our initial interaction.He was cocky, my first impression.
Then he stole my heart, I don’t even think he noticed.
Alastar O’Shea was full of sexual energy, the things he would say, the
addictive things he would do.
He knew how to make me come undone.
He knew how to love me.
He was the best experience of my sheltered life.
But do you ever really know who someone is?
What if the story I know isn’t the story at all?
I thought I knew him.
I was wrong.
He picks up the bottle of liquor and leads me by the hand into the kitchen.
“Shot glasses?” he asks.
“Umm.” I try to think where I have seen them. “Top cupboard.”
He gets out six shot glasses and lines them up on the bench and then opens the tequila and fills them all.
I stand still and watch him, my core throbbing and wet from the feel of his cock only moments ago.
“What’s the game?” I smirk.
He kisses me and his tongue sweeps though my mouth before he lifts me to sit on the kitchen bench. Fuck, he’s hot.
“The game is called unshot.”
I frown. “Unshot?”
His mouth drops to my breast through my shirt and he bites my nipple.
“For every shot that I drink, I get to take a piece of clothing off you.”
I smile. I like this game.
“What do I get when I drink a shot?” I breathe.
His dark eyes hold mine. “You get my tongue on you somewhere.”
My insides start to liquefy and my ovaries are chanting skull, skull, skull.
He picks up his glass and tips his head back, drinking it down. His large tongue comes out to lick his lips and anticipation thrums through my body. He puts his glass down and lifts my shirt over my head. I sit on the bench in my black lace bra and skirt and stockings.
He licks his lips again and his eyes drop to my breasts. Oh, I want that tongue on me.
I pick up my glass and drink my shot and he bends to pull my bra back and takes my nipple in his mouth, quickly biting me with a hard suck. I jump and my legs open that bit farther by themselves.
He stands and drinks another shot, licks the tequila from his lips again, and lets his dark, wanting eyes burn holes in my restraint.
Holy fuck, this game is hot.
“Stand up.” He growls.
Writing is her passion.
Books by T L Swan