Even if it wrecked her.
Because Cason was obviously the kind of guy that did that to a woman. Even if he wasn’t her first. Even if he wasn’t her last. She was pretty damn sure that orgasms like that only came around once in a lifetime. Or at least, with one person in a lifetime.
“Holy shit,” she panted, when she realized Cason was staring at her. “I- shit.” Normally she didn’t swear. Then again, normally she didn’t have crazy amazing mouth sex on a stranger’s kitchen cabinets. Not that he was a stranger anymore. She knew his name. And licking someone’s privates came with a certain familiarity and intimacy. “Do you have something to drink?”
Those frosty blue eyes twinkled with humor as Cason shoved to his feet. “Water, soda, or whisky.”
Noemi blinked. She’d never in her life drank any of the hard stuff. She stuck to wine and had never even been drunk enough to actually be hung over the next day. She swallowed hard and smiled bravely. Cheers on the new, improved, bad girl me. On the freaking do something for myself just for one night me. “I’ll take the whisky. Make it a double.”
CHAPTER 7
Byron
Byron hadn’t been drunk in a long time. Not even buzzed. Compliments of having a father who drank too much, too often.
Not that his dad was a drunk. Or at least, not until his wife died of cancer when she was in her late thirties. Byron was fourteen. It was all over in three months and six days, from diagnosis to the day they lowered her into the ground.
After that, his father wallowed in his misery for a solid year. He did that thing that people sometimes did, where they forget that the world exists at all. After that, he threw himself into his business, which was shoes, after being absent and ghosting through, relying on his employees to pick up the slack for the past year and a half.
Long story short, after watching his father, time and again, numb out with a bottle of whisky and mindless TV, Byron swore to himself that he wasn’t going to go down that route. He’d bought the whisky on impulse, because, after sampling enough of his father’s as a teen when his friends were over and he wanted to be a badass, he actually didn’t mind the shit.
He figured a few drinks with Noemi, if she wanted to kick back after waffles, wouldn’t be a terrible thing. Whisky wasn’t a vice. It was something he enjoyed sparingly like a good glass of wine or that extra greasy cheeseburger now and then.
Noemi shocked the hell out of him by raising the glass he handed her and downing that double like a pro. She only coughed for a second after. Her eyes teared up, but she swallowed hard and took a breath.
“Well. That was… I wouldn’t know good whisky from bad, but the burn is nice.”
If only she knew what she looked like, standing in the middle of his kitchen, her dress rumpled but pulled down, covering her again, with that freshly fucked glow on her cheeks and that sheen in her eyes.
She looked fucking marvelous. Good enough to eat all over again.
“I enjoy it too. Never did like anything else.” He sipped at his whisky. He’d never thrown it back in his life. Not him. He preferred to taste and savour it on the odd time he allowed himself to enjoy it, since there were few moments where it didn’t brew up a shit storm of memories.
“I wouldn’t know,” Noemi admitted. “I haven’t tried anything stronger than wine.”
“No? You ever tried something like that?” He indicated the cabinets and she flushed a brighter shade of red.
“No.” Her lips wobbled into a brave smile. “But I liked it. I liked the whisky too. So far it seems like it’s a good night for firsts.” Her dark eyes narrowed into catlike slits and the way she looked at him told him that she might have a few other firsts in mind.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never tried waffles before.”
“What?” Her adorable little nose scrunched up in confusion, but then her eyes twinkled with understanding and mirth. “Oh. No. I’ve tried them. Lots.”
He took another sip of whisky and let it burn straight down to his stomach. He’d eaten pretty much nothing all day and it also burned right up to his brain. Or maybe the circulation to it was just cut off, affecting its normal functions, since his cock was so hard there was a good chance it was going to drop clean off, strangled to death by balls that felt like they were the size of grapefruits and hard as rocks, not all squishy and juicy.
“Did you have some other firsts in mind? The whipped cream? Fresh berries?” Was it wrong to hope that she wanted him to take her back to the bedroom, to a bed where neither of them had ever slept in before, and fuck her raw?