Tequila High

by Michelle Leighton

  Nixon Holt.

  What the hell is he doing to me?

  21

  Nixon

  I expected to come in and find the place a mess. What I didn’t expect was to come in and find Haley a mess. The clothes she put on this morning are barely recognizable. She’s covered in paint. There are even specks in her hair and on her face, and I think her hands might be beyond salvaging. They’re caked in the stuff.

  “Jesus, did you set off a paint bomb and forget to move?” I ask when she turns toward me.

  She’s finishing up the last few streaks on a wall in my bedroom. All the furniture is moved into the center of the room and covered in drop cloths. It’s a good thing, too, or it would probably all be splattered with paint as well.

  Her smile looks a little weak and a lot tired. Makes me wonder if she’s been at this, non-stop, all day. The cottage isn’t huge. Aside from the bathrooms, there are only three rooms, but that’s still a lot of painting for one day. “Painting isn’t a pretty business, but you can’t argue with the results.”

  I take a moment to survey her work. She’s right. She’s a damn mess, but the walls look great. She painted them a warm neutral of some sort. “What color is that?”

  “Ancient stone.”

  I nod. “I like it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. It’s nice.”

  “Are you just saying that?”

  “No. I mean it.”

  Her smile gets brighter. “Shew. Thank God. At least I can please one person today.”

  There are a lot of things I’d like to say about how she can please me, but I refrain and ask instead, “Something happen?” A burst of anger tears through me. “That asshole didn’t come back, did he?”

  I’m already thinking of how I can keep him away from her when she answers. “No. It wasn’t Jason.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “Oh, family. Just family.” She turns back to her task.

  “Family can be hard.”

  “No kidding.”

  I watch as Haley finishes rolling the few swipes of paint onto the wall. Even doing this, she’s graceful. Her arms move smoothly as she stretches, her legs following along at the end of each stroke. It’s like a delicate dance the way she does it. It’s damn weird, but I could probably sit and watch her paint for an hour or two and not get bored. It doesn’t hurt that her sweatshirt hikes up to show off her small waist and apple-shaped ass with each swipe. Looking at it brings to mind a crystal clear mental picture of what it looks like with bright red silk barely covering each cheek. Jesus, what an ass!

  I stand a few feet away, like a mesmerized idiot, until she’s finished. She steps back, throws the roller on the drop cloth, and flings her hands up.

  “Voila!”

  “Not bad, Brandt. Not bad at all.”

  “Not bad? I just painted both bedrooms, by myself, in less than twelve hours. That deserves more than ‘not bad’.”

  “Does it?” I ask, moving toward her. “What does it deserve then?”

  “For speed and quality like this, bare minimum a glowing remark. Some might even say a foot rub, but I don’t like to overcharge.”

  “Foot rub, huh?” I glance around at the walls to keep from looking at her face. Her cheeks are rosy, her eyes are glistening, and her skin is speckled with paint. She’s filthy, but I’d still happily strip her dirty clothes off her and kiss every inch of her skin into the wee hours of the night. “Is that all?”

  “Are we negotiating?”

  “Maybe.”

  “In that case, let me make a list.”

  I slide my eyes over to her. “Will that list include nudity of any kind?”

  I see her lips move, and I think she’s going to find an excuse, but rather than forming words, her tongue comes to the front edge of her teeth, hovering just behind them. She stares at me that way for several seconds. It seems like an eternity, but that’s probably just in my imagination. I feel like I’ve waited years to get my hands on her again. “It might.”

  Her voice is low, tentative. I’m as surprised as I am enthused. I’d really begun to think she wasn’t going to give in on this ridiculous rule of hers. But my patience has paid off. I can sense surrender in the air. I can smell it like rain off in the distance.

  I reach up to take a piece of her red hair and tug; it slips through my fingers like silk ribbon. “Do you know what I can do with ‘might’?”

  “I can just imagine.”

  “This is a door you can’t close after you open it. You know that, right?”

  Her pause is so short it’s almost imperceptible. “I know.”

