From the pages of Truly’s Drink Recipe Book

Water, Ice Cold

When you’re parched, when you’re so damn thirsty, when your mouth is a desert of longing, you grab a glass of ice water and down it. That is your true liquid courage. You don’t need any liquor. You don’t need to be buzzed. Hell, you’re not even tipsy. That last champagne you had was hours ago. You have a clear head and a crystal-clear mind. You know exactly what you’re doing.

What you want.

You want one thing, one person, and you’re going to get him. Get in the car and go.

25

Our lips crash together. Hands dive into hair. Our bodies collide in lust and dirty desire as the car pulls away, the partition separating us from the driver and the tinted windows separating us from the world.

I unclip her hair, slide my hand through it, pulling hard. She groans into my mouth but never lets go. So fierce. So hungry.

Just like me.

We stop for a brief second as she removes her glasses and tucks them into her purse.

I pull her onto my lap, and she straddles me, grinding as she kisses. I kiss her back just as hard, just as greedily. We were soft and slow outside the pub the other night, and now we’re frenzied. Two animals unleashed, devouring each other’s mouth. She tastes spectacular, smells divine, and I need to be inside her right the fuck now.

Grabbing her ass, I make her grind faster. My brain goes haywire, my senses amped all the way up. She rocks against my length, her hips going wild, her pace frantic.

I grab at the hem of her dress. “As good as this looks on, I bet it looks even better gone.”

“Take it off.”

I do as instructed, pulling up her dress to her waist as she reaches for my zipper.

She slides it down. “I need you inside me. Need you to fuck me hard. Now, please, now.”

“As if I can wait any longer.”

I unzip my trousers the rest of the way, reach into my pocket for my wallet, and fish around for a condom. As I find it, I groan. Because holy hell. She has my dick in her hands, and she feels spectacular. Her soft fingers wrap around my hard length, and she squeezes and tugs, stroking up, running her thumb over the head, then back down.

“Your dick is prettier than I remembered.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You think my dick is pretty? Not macho? Or hot? Or handsome?”

She shakes her head and licks her lips. “‘Pretty’ is good. I want this pretty cock inside me. I want this hot, hard, fantastic, pretty cock inside me. Does that work for you?”

My dick twitches against her hand, answering for me.

“Seems your dick agrees, Wilbur.”

“‘Pretty’ works, it turns out. Hell, you can even call me cute if it means you’re coming on my cock.” I slide the condom on as she wriggles out of her knickers. “I’ve missed this sight. You, hot, wet, and bothered.”

“Aching. Don’t forget aching.”

“Let me ease it for you,” I tell her, sliding my fingers between her legs. My head falls back, and I groan my appreciation for all this fantastic slippery wetness. “Look at you. So fucking turned on. So aroused.”

“Told you I was.”

“I feel so awful that you were walking around all night like this,” I say, teasing her, stroking her, feeling her rub against my fingers.

“So awful you’ll get your cock inside me now?”

“Sure. That awful.”

She positions herself over me and sinks down. This must be what a Beatles concert was like—magnificent. All my synapses fire at once and nearly fry. Because this is sensational. Pleasure ricochets through my every cell, runs over every bit of my skin.

She gasps, and I groan, and then we fuck.

There is no prelude. No moment to adjust or slow down. This is pure pent-up screwing. Desperate and determined, she rises up and slides down, using my hard-on for her pleasure, finding just the right speed, just the right friction. I grip her ass tighter, squeezing the firm flesh as she rides me.

Her hands curl over my shoulders, digging in. Her jaw tightens, and she lets her head fall in the crook of my neck.

“I have to tell you something.” Her voice is filthy and seductive.

“Tell me. Tell me as you ride my cock.”

“I thought about you naked all night too.”

“Did it drive you crazy? Because I’ve wanted to fuck you so badly tonight, I thought I’d go insane.” I punch up my hips, thrusting deeper to prove my point.

“I’m already there.”

“Good, now go crazy on me, my naughty minx, because I know how you like it. I know you want to fuck hard and be fucked even harder.”

She likes it hard, she likes it rough, and she likes it fast and frenzied. So I give it to her that way, fucking her from beneath, thrusting up into her, bringing her down hard on my cock. Threading my hand into her hair, I tug her head back, and the sound she makes is carnal and so fucking passionate. It sends shock waves of white-hot desire through me.

My breath comes faster. Her hips move at a wild pace. We are raw nerve endings, lust, and crackling electricity. She grips me tighter, her moans stuttering with her ragged breath.

Her mouth falls open, and she lets out the longest, most delicious moan as she starts to lose control. “Yes, like that, just like that.”

I slide a hand between her legs, where she wants me most. And she detonates. She cries out, loud and tortured and exquisitely erotic, as she comes undone on me.

And that’s all I need. Her pleasure, her noises, her desire—they flip the switch in me. Pleasure barrels down my spine like a tsunami careening toward the shore, washing away everything—common sense, loyalty, goals.

None of that matters as I give in to the utter oblivion of release in this woman.

This woman I want again and again.

Hell, she can even call me Wilbur out of bed if I can just have her one more time.

But when she opens her eyes and sighs deeply, contentedly, it’s not my name she says.

It’s someone else’s.