“Fuck.”
“I am,” I reply with a nod and make the motion again. I cup his balls in my other hand, massing all of him now, balls, shaft and head, and suddenly, he reaches down, pulls me to my feet and spins me around, pinning me against the wall.
His face is intense now, my playful man replaced by someone I’ve only recently found. He’s possessive. Intense.
And makes me instantly wet.
In the blink of an eye, he has my jeans unfastened and peeled off my legs, and he’s pinned my hands above my head with one of his larger ones.
“I never stop wanting you,” he says, his lips grazing over my mouth. “I want you everywhere, in any way I can have you.”
“You can have me anytime you want,” I reply and take his lip in my teeth, tugging hard.
His free hand slides between my legs. “This is mine, Calliope.” His fingers push through my wet lips and into my * as his thumb presses on my clit. “Mine.”
“Yours.”
“No one has ever wanted anything more than I want you,” he says and drags his lips down my jawline to my neck. My back arches as he nibbles on my sweet spot. Jesus, the things this man can do with just his hands and lips should be illegal in Louisiana.
But thank the good Lord they’re not.
“I want you just as much,” I reply, panting now as he drives me mad with that magical hand. Before I know it, I’m shattering into a million pieces, and the only thing keeping me upright is his body and hand, playing puppet with my *.
“Incredible,” he murmurs, nibbling at my lips. “Now it’s time to stop being lazy and get back to work.”
“You’re not going to fuck me?” I ask, surprised.
He smiles widely. “Disappointed?”
“No,” I lie, but he catches my chin in his fingers and lifts my gaze to his.
“No lying. Ever.”
“Not disappointed,” I reply. “Surprised.”
“Trust me, I’m going to fuck you later.”
***
It’s almost closing time. Adam’s out overseeing the cleanup, giving the servers direction while I sit in the office, staring at my dad’s ledgers.
I found them in a drawer that I hadn’t bothered to open before. They go all the way back to when he and Mom bought the place until the week he died. Dad always was old fashioned, so having a computer to keep these records in wouldn’t have occurred to him.
Every inventory entry is here, in his precise handwriting. As the years passed, and his drinking got worse, the entries are a little wobblier. It all seems pretty standard, except the amount of Chivas Regal Scotch he had on order every month.
A bottle will last me a month here in the bar, given how rare and expensive it is. Dad was ordering a case every month.
A mother fucking case.
I always knew that that was his drink of choice, and that he could go through quite a bit of it. I hate the smell of it. I used to have to rinse out buckets when he would throw up into them after drinking too much of the scotch.
I’ve never been a huge fan of math, but I go through and add up what he spent on it, from the time Mom died until the day he died, and feel more than a little sick to my stomach at the total.
My God, Dad.
Declan pokes his head around the doorjamb. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah.” I frown and close the ledger, then follow him out into the bar, where I look over the place, say goodnight to Adam, and lock up.
“Did you have a good night?” Declan asks and weaves his fingers with mine, keeping me close to his side.
“Mmm hmm,” I reply with a nod.
“What’s wrong?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” I say and sigh. I don’t know what to say.
“No,” he says, pulling me to a stop on the sidewalk. “We are not having a repeat of last week. You told me that you need me to support you when you’ve had a rough day, and that’s what I’m trying to give you, but I need you to talk to me, sweetheart.”