Whiskey Moon

I hadn’t planned on bringing her here—not tonight, not ever. But she looked so sad and defeated earlier, and then showed up at my brother’s bar for the sole purpose of saving me from myself.

That and under the shade of night, no one would notice the two of us headed out of town nor would they find us holed up at the line shack.

“It’s a little different from the last time you saw it,” I say as she walks around the six-hundred-square-foot stone house. “Reconnected the water. Ran a propane line so there’s heat and electricity. Added a few cabinets in the kitchenette. It isn’t much, but this is where I hang my hat at night.”

“I love it.” She runs her hand along the green and blue knit blanket folded on the back of the rocking chair before honing in on the image on the fridge.

Shit …

“Really, Wyatt?” she asks, unable to remove the mile-wide grin from her pretty face. She slides it out from the magnet and waves it in my face. “You didn’t miss me at all, did you?”

“Are you asking real Wyatt or pretend Wyatt?”

She rolls her eyes, placing the photo back where she found it.

“If you’re asking pretend Wyatt, the answer is yes,” I say. “If you’re asking real Wyatt … the answer is like hell.”

Her playful demeanor shifts. “I’m so confused …”

I can’t give her much by the way of information, but I can at least give her that. I missed her. I missed her more than I’ve ever missed anything in the whole damn world.

Moving closer, I place my hands on her waist and narrow the space between us, pulling her against me. Sliding my fingertips along her jaw, I stop beneath her chin, tipping it until our mouths align.

My heart hammers in my chest, and I can taste her already.

But I don’t want to rush this.

It’s been ten years since I’ve touched those rosebud lips and we’ve got all night.

I slide the elastic from her hair and let her messy mane spill along her shoulders before sliding my hand around the nape of her neck and lacing my fingers through her silky dark locks.

Her lips part as she gazes at me through a fringe of dark lashes.

Holding her in my arms, in my home—in our place, fills me with equal parts much bittersweet nostalgia and unadulterated rage.

Her father took her from me. But he’s not here tonight. He doesn’t know she’s looking at me like I hung the moon and stars all over again. He doesn’t know she’s melting against me, desperately needing to feel loved again—truly and unconditionally loved—for everything she is and not everything she could be.

Real or pretend, it doesn’t matter, because tonight she’s mine.

I lower my mouth against hers, tasting the sweetness of her berry Chapstick and the softness of her fleshy tongue as it meets mine. My cock throbs, straining against my jeans. Working my fingers along the hem of her t-shirt, I tug it over her head and toss it aside. Blaire moves for my belt buckle, unlatching it with a flick of her finger before tugging down my zipper. A moment later, she’s on her knees, freeing my hardness and running her palm along my bulging shaft. Her palms are soft and her strokes are gentle.

She runs her tongue along the underside of the tip—a move that used to drive me wild …

… and apparently still does.

My cock throbs harder in her palm, pulsing with every stroke of her hand and every suck of her sweet mouth.

She swallows my length again and again, the perfect combination of pressure and rhythm—but when my balls begin to tighten, I tap out. I’ve got the woman of my dreams all to myself tonight, and I’ll be damned if I go out like a born-again virgin.

“Your turn,” I say.

Blaire rises, eyes holding mine as she steps backward to my bed. Her delicate fingers work the button fly of her cut-off jeans. She shoves them down her hips, revealing her black lace panties. Running her fingertips along her collarbone, she slips them beneath one bra strap, then the other, letting them fall down her shoulders like an open invitation. Her full, pert breasts spill out of the cups.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this.” I run my hand along the small of her back before pulling her half-naked body against me. I claim her mouth again, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the floor.

I’ve yet to have this woman and already I want her again.

Focusing on this moment, I get my head back in the game, shrugging out of my shirt, shoving my jeans and boxers off and guiding her to the bed. I spread her thighs and position myself over her hips, tasting her soft skin and working my way lower, until I land at her panty-covered mound.