  “Then your list is my command,” I whisper, reaching for her hand and bringing it to my lips. I don’t even care that it’s covered in paint.

  “A shower first.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  Her smile is slow and as seductive as whiskey in the winter. Or maybe, in her case, tequila in the fall. I’ll never think of that liquor the same way again.

  “It’s a statement.” She pulls her fingers out of my grasp, inch by inch, as she backs out of my room and toward the door. “The house is a mess, but I don’t want to be.”

  “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t care if you’d been rolling around in the dirt. There’s not a damn thing that would keep me from you.”

  Her smile grows as her cheeks turn that beautiful shade of pink. “Then let me go roll in some dirt. Be right back.”

  It takes every bit of my self-control not to follow her.

  An hour later and I’m pacing the floor. How the hell long does it take to clean a body that small?

  I wait a little longer and pace a little more, but then with a curse that could probably blister her fresh paint, I walk out of my room, through the living room, and toward the other bedroom. Her bedroom.

  I pause at the door only for a split second. Then I reach for the knob and I turn it.

  She’s standing in front of a seven-foot mirror when I walk in. I probably shouldn’t have just walked right in, but… I’m beyond controlling this anymore. My need is too great. And I know hers is, too, whether she’ll admit it or not.

  She’s so distracted smoothing lotion onto her skin that she doesn’t hear me. I move toward her, past the candle on the dresser. The flame flickers. That’s when she knows she isn’t alone.

  When she sees me, she gasps. That beautiful mouth of hers drops into a surprised O and she whirls around to face me, crossing her arms over her chest.

  She says nothing. Neither do I. I just keep walking toward her.

  I move slowly. So slowly. Ten seconds ago, I was in a rush, fevered. But now…now, I’m in the mood to savor. And savor her I will. Even the sight of her.

  “Don’t hide that from me,” I tell her, nodding to her chest. “I think I need to see you more than I need to breathe right now.”

  She stares up at me until I reach for her wrists. I encircle them with my fingers, and I wait. I wait for her to resist, to make an excuse, to tell me to get the hell out, but she doesn’t. I tug to uncross them, and she lets me. In doing so, I obliterate the only separation between me and her undoing.

  Or maybe it’s my undoing. At this point, I can barely even think.

  “Tell me you want this right now. Tell me you can’t wait another second.”

  “I…I can’t wait.”

  Relief and scorching hot desire tear through me like boulders in a landslide. I exhale. Now I can take my time.

  I don’t touch her anywhere else. I just look. I look my fill.

  My gaze travels from her face to her neck and lower, settling on her breasts. They’re firm and round with dusky pink tops that beg for lips and tongue. As if they can feel my attention, the nipples pucker. Saliva gushes into my mouth, and I groan.

  “My God, you’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

  She tucks her chin in embarrassment. I know it’s been a while since she’s been with a man, but I don’t know why she’d ever be
embarrassed of her body. It’s probably the most perfect one I’ve ever seen. Palm-sized breasts, narrow waist, flaring hips, long, long legs. Not too thin, not too thick. Just right and exactly what I like.

  I drag my eyes back to her face. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth.

  “Don’t you believe me?”

  Dark hazel orbs snap up to mine. She parts her lips to say something, but nothing comes out. In response, I release her wrists and move my hands to her shoulders. Gently, I turn her away from me to face the full-length mirror. My view of her is even better. It’s completely unobstructed. Nothing is hidden or even shadowed. Every soft line, every sweet dip, every seductive valley is highlighted by the yellow-orange glow of candlelight.

  With her eyes on mine in the mirror, I drop my head to whisper into her ear, “You’re stunning. Everything about you. Your hair.” I raise a hand to sweep her damp red hair away from her shoulder and bring it to my nose. It smells like strawberries and autumn leaves. “It’s like fire. It moves over your skin like silky flames. I envy this hair.” I lower my head and trace the curve of her neck with my tongue. It’s still damp from her shower, too.

