by Mandi Beck
Switching to work mode, I look around the bar with the account in mind. The Iron Flask is about to become a franchise, and it’s owned by one of the largest whisky distilleries in the world, Iron Thistle. Not only will I be handling the marketing for the bars, but also the distillery. This could be huge. Not only for me but for Tate and Cane too. Noah and Olivia have worked their asses off to bring the company out of the red over the last couple years, and this account will put us on a whole other level. I’m still a little shocked that Noah is trusting me with it to be honest. Not that I don’t think I can handle it—I know I can. But him believing in me enough is a different story.
The Iron Flask doesn’t have your typical bar set up. They have whisky that they distill right here on site which is either bottled and put on the shelf or brought out in the barrel and tapped right in the bar. On one side of the long roughened wood bar, there are shelves filled with cordials and bottles of Iron Thistle whisky, and the other side has medium-sized whisky barrels with the names of the whisky they hold branded into the wood. Every drink they serve is brought out on a stave from old whisky casks, divots punched into them for the glasses to settle into. It adds a fantastic touch to the whole ambiance of the place. There’s wood everywhere. Beams, high top tables, chairs, floors. Softened by pretty white lighting and candles strategically placed. It really is gorgeous and well thought out. The ideas I’ve had about the place and how to make it a huge success are exciting, and I can’t wait to share my newest ideas with Theo on our next call. Lost in thought, I’m startled when I feel a hand on my back. Glancing up, I smile when I see it’s Jasper.
“You okay, love?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about how fantastically designed this place is and how I can use that in the marketing.” I can’t hide the excitement in my voice, and Jasper must hear it.
“I’m finished here for the night. Would you like a tour? I can show you the cellar—it’s really quite fascinating.” Now it’s his turn to sound excited.
“The cellar? Alone with you? Is this the whisky part of the seduction?” I tease, unable to help myself.
“I told you, I don’t need whisky to seduce you. The more you mention it though, the more I envision sipping it from your skin. Licking the sweetness from your . . . sweetness.” His voice is pitched low. Husky. Sexy. Only for me.
Swallowing, I watch his lips form the words in a lust-filled daze. Unable to remember what we had been talking about as the vision of him dripping whisky over my naked body flits through my mind. Not using whisky to seduce me, my ass. That’s exactly what he’s doing. Without even using any whisky. Damn. He’s good.
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.”
Chapter Thirteen
Fannin
Watching him watch me is just as hot as when his hands and mouth were on me. He’s making it difficult to breathe. Never in my life have I wanted a man like I want Jasper, or if I have, I don’t remember. “I could say the same about you.” My voice is as shaky as my breathing.
Jasper shakes his head in disagreement or disbelief, I’m not sure which, his face nearly impossible to read as he toes off his shoes. In one swift movement he reaches over his shoulder and pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor along with what’s left of my clothes.
“I said the other day that you’re absolute perfection, but I had no fucking clue just how perfect you truly are.” As he talks, his eyes travel over my naked body. There is no desire for me to cover myself or shy away from his gaze. I want him to look. I want him to see me. I’m emboldened by it. By him. As cliché as it sounds, he’s everything I didn’t know I needed. With that in mind and with his eyes still on me, I let my hand roam over my breasts and down my belly until I reach the apex of my thighs, letting them fall open so that my fingers can slick through my wetness. Never have I touched myself like this in front of a man, and yet here I am, sliding over my clit rubbing in circles, still watching him watch me with not a trace of shyness. More comfortable with him than I was with Adam after two years.
“Let me see your fingers, Fannin.” Jasper’s voice is gruff, his accent and need making me smile.
Reluctantly I lift my hand away and hold it up for him to see. Before I have the chance to touch myself again, he kneels on the bed and snags my wrist.
“Is this for me, love?”
His eyes are on the glistening fingers in his grip. I can only nod as I watch him and wait, eager to see what he’ll do or say next. The dirty talking Scotsman has me at his mercy. When Jasper brings my hand to his mouth I suck in a breath, holding it. Afraid that if I breathe, I’ll come, and it will all be over. I’m so not ready for it to be over. Eyes on mine, he first kisses the tips of my damp fingers before pulling them into his mouth and licking me from them. It is hands down the most erotic moment of my life. A whimper slips past my lips that makes Jasper smirk around the digits he’s swirling his tongue over. I try to press my legs together, to find some relief, but his jean clad thigh is making it impossible. The moment he realizes what I’m trying to do is written across his face. There’s a wicked glint in his eyes as he moves forward, my hand still against his lips, pressing his muscled leg against my aching center, causing my eyes to roll back. It’s all too much and not enough. I need to come almost as much as I don’t want to yet.
“Open your eyes,” Jasper demands.
“Fuck me,” I volley.
“Open them, Fannin.” His voice sounds more strangled this time but just as forceful. Good. I want him to feel as out of control with need as I do. Slowly my eyes flutter open. “Good girl.” He brushes the damp strands of hair from my face. “I’m going to fuck you now. I wanted to take this slow, but you make it fucking impossible.” Shaking his head, I watch mesmerized as his hand falls to the waistband of his jeans and pops the button. Transfixed when he slides the zipper over the impressive bulge. “I need you to trust me though, because if you touch me right now . . .” His voice falls away. “Tell me you trust me, Fanny.” The use of my nickname brings a smile to my lips.
“I trust you.” Crazy. I barely know him. But it’s the truth. I do. I trust him to not hurt me, and I trust him to make me feel better than any man—or vibrator, for that matter—has. I don’t even care that he needs to ask me. I’ll literally let him do whatever he wants to me right now just as long as he promises to make me come.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
&nbs
p; His pants falling away, he climbs over me, reaching into the nightstand table next to us. Expecting a condom, I’m a little surprised when he straddles my waist, careful to not put his full weight on me. His long, thick, beautifully rigid cock juts proudly, straining to get to me, it seems. Never taking his gaze from mine, he lifts my hands over my head, a cool swatch of silk wrapping tightly around them. Intrigued and more turned on than frightened, I watch his hands bind mine to each other and then to the wood and iron headboard. Never have I been tied up during sex. Never have I wanted to be. Until now. Tugging on my restraints to test them, I know there’s no way I’m getting out of this until he releases me. That should scare me. It doesn’t. And that makes me a little nervous.
“Okay?” Jasper asks, a hand passing over his silken head glistening with precum drawing my attention. My tongue darts out, wetting my bottom lip. I’m eager to take him into my mouth. I’ve never felt that urge. I’ve never even offered, just waited till I was asked. Now, here with Jasper, I’m almost desperate to feel him slide past my lips. “Stop looking at me like that, love. You’ll get your chance later. I promise. Right now I need to be inside your pussy, not that sassy mouth of yours.” With deft fingers he slips on a condom I never even saw him grab and slides in between my legs, parting them nearly to the point of pain. “Let me see this beautiful thing.” He groans. “Fannin. I’m taking you.” He doesn’t sound sorry. His tone is reverent, tinged with excitement. Now it’s my turn to groan. Only mine is a plea. I want him to take me. Need it. Ache for it. In one smooth thrust, I get my wish. Jasper goes from zero to all in. Deep. Heavy. Powerful. My hands pull against the silk holding them, my mouth opens in a silent moan. Before I have time to adjust, he slides out then plunges back in. My wetness coats my thighs as he looms over me, my legs draped over his thighs, his hands gripping the headboard, the muscles in his ink-covered arms straining.
