He didn’t have to convince me, I was already pretty certain I didn’t want to go back to the hotel. But, I had to go back to the hotel, for Hank’s own good if not for mine.
“Whisky, I have to get a good night’s sleep. I have things to do tomorrow.”
I didn’t real y, but I needed an excuse.
“What things?”
I kept silent.
Then he went on. “You can come here or I can go over there and get you. Your choice, but I’l warn you, you should probably come to me.”
I stared at him and he stared back.
My heart wasn’t only beating faster, it was tripping in my chest like a jackhammer.
We kept staring at each other, one beat leading into two, two beats leading into three.
Then his arms uncrossed and he moved forward.
Shamus saw Hank’s advance and deserted me (damn dog).
I backed up and as I was standing at the door, in half a step, my shoulders slammed against it.
I lifted my hands to keep him at arm’s length.
“Whisky…” I started but he avoided my hands by bending double, putting a shoulder to my stomach and lifting me in a fireman’s hold.
Holy Mary, Mother of God.
“Hank!” I shouted at his back, but he’d turned and was walking through the dining area.
“Put me down!” I yel ed, pushing against his waist but he kept going, through the kitchen and into a dark room.
“Goddammit! Put me down!” I kept at it when he turned and walked into another dark room.
He stopped, bent, turned on a lamp and then put my feet on the floor. I would have escaped but he was right in front of me and a quick glance around showed that there was a huge bed, made out of what looked like logs, behind me; right behind me.
“Get out of my way,” I demanded. “I’m cal ing a taxi.” His arms slid around me.
“No taxi,” he said, one hand gliding up my back and into my hair to cup the back of my head and keep it steady. “No hotel,” he went on, the other arm wrapping itself completely around me so his hand was gripping me at the side of my waist, my body pressed the length of his. “Tonight you sleep in my bed with me.”
I looked up at him. In his arms I was quickly losing the wil to fight.
“Please,” I whispered, the last desperate attempt.
His head bent and, with his lips against mine, he said,
“Remember that word, you’re gonna be using it a lot tonight.”
My stomach fluttered, I felt it and I liked it.
Those were my last coherent thoughts.
He kissed me, his tongue sliding into my mouth. I went dizzy and my brain scrambled. I kissed him back; I wanted to fight it but I didn’t. I probably could have if I wasn’t weak.
But I was. I’d been weak with Bil y and now I was weak with Hank.
My arms went around his neck, my hand slid into his hair.
He had great hair; thick and soft and just enough wave.
“You have great hair,” I whispered into his ear as his lips trailed along my cheek to my ear.
“You’re a nut,” he whispered back, sounding like that was a good thing. Then his mouth touched me behind my ear and I shivered.
“I’m not a nut,” I went on quietly and turned my head to press my lips to his neck, just above his turtleneck, then I touched my tongue there.
His hand left my waist, went into my shirt and slid up the skin of my side. I was sensitive there, even ticklish, and I squirmed against him.
“You gonna talk through this?” he asked, lifting his head to look down at me.
“Maybe,” I answered.
He shook his head and he kissed me again.
I had kinda thought the last kiss was serious as it had a serious effect on me. But I was wrong. This kiss was serious. If I thought I was dizzy before, I didn’t know the meaning of dizzy.
The kiss was hot and hard and before it was done, I had my hands up his sweater, roaming the skin of his back and shoulders.
He kissed me again, likely to keep me quiet, and I lost any control I had (though there wasn’t much to lose).
Then again, so did he.
We were al over each other; hands inside each other’s clothes, tongues inside each other’s mouths. He pul ed away and unwrapped the scarf from around my throat and tossed it aside. Before he could come back, I lifted his turtleneck from the waist and pul ed it over his head. He shoved me back on the bed but fol owed me there, his body covering one side of me, his hand going up my shirt, trailing up my bel y to cup my breast. He kissed me again and I felt him yank the cup of my bra roughly down and then his hand was skin against skin on my breast.
I arched into it and his hand went away but his finger didn’t. It circled lazily around my nipple, his mouth stil on mine.
“Let me take my shirt off,” I muttered.
“I’m not done,” he said, stil circling with his finger and it was driving me mad, but in a good way.
I pressed into him. “Whisky, let me take my shirt off,” I said.
His head lifted and he looked down at me, stil circling.
It felt good.
“Why Whisky?” he asked.
“What?”
“Why Whisky?”
I tried to scoot away so I could get my clothes off and, I don’t know, maybe attack him, when his thumb joined his finger and he did a rol .
My body stil ed and I felt a spasm between my legs.