  As I watch, chills spread down her chest. She doesn’t move. I don’t think she even breathes. She’s motionless. As spellbound by what she sees as I am.

  I bring my eyes back to hers. I wait a beat before I start to move my hand. Her eyes drop and follow it. She wants to see, she wants to watch what I do to her. Realizing that nearly cripples my control.

  “And this skin,” I continue as I trail my fingertips down her arm and across her stomach. The muscles clench as I pass over them. “It’s like warm porcelain.” I brush them back up toward her breasts. They look heavy, like they’re aching for me to touch them. I know that ache. I’m aching for her in ways I never thought I could ache. Have been since that first night.

  “And these…” With my index finger, I draw a slow circle around her left nipple. The delicate little bud is practically begging to be sucked. “I’ve dreamed of them every night since I had that first taste. So good,” I moan quietly, the words wrenched from my throat.

  I ring her nipple, teasing it to a tight point as I bring my other hand into play. I spread that palm over her hip and rub it down the outside of her leg. “And these legs… Christ, every time I think about you wrapping them around me, I get so hard it hurts.”

  Even now, just mentioning it, blood rushes to fill my cock.

  I dig in with the tips of my fingers as I pull my hand back up her thigh, edging toward the inside of it as I go. I ease closer to her center as I make my way up, sliding to within a few inches of it before veering toward her hip again.

  I clamp down as I thrust my hips forward, grinding my erection into one of her ass cheeks. She arches her back, pressing her lower body against mine, and for a few seconds I think I might lose it. The thought of bending her over right now… Of stripping off my jeans and driving into her from behind… Of watching her face as I unload inside her…

  I growl into the thick mane of her hair, “I don’t think you realize what you do to me. Every time you smile, every word you say, every time you walk into a room, all I can think about is the way you came apart all over my finger that night in the city. That’s enough to drive any man insane.”

  I bend to sink my teeth into the ball of her shoulder. She cries out, but not in pain. I know the difference. That’s the sound of pleasure. Pure, hot, unexpected pleasure. And it won’t be her last of the night.

  It takes everything in me to move away from her for a few seconds to grab the vanity bench. But when I set it in front of the mirror, when I turn it lengthwise in front of her and pick her up to settle her on it, when I mount the bench behind her and see her eyes widen… I know it was more than worth it. To see her this way is worth everything.

  She’s sitting in front of me with her back to my chest, her legs clamped shut and draped demurely over the end of the bench. I reach around her to put one hand on either thigh and nudge them apart. Her chest heaves as she sucks in a breath, but she doesn’t hesitate to comply. She spreads her legs for me, spreads them wide. Her eyes are still on mine in the mirror, but that’s not where I want them. I don’t think it’s where she wants them either.

  “Look,” I whisper, gliding my hands down to cup the high inside of each thigh. I can feel her heat teasing my thumbs.

  She’s shaved close on the outside, and the inside is a soft glistening pink that makes my mouth water. We’re both staring at her as I move one finger to draw a teasing circle at the top of her crease.

  She lets out one heavy pant, and her head falls back onto my shoulder.

  “No, baby. I want you to watch this.” She doesn’t immediately submit. “I want you to see what I do to you.”

  Finally, she raises her head. I pause for just a second before sliding the tip of my finger into her. “Jesus,” I hiss. “You were thinking about us in the shower, weren’t you?” I ease my finger out and then back in, a little deeper. “Weren’t you?”

  Her gaze flickers up to mine in the mirror, and she nods. She looks drugged, her eyes heavy lidded, her lips slightly parted.

  I pause with my finger resting at her entrance. “Tell me. Tell me what you were thinking about.”

  When she doesn’t respond, I move my slick digit up her slit and tease her again with one long, leisurely swipe. “Were you thinking about me touching you like this?” I circle the bud again and again before diving back down and sliding into her, deeper this time. Her spine straightens against me, and she bites back a moan with teeth to her lip. “Don’t hold it in. I want to hear it. I want to hear it all.”

  “I…I…”

  Slowly, I ease my finger in and out of her, and she starts to move her hips. “Yeah?”

