A Love Letter to Whiskey (24 page)

“Jamie,” I barely moaned his name before his mouth covered mine.

“Shh,” he said, lifting me and carrying us to his kitchen. It was pristine, wood floors and sleek granite counters, and he dropped my feet to the ground in front of the island. “Take these off,” he tugged at my jeans and then started working on his dress pants, eyes falling to my heels. “Leave those on.”

Scotch was so much stronger than the Whiskey I’d let intoxicate me three years ago. He was more confident, more experienced, and I knew tonight wasn’t going to be anything like our first time. Jamie was eager to burn me and I was desperate to let him.

I slipped the top button of my jeans through the slit and unzipped them slowly, tugging them down my hips one side at a time, inch by inch, my eyes on Jamie as he watched me. When I let them fall past my thighs to my ankles, I stepped out of my heels, kicked my jeans off leg by leg, and stepped right back into the six-inch black pumps.

“Good girl,” Jamie mused as his eyes trailed up my body. He dropped his boxers to join his pants on the floor and stepped out of them, kicking them away, and then he was in front of me, palming himself as his teeth dug into his bottom lip. I reached for my panties next, but he shook his head. “Leave them. Turn around.”

I spun, looking back over my shoulder as my hips met the cool granite. Jamie stepped up behind me, sweeping my hair to the side before kissing my neck as he continued stroking himself. I gasped, and he dropped himself long enough to grab both of my wrists and guide them up to grip the other side of the island. I was bent over, breasts flat against the counter, ass pressed against his hard on. He kissed down my back and bit the flesh just beneath the lace of my thong and I winced, the pain shocking but welcome.

He stood again, trailing his hand over my ass before popping it swiftly. I jumped, but loved the way it stung, and I moaned loudly, my cheek hot against the granite. Jamie gripped the crease of my hip with one hand, hooking one finger from the other under the g-string and tracing it down until he met my opening. He sucked in a breath as he felt how slick I was already, and he pressed two fingers inside me with a roll of his hips behind his hand.

“Fuck,” he dragged the word out, withdrawing his fingers before sliding them in again as I gripped the counter tighter. He tapped the insides of my thighs, letting the lace fabric pop against me. “Open.”

I did as he said, widening my stance as he tugged my hips back just enough to give him the space he needed. He dropped to his knees, and then the lace was gone again and his tongue swept along my slit and I rolled against him, meeting his mouth with my flex just as it closed around my clit. He sucked, and my thighs shook around him. I felt him smirk, his breath still hot against my center as he repeated the process, licking and sucking and biting me closer to the edge of release.

My teeth dug so deep into my lip I nearly drew blood and I released it mercilessly, crying out and bucking my hips against his mouth. I was close,
so
close, and Jamie knew, because he stood again and I glanced back over my shoulder just as he licked his lips and wiped at his chin with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t move.”

He retrieved his pants, pulling a foil packet from his wallet before letting it drop again. I went to push myself up off the counter but his hand found my back and he pressed me back down gently, his cock settling between my cheeks.

I heard the condom wrapper tear open and felt his brief absence before he ran his wrapped member against my opening, teasing me with just the crown. He bent forward, fisting my hair and wrapping it once around his wrist.

“All this fucking hair,” he rasped, sucking the lobe of my ear between his teeth. Chills raced from the point of contact to my toes, and he pulled, my head coming up off the counter with the force. I gazed up at the light fixture above us as Jamie filled me from behind, all the way to the hilt. Jamie groaned, dropping his forehead to the back of my neck as he pulled back and flexed into me again. “God, I’ve been fantasizing about my hands in your hair like this all night. And these fucking heels,” he moaned, standing straight and pulling my hair with him so that my back arched. He slammed into me harder and I cried out, already on the brink of coming undone.

He worked with such skilled control that I wondered how busy he’d been the last three years, but I chose to ignore that, focusing instead on the fact that he’d clearly been studying and I was the exam, his chance to prove what he’d learned.

When he dropped his grip on my hair, his hands found my hips and he pulled me onto him with each thrust, pinning me against the counter and driving into me harder each time. My clit rubbed against the smooth surface and I trembled around him as my orgasm built. I chased it, desperate to find it, but Jamie pulled out, leaving me gasping as my eyes flew open.

“Not yet.” He spun me around and bent, swooping me up into his arms and carrying me through the back hall. He kissed me the entire way and I hooked my arms around his neck, yanking him closer, panting against his mouth as he kicked us through the last door and dropped me down into the plush comforter.

I landed easily, gazing up at him and backing myself up to the headboard as he dropped down between my legs and followed. My shoulders hit wood and he used his thighs to spread mine before entering me again, his lips finding mine just as he bottomed out. I shook at the intensity, digging my nails into his back as he flexed again.

“Goddamn, B,” he growled, his arms shaking as he held himself steady over me. My legs were already useless from the kitchen, but I wrapped them around his waist and dug my heels into his hips. He hissed, biting my neck in return, and that combined with pelvis against my clit was all it took to send me spiraling. Black invaded my vision and I held my breath, catching my climax with his name on my lips.

I dropped my hands from his back and fisted the comforter, twisting it and pulling the corners free as I held on tight, riding out my orgasm. He kept the same pace, the same pressure, until my legs fell lax. Then, he kissed me, long and slow, steadying his pace, letting me parachute down.

