze my eyes shut, glad he can’t see any fear that’s slipping through. What if I was made for him? What if he ruins me, and I have to watch him lose interest?

“Em, are you still with me?” He rocks without pulling out.

I open my eyes. “Yes. I’m here.” With him. In the distillery.

“That beautiful brain of yours is going to steal you away.” He grabs the bottle of gin, opens it, and takes a drink. Leaning over, he tilts my face up. When he puts his lips on mine, I open. Warm lavender-infused gin trickles into my mouth. It’s even richer with his flavor intermixed.

I moan into him.

The gin-soaked kiss relaxes me and he starts thrusting. Easy and languid until he picks up the pace. The position I’m in, with his size, carries me right to the peak. The sound of our skin slapping together fills the air and a drop of gin leaks out of the corner of my mouth.

Lane licks it up and straightens. “Hang on. I need you to come with me.”

I grip the edge of the desk and he rams into me, over and over. I need each slam of his cock. Each spike of pleasure goes into my memory bank, tucked around that thoughtful pickup tattoo on his back.

A permanent tattoo.

“Lane!” I’m cartwheeling again, lost in him, in the dark office, but thankfully, not in my thoughts. The taste of gin on my tongue orients me to him.

He stiffens and his heat fills me. We come together, and there’s never been a time I’ve felt so whole, like I belonged. Then I’m floating down. He’s quit bucking into me, holding me against him while his limbs quiver and shake.

I swallow, not knowing what to say.

He kisses the top of my head and doesn’t move his mouth away. “I’m bringing you and that bottle of gin to bed, and you’re not getting out until morning.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lane

We’re in my bed, and she’s astride me, bouncing up and down. I can’t believe I have to fight off another climax. I’ve come twice already.

She’s pulled her hair out of the ponytails and it’s curtained over her face. I have both palms full of her creamy tits, and there’s nowhere else I want to be.

I might’ve been a little obsessed after I saw her photo, but this tells me there was a reason. This chemistry between us? It doesn’t happen every day.

“Ride me.” I stuff a hand in her silky strands. “You’re soft all over. Your hair, your skin, that sweet pink pussy of yours.”

She pants, rolling her hips as she moves. She’s disappearing again. It isn’t my imagination. She disappears into her head, and this becomes nothing but fucking.

She might think that, but I’ll show her the truth.

I stop thrusting and hold her still. “Look at me, Em.” Her eyelids flutter open. “Who’s fucking you?”

“You.” She strains against my hold, trying to steal scraps of pleasure. I’ll give her all she wants, but she’s going to know who’s doing it.

I rock up, burying myself deep into her warm, willing body. “Who?” I withdraw.

“Lane.” She wiggles her hips, teasing the crown of my cock until I almost give in. I don’t. She huffs out a breath and drapes herself over me, kissing along my jaw. “Mr. Foster.”

I grunt. “Damn right. You and me.”

I finally have Emerson Langley in my bed.

“Mine,” I growl again, my hands cinched on her hips. She’s riding me fast, coming to another release. She’s gasping like it’s a shock she can come again, a clear sign she hasn’t been with anyone who deserves her. “My wife.”

I fight off the crest of my climax, battling it out until we can explode together.

“Lane,” she gasps, and I’ll never get tired of hearing my name spill out of her mouth when I’m buried deep inside her.