Page 96 of Whiskey Proposal

“I didn’t think there’d be a flight crew.” I thought we’d be in a loft, all alone in the entire distillery.

“They’re at the front of the plane.” He massages my butt cheeks. “You’re naughty, Em, and it’s going to kill me.” Flattening his hands on my abdomen, he drags his nose up my neck. “Best death ever.”

“Don’t die on this trip. I’m embarrassed enough.”

“You’re bare-assed, and that’s all that’s important.” Slipping his hand down my lower belly, he licks along the shell of my ear.

All thoughts of private planes and clothing decisions vanish when his fingertip hits my clit.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he breathes into my ear, sending a cascade of shivers down my spine. He pushes down farther, sliding through all that wetness he causes just by looking the way he does and being so damn sweet.

He pushes a finger inside and nudges my legs apart with one of his knees. With his other hand, he turns my face up to him. His eyes are dark, swallowed by pupil, and the hard slash of his jaw gives him a dangerous edge. I love it. I love this part of him. I also love the soft side when he’s clutching the cock pillow and talking to me in the dark.

I love him.

A sonic boom only I can hear resonates between my eardrums. Thankfully, he claims my mouth before I can react. He hits a rhythm I match with a thrust of my hips.

I can’t be in love with my husband. That’ll be really fucking inconvenient during the divorce.

He adds the right amount of pressure to my clit, and I stiffen. I’m so close. I’ve just admitted to loving him and now I’m going to orgasm. Those two things shouldn’t pair together. Because I’m not in love. I’m not falling that easily.

But the pleasure builds, centering him in my brain and my body. All other thoughts shatter when I do. I catch his name before the yell leaves my mouth. He’s got me caged to him, his mouth capturing the sounds leaving my lips. When he releases me, I can take a full breath.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn beautiful, you drive me out of my mind.” He rips his zipper down and bends me over. “You know how often I’ve thought of doing this?”

I stick my ass out. He plunges inside.

“Lane!” I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut. If we could just stay like this. Connected. Complete.

He starts thrusting, and I let him take every single thing he wants. This is his orgasm, and I’m glad to give it to him. In and out, he fills me, and just when I think I’ll feel empty, he pushes back in. His fingers dig into my flesh as he hangs on and keeps me in place at the same time.

“There isn’t”—grunt—“a place in my office”—groan—“that isn’t going to make me think of this sweet pussy.”

I moan and clutch at the blankets.

“I’m taking you everywhere I can.” Hard thrust.

I’m going to tear the damn thing apart. I can’t come again. Not from this.

The slap of our bodies fills the little room, but it doesn’t slow him. I push back, meeting him stroke for stroke. When he tilts my hips up, I detonate, not as strong as before but just as powerful. Because this time we’re coming together, and I wish it meant more. I wish it meant always and forever.

Not just until I serve him with papers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Lane

My hands are flat on the glass, and I ride out the rest of my climax. Emerson’s legs are wrapped around me, and her back is against the window. Those sexy-as-hell overalls are on my desk, where I had her spread for my consumption. The rest of her clothing is piled on top. Mine too.

Her hot breaths caress my neck from where she’s buried her face. “I should’ve asked earlier, but you’re sure no one can see us?”

The security lights in the parking lot glow into my office, but that’s all that will get in. “No prying eyes can see inside. Otherwise you would’ve seen me staring at you when you first arrived.”

“You were just doing your research.”

“I’d already done that. It was time to collect my reward for being so patient.” I grab under her legs. “Hold on.”

She hugs me hard. “You can put me down.”