Chapter Twelve
Jasper
With Fannin’s small hand in mine, I pull her from her chair, tugging her to follow behind me. Stepping into the empty office, I grab the keys to the cellar. Theo left a little while ago, and he always locks it up for the night.
“Are we going to get in trouble for going down there?” Fannin asks. She’s pressed into my back like we’re going into a haunted house instead of a top of the line cellar and distillery.
Laughing, I squeeze her hand. “No, love. Nobody is getting into trouble. Plus, I’m the one who tends to the whisky down here.”
“You are?”
“I am. I’ll show you the batches we’ll be releasing this month. Give you a little taste.”
Slowly making our way down the steps, we enter into a large room, whisky casks on racks three-high all around the room.
“Oh wow. Is this all whisky?”
“Aye.” There’s a long table in the center of the room with tumblers for tasting. Tossing the keys on it, I grab a glass and go over to one of the barrels. I tapped it this morning to test it. “This one reminds me of home. It tastes like Islay.”
“Is that where you’re from?” I nod that it is. “And what does Islay taste like?” Fannin hops up onto the table, swinging her legs, her sparkly shoes catching the light and casting a dancing glow in the dim room.
I step in between her legs, forcing them wide with my hips. It’s intimate. Our proximity, the soft light, the smell of oak and whisky and Fannin. I bring the glass to her mouth, “Taste.” She sips the whisky, her tongue darting out to catch the drop clinging to her bottom lip. “What do you taste?”
With a twist of my wrist, I put the glass to my own mouth, right against the spot hers had just been. Fannin’s eyes never leave mine as she watches me drink.
“I—I’m not sure,” she stammers.
“The first thing I taste is a smooth briny accent. Like the sea around Islay,.” I say gruffly, aroused from the heat against the fly of my jeans where her center presses against me. “A subtle nutty flavor with a hint of floral, both from the creeping thistle that grows all over Scotland.” I run a finger over her brow. “Your eyes are actually the exact color of the thistle. The first time I saw them I thought they must be colored contacts.”
“They’re not,” Fannin says quietly.
“I know. I’ve seen the way they change colors depending on how you’re feeling.” With a finger under her chin, I tip her head up so that I can see the gorgeous color of her eyes more clearly, watch for the changes I know I’m about to see. “They flash bright when you’re angry, and now, when you’re relaxed and feeling . . . good,” I wink, “they get cloudy. Like a storm rolling in.”
“I do feel good.”
I love that she’s not shy. Her honesty is one of the things I like best. Fannin wants me as much as I want her, and she doesn’t hide it from me or herself. Doesn’t matter to her any more than it matters to me that we’ve only known each other for a short time. Her eyes roam over my face, she gestures to my beard. “Can I touch it?”
My head cocked to the side, I can’t hide the smirk. “You can touch anything you want, love.”
Fannin grins a bit devilishly. “I plan on it.” With a saucy wink she raises her hand and traces my lips under my mustache, trailing them lower over my beard. It takes everything I have not to chase after her fingers with my lips and suck them into my mouth. “It’s so soft and silky. Makes me want to pet you.” Fannin chuckles. “Rub myself all over it like a fuzzy blanket.”
I bark out a laugh of my own. “Oh, I’ll let you rub all over it.” My promise doesn’t register at first, then her eyes widen in understanding.
“Will I like it?”
“Aye.”
“I didn’t know that I even thought beards were sexy until I met you,” she admits.
“You think I’m sexy?”
“Aye,” Fannin mocks.
“I guess that’s fair since I think you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” I place my hands on the table beside her, stepping in even closer as I do. Without prompting, Fannin winds her arms around my neck.
“Ever?”
“Ever.” My lips find hers the moment the word falls. Gently I nip at her, afraid to delve too deeply knowing once I get started I won’t want to stop. Fannin has other ideas though, drawing me in with her legs around my waist and her hands pressing at my nape.