  “I was thinking about…about…”

  She moves her hips faster, so I pump harder, driving into her with one finger, then two. I bring my other hand up to pinch and roll her nipple, and she climbs a little higher with every passing second.

  “Were you thinking about coming all over my fingers? Huh?” I bend my mouth to the curve of her neck, licking and biting as she writhes against me. I run my thumb up her to massage her as I introduce a third finger. My hand is soaked, and I know she’s close. I can feel her muscles starting to clench.

  I stop moving, stilling completely. My fingers are quiet within her, my other hand still on her breast. My mouth hovers inches from the shell of her ear.

  “Or were you thinking about something else?”

  Her face is contorted in the most beautiful way. I’m holding her in that indescribable place between pleasure and pain, the pain of being so close and then having it ripped from you. But that’s right where I want her.

  “Nixon, please.”

  I grit my teeth. I wanted to savor this, to draw it out and make her climb the walls before I let her have what I want so badly to give her, but I don’t think I can. That face, those eyes, those trembling lips begging me. Her body is laid open for me like a flower pleading for rain, but what she really wants is thunder. Hard, rolling, vicious thunder.

  I reach between us with my slick fingers, and I unzip my jeans, sliding them down my hips just enough to free myself. Then I find her eyes in the mirror again as I run my hands around her waist.

  “Haley?” I ask as I lift her up enough to pull her onto my lap.

  “Yeah?” Her voice hardly sounds like her at all. It’s thick with want, with the kind of need I’ve been carrying around since the moment I saw her.

  “Is this what you were thinking of?”

  I tip my hips forward and slide the head of my cock between her legs, rubbing it up and down her slit. Watching the action in the mirror, looking at the way she glistens for me, the way she wiggles and squirms for me is more than I can stand. I ease her forward into just the right position, but before I press into her, I glance up to her face. Her eyes were waiting for mine, and the moment I stop on them, I get lost. Somehow, in some way, that does
n’t make any sense to me, I get lost. In her beauty, in her fire, in her eyes and everything that’s in them. That’s when the tide shifts. I can’t explain how, but it does.

  I lift her off me and come to my feet. I stand behind her, and she watches me in the mirror. She’s shaking with the state I left her in. I’m shaking, too, but for different reasons.

  With our eyes locked on the reflection of the other’s, I shed my shirt, my boots, my pants, and when I’m standing naked behind her, I scoop her into my arms and carry her to her bed. She lies back, her hair fanning out around her head like a fiery halo, and knowing that in this moment, she is mine, all mine, punches me right in the chest.

  Her eyes question me, but I don’t answer them. Instead, I show her. I grab her ankles and nudge her thighs apart. I stare down at her for a few seconds.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks. Uncertainty is written all over her face, and I smile.

  “Nothing. What could be wrong?”

  Her lips move like she’s going to speak, but changes her mind and shrugs instead, as if to say she doesn’t know.

  “Nothing’s wrong. You’re perfect. Every inch of you.” With her eyes on me, I reach up to press a finger into her. She’s still ready. Very ready. “All this is for me, and I’m gonna savor it.”

  I stretch out between her legs and press a kiss to the top of her. I hear the breathy noise she makes, so I flick my tongue into her crease. She bucks against my mouth. I drop my arm over her abdomen and curl my hand around to spread her wider. I give her another lick. “Mmmm,” I moan against her. “This might be better than tequila.”

  I work my tongue and lips over her, teasing her with a finger as I do. She moves her hips against my face, riding it. I can hardly control her lower body with my arm. Her whimpering gets louder and louder, and I know she’s getting close again. I’m dripping with her scent when she pops. Her whole body jerks violently, and she groans like she’s in pain. But I know she’s not. She isn’t hurting. She’s coming. All over the tip of my tongue.

  I don’t give her a chance to ease back down to earth. I climb up her body, hooking the bend of her legs with my arms as I go. When she’s cradled beneath me, I slide into her, not quite all the way.