Through His Eyes

“Whiskey or gin?” he asks, pulling back and taking his warmth with him.

“Usually I would say whiskey, but I’m curious about the gin.”

“All right, one Red-Headed Ginger coming right up.” He grants me a panty-melting, lopsided grin that has me cracking up with laughter. I watch as he pours the different ingredients into a metal cup, adds the ice, and then shakes it all together. He pours it all into a Collins glass when he’s done, and hands it to me.

I take a sip of the red-tinted drink, immediately tasting orange and lemon. It’s the perfect mixture of sweet and sour. “This is delicious,” I tell him, taking another sip.

“Let me have a taste,” he says, but when I try to hand him the glass, he sets it aside and pulls me closer to the edge so he’s standing between my legs, his stomach right up against my center. And then his mouth is on mine. He kisses me like he’s dying and I’m his lifeline. With every brush of our lips, I’m bringing him back to life. And he has no idea that he’s doing the same to me. I’m finally living, and it’s all because of Lachlan. “You’re right,” he murmurs against my lips, “it does taste good.”

And then he’s unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. I lift up slightly, and he yanks them down my legs. My heels fall off, making a clacking sound against the tiled ground. “Let’s see if you taste as sweet as the drink,” he whispers, spreading my legs so I’m completely open and on display for him to do as he pleases. A few weeks ago, I would’ve shied away from something like this, begged him to close my legs, but now I welcome everything Lachlan does to me because I know when he looks at me, he sees me as beautiful, regardless of all of my flaws.

I close my eyes, waiting to feel his warm breath on me, so I’m shocked when, instead, I feel something cold and wet hit my center. When I look down, I see a piece of ice between Lachlan’s lips. His head moves up and down, the freezing cold ice running along my slit and landing on my clit. When he swirls it around my already swollen nub, my body nearly convulses.

“Lachlan,” I moan, having no clue what I’m even calling his name out for.

“What do you need, baby?” he purrs, pushing the melting ice into me. When I squirm, he chuckles softly. “Hold still.” And then his tongue is hitting my clit, and he’s lapping and licking me like I’m a popsicle on a hot day that needs to be devoured before it melts completely. With every swipe of his cold tongue, I’m pushed closer to the edge, and then I’m falling. My legs are shaking, and I’m writhing against him as warmth spreads throughout my entire body.

Before I’ve even come down from my orgasmic bliss, Lachlan is lifting me off the bar top and setting me on my feet. I faintly hear his pants unzip before he knocks my legs apart and thrusts deep into me. And then, once again, I’m coming completely undone as I lose myself to Lachlan Bryson. And I know in this moment, as he fucks me into oblivion, there is no turning back.

Fuck our age difference.

Fuck my being overweight.

Fuck Rick.

Fuck the rest of the world.

The only thing I can think about is spending the rest of my life being well and truly fucked by this perfect man.

* * *

“When’s your birthday?” I ask Lachlan. We’re lying in bed with our bodies entangled around each other. My head is resting against his chest, and he’s drawing circles on my bare back. The sun is rising and we haven’t slept a wink, but I can’t find it in me to close my eyes. In a few hours, I’m going to have to get up and meet Willow, Jax, and Kinsley at the park for her soccer game, and I’m going to regret not getting any sleep. But right now, I just want to lie with Lachlan and learn all there is to know about him. I’ve been asking him random questions in between our heavy make out sessions—some of which end with him inside of me—and I love how he’s an open book with me.

“On Christmas.”

“Really?” I lift my head to look at him.

“Yep.”

“That’s cool. Kinsley and your birthday are both on holidays.”

“It’s not as cool as it seems,” he says, his voice serious. “People always tried to give me one present for Christmas and my birthday.” His lips turn down into an adorable pout, and I crack up laughing.

“Poor baby.”

“Damn right. When’s yours?”

“March fifteenth.” I groan.

“What’s wrong with your birthday?” He laughs.

“I’ll be the big four-oh.”

“Eh, don’t fret. You’re like whiskey, you get better with age.” His chest shakes with laughter at his own joke.