“I want to know what Islay tastes like on your tongue.” Her words, the way she says “Islay” combined with the warmth of her thighs and the softness of her palms is nearly my undoing. Groaning, I give her what she wants, taking her mouth and letting her get a taste of home. My tongue dips into her mouth, demanding entry. Toying with hers. Brushing against it and then retreating, making her chase after me. I slide my hands across the wooden table to get a hold of Fannin, bringing her flush against me. She feels so right in my arms. My dick is straining against my jeans, willing for me to take her right here, screaming to fuck her on this table. Before there’s no turning back, I lift her from her perch and steady her as she wobbles slightly. Without a word I take her hand and pull her to the staircase. I’m afraid of what I might say if I open my mouth. Or maybe I’m afraid of what she’ll say. Either way it’s enough to keep me silent as I lead us up two flights of stairs into my apartment above the bar. The moment the door closes, I spin and hoist her against the cool metal. Again her legs instinctively wrap around my waist.
“Fannin,” my voice thick with the need I feel for this woman, grazing my teeth along the slender column of her neck before I pin her with my gaze. “I’ll only be a gentleman for the next few seconds. After that, I’m going to strip you bare and fuck you raw. You understand, love?”
I’m giving her an out I hope to God she doesn’t take. Like the wild beauty that she is, she lets out a moan that’s almost feral and nods that she does. It’s all the encouragement I need. With my knee bent to support her weight, I strip the leather jacket from her and toss it over my shoulder. In appreciation, I feast on the sight before me. Fannin in a silky white tank top, the material clinging to the tips of her unrestrained breasts, the nipples pebbled and reaching for me, belly bare. Her hair is as wild as her eyes, and she’s breathing hard as she watches me, waiting to see what I’ll do next. Knowing I need to slow down if I’m going to give her a chance to change her mind, I raise her hands above us, clasping both wrists and pinning her to the door. Her head falls back, exposing her throat. Not heeding the voice in my head to slow down, I skip right to her breasts. Bending my head, I don’t even bother moving the material, instead pulling the budding nipple into my greedy mouth, shirt and all. Fannin arches her back, straining against my hold on her. The tenuous grasp I have on my control slips another notch when she rolls her hips against my straining cock. If it’s an invitation, it’s the only one I need. I fist the flimsy tank and tear it from her, the thin straps no match for my need. Eyes wide in shock then flinty with desire, Fannin lets a “Yes” hiss out just before I fill my mouth with one berry-tipped breast, biting and suckling at the nub.
“Fucking perfect, love. Every inch of you. I’m going to leave my mark all over this perfect God damn skin,” I promise as I drag a hand over one rounded globe, pinching the nipple damp from my mouth before running a flat palm over to the other and showing it the same attention. “I’m going to suck on these tits until you’re so close to coming that you beg me to stop. And when I do, I’m going to lay you down and bury my head in your hot, wet pussy, make you writhe all over my face, my beard and tongue bringing you over the top.” I’m torturing the both of us spelling out all I want to do to her, but it can’t be helped. It’s like a wish list running through my head.
Fannin’s breathing is as ragged as mine as she gently rocks against me again. I’m not even sure she’s aware that she’s doing it. Her hands are locked above her head, tits with nothing to cover them but the slight burn left behind from my beard, her shoulders with faint red lines from the straps being torn from them. Even with denim covering the place I want to be more than anything, she’s beyond sexy.
“No more gentleman. No whisky and no plaid skirt.” That I can find it in me to joke around is astounding really. Never in my life has my dick been this hard. When she gives a little whimper, I use my hips to pin her against the hard steel of the door, the heat seeping through her jeans to drive me insane. If I don’t get her into bed this will be over before it even gets started. With her legs wound tightly around me, I fill my hands with her jean-clad ass, pressing her to me as I head to the bedroom. The whole time I walk, I resist the urge to grind her against my cock. I’ve not felt the need to dry fuck anybody since I was a horny teenage boy. That’s what she’s reduced me to. In three long strides, I’m at the foot of the bed, sitting her down. Eyes on her, I kneel and remove her shoes, bringing her foot to my mouth and placing kisses along the elegant arch. When Fannin moans, I grin against her skin and lavish the same attention on the other. I would love to fuck her in nothing but these shoes but that’ll have to wait. I am desperate to get her out of these jeans, and it seems that Fannin is just as desperate to be out of them. She’s shimmying out of them as I stand. Grabbing on to the sides, I help tear them down her legs, laughing softly when she kicks them and her panties off. The laugh dies in my throat when I catch sight of a naked Fannin in my bed. Her hair already looks like she’s been thoroughly fucked, her tits, perfectly rounded handfuls, toned belly and rounded hips lead me to a beautifully bare pussy, and that’s where my eyes stop.
“For fuck’s sake, love. You should come with a warning label.”