He was still working between my legs, and he hooked his forearm under my left knee before guiding my ankle to rest on his shoulder. He kissed my ankle, sucking the soft skin there, and then he picked up his pace, reaching new depths in that position. It took only four pumps for him to find his own release, and one hand tightened around my ankle as the other held him steady over me. He groaned, flexing into me even deeper one last time before letting my leg fall and collapsing down on top of me.

My legs ached, but I wrapped my arms around him, fingers softly brushing the ridges of his shoulders. He trembled under the touch and kissed my neck. Jamie was panting, his breath hot against my skin, and I struggled to find balance in my own breathing. He propped himself up on his elbows and kissed my lips, shaking his head. “Well damn.”

I giggled, and he kissed my nose. “My thoughts exactly.”

“You have to be mine after that,” he breathed. He was still inside me and the intensity was too much to think, but I forced my way through the haze.

“I can’t.”

“Fuck that,” he argued. “You can. You are.”

“I’m leaving Sunday night, Jamie,” I said seriously, breaking our kiss so that he’d look at me.

He exhaled, furrowing his brows. “So be mine for the weekend.”

I hated the way he looked at me, even more knowing I couldn’t give him that, either. “I can’t. I have plans with my family. This is it… this is all I have.”

“Why can’t we be long distance?”

I laughed, wrapping my left hand around my right wrist behind his neck. “Because that’s a guaranteed way to get our hearts broken.” I saw the disappointment in his eyes and quickly followed that statement. “But I’m not running from you anymore, Jamie.”

“Does that mean you’ll answer my calls?”

I smiled softly and nodded. “Just… let’s not try to put a name on this. On us.”

That seemed to ease him a little, and he blew out a long breath through his nose, eyes bouncing between mine. “Alright, then. I need you to give me two things.” I waited, and his tongue rolled over his lips before he spoke again. “Tonight, and one day.”

“Tonight,” I repeated, breathily. “And one day.”

He nodded. “I have to have both.”

I considered him, thought too hard about what he was asking before deciding I didn’t need to dwell on it right now. I answered with one nod before pulling him down until his mouth met mine again. He kissed me with intent, and I felt him harden where he still rested inside me. My body achingly stirred back to life, and I knew I was in for a sore weekend after that.

So that’s what I allowed myself — one night with Scotch. He made the most of it, not letting me sleep until the sun was already peeking through the dark curtains in his bedroom. I tried not to hold onto his words with too much hope, because the fact was that I was leaving for Pittsburgh, and he was staying here. It was just like that night on the beach five years before, except this time the roles were reversed, and I knew he wouldn’t follow me to Pennsylvania the way I followed him to Alder.

I kept that in mind as we made love that night, over and over, yet still it was impossible not to hold onto him too tightly. I’d let him go three years before and I was terrified to do it again, even though I knew I had to. Looking back, that was the night my hate for timing truly manifested. That was the night I realized that no matter how easy it seemed to be to form a long-standing relationship with Whiskey, the truth was that it wasn’t simple at all, not even a little bit.

He asked me for two things: tonight, and one day.

But one day never came.

“WELCOME TO RYE PUBLISHING,”
Mona said quickly, ushering us off the elevator as she adjusted the tight, dark bun on her head. “This is going to go quickly because I have shit to do, okay? So pay attention.”

I nodded feverishly, popping the end of my pen on the notepad hooked in my arm just in case I needed to write anything down. It was my first time in the office, my first day of my internship, and regardless of Mona’s bored eyes and bubblegum popping, I was excited to be here. Hell, I was
honored
to be here.

Rye Publishing was very well known and sought after. It was hard to land an internship role and even more impossible to get hired on full-time. Though they were stacked with clients, the payroll list was small, exclusive, and top-notch. I wanted a spot so badly I could taste it like the iron from blood on my tongue. I was going to make a name for myself at Rye Publishing if it was the last thing I did.

“This is my desk, reception. I handle all the clients and guests who come through as well as administrative tasks. Clearly, I love my job,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Our office is a big square, cubes all in the middle and offices on the outside with the exception of two meeting areas. This is one of them,” she gestured to a conference room with a long, rectangular table and dozens of leather chairs on either side. One giant screen sat on the far wall and a whiteboard wall with writing scribbled all along it took up the back space not occupied by a window. “It’s almost always booked, so don’t plan on using it unless you’re invited. But the one on the opposite end of this hall is a more relaxed meeting space with hammocks and such, you can almost always get in there.”

Mona was clicking down the hall in front of me, her years of perfecting striding in heels leaving me looking even less coordinated than usual. I scurried to keep up with her as my eyes took in the offices we passed. There were books
everywhere
— shelves of them, frames holding manuscripts, classic covers blown up to poster-size. Every window had a different, beautiful view of downtown Pittsburgh and the entire office had a modern, sleek feel to it. There were chalkboards and whiteboard walls here and there, and Mona walked me past the “break room” that looked more like a rustic bar than anything else.

She showed me where each department housed themselves within the office, from the agents to the media team, and then she pointed to a tiny half-desk in the corner of the central cube area. It had a computer and an empty pencil holder along with an all-black filing cabinet that matched the black leather chair.

“This is you,” she said, glancing down at her nails as she used her other hand to wave at the desk. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the likelihood of you getting hired is slim to not happening.”