Yes! He had been hiding some very important information. “I don’t get the whole buttercup thing.”
“Not for you to get.” His voice was low, slow and held a touch of a slur. The whiskey and pot must be doing their job.
“I’d have to argue that point since you’re calling me by that name.”
“Ain’t a bad name. Fits you.” Oh yeah, his words were a bit fuzzy around the edges. She bet his vision was, too.
“It does?” She didn’t think so.
She stepped farther into his room as he lifted the bottle to his lips and she focused on his Adam’s apple smoothly sliding up and down as he took a long swig of whiskey.
“I have so many questions,” came out on a breath.
“Nothin’ new.” She waited for a drunken hiccup to be the exclamation point on that statement.
It didn’t come.
“Did you check on me?”
He swiped his hand over his mouth before answering. “Yeah. You were droolin’ and snorin’.”
She gasped. “I was not!”
“The fuck you weren’t, buttercup.” The alcohol in his system made the word butter sound like budder.
“I was exhausted,” seemed like a valid excuse.
“Yeah,” he said softly.
“I won’t be able to sleep now.” Especially, now that I want to touch those nipple piercings!
“So, don’t.” He lifted the bottle in her direction. An offering.
She’d like to think it was more than just an offer to get drunk with him but a peace offering of sorts.
She wrinkled her nose and glanced around the room. She spotted an unopened bottle and one of those flimsy plastic cups sealed in plastic provided by the motel. She rushed back to her room to grab the soda and returned before he could close the connecting door and lock her out.
He was up and out of the bed in an instant and pushing her away from the tiny counter where she planned on mixing her drink. She wasn’t going to fist a bottle like he did. Plus, she preferred to keep the lining of her stomach intact. Drinking whiskey straight from the bottle tended to make her insides burn. A lot. She didn’t care if she seemed like a wimp and needed to mix it with soda.
She stopped him from pouring the whiskey from his bottle and handed him one still sealed.
His lips might have actually twitched the slightest bit. That was a good sign that he wasn’t so angry anymore. “Afraid of a little backwash?” he murmured close to her ear, causing her to shiver and her nipples to peak painfully.
His own nipples were now right within reach. Her fingers wrapped tighter around the six-pack of soda to avoid reaching out and giving them a twist. “I have a feeling there’s more than a little in that bottle.”
“No worse than swallowin’ a man’s cum. You done that, right?”
She took a step back and stared at him. “Is that a way of asking me if I spit or swallow?”
He turned away from her and unwrapped the plastic cup, poured it half full of whiskey from the fresh bottle, cracked open a soda and finished filling it to the brim.
He stuck his finger into the drink and swirled it around, then inserted that finger between his lips and sucked it clean.
Holy shit.
Her nipples were not only aching now, but her breasts suddenly became a lot fuller.
He handed her the overfull cup and she was careful not to squeeze the easily crushable plastic too tightly. She hissed at the strength of the drink after taking a sip.
Turning toward her, his eyes took a slow stroll over her from top to toe.
Well now, add a pussy twinge to the reaction of her breasts. Especially after he topped that heated look with a lick of his lips.
What the fuck? Was he trying to make her self-combust right there in a motel in Coatesville, Pennsylvania?
Her heart skipped a beat when he suddenly moved. Not toward her like she hoped. He went directly to where his backpack sat on the floor, dug inside it and pulled out a T-shirt. He threw it at her.
She caught it but not without spilling a little of her drink on her hand. She licked the drops of Jack and Coke off her skin and when she looked up, he was watching her way too intently.
Well, that caused another intense pussy clench. Damn it.
“You gonna be in here, put that on.”
She glanced down at the shirt in her hand. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“My trip. My rules.”
She was about to shove that response down his damn throat.
She took another sip of her drink to prevent it from spilling again, put it down and tugged his shirt over her head. The worn, soft cotton fell just past her crotch and smelled like Rev. She resisted fisting the fabric, pressing it to her nose and inhaling. She might sneak a sniff when he wasn’t watching.
As he moved around the small room back to his side of the bed, her eyes were glued to the flex of his back muscles under the club’s colors inked onto his back.
It was rare she saw any of the Fury members without shirts. Occasionally she would on the farm when the weather was warm, either around the bunkhouse or during one of the parties. She knew most of them, if not all, had shown their dedication and loyalty to Trip and the club by having the rockers and insignia permanently tattooed onto their back, so it didn’t surprise her that Rev had it done, too.
She took another long sip of her Jack and Coke and watched his perfection climb back onto his side of the bed and get comfortable. He paused while lifting the whiskey bottle to his lips and jerked his head toward the other side of the bed.
She smothered the hiss that would’ve relieved some of the heat starting to gather in her center. He wanted her to climb into bed with him and just chill?
Okay, then. She put her drink down and did so until their shoulders were close but not touching.
He tossed the remote onto the bed between them. “Change it if you want.”
She glanced at the TV, then him. “Does the TV have Netflix?” She rolled her lips under.
He snorted and took a long pull on the bottle, then twisted his head to face her. His normally vivid blue eyes were now glassy and bloodshot between the mix of booze, dope and most likely mental exhaustion.
“Why? Wanna Netflix and chill? Think that’s smart? Got enough fuckin’ problems right now without addin’ fuckin’ you into the mix.”
“I’m not a problem.”
He threw his head back and laughed so loudly, she winced. When he was done, she was good and annoyed.
“Fuckin’ you would be a problem, buddercup,” he said seriously.
“You might have a problem fucking anyone tonight with the amount you’re drinking.” She leaned toward him and glanced at the open tin on the nightstand. “And also with whatever you smoked. Little Rev might not be revving to go after all that.”
He grabbed his crotch over his jeans and shook it. “Got no problem gettin’ it up.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve seen you hard plenty of times. But not after putting away so much whiskey. Did you do anything else?”
One of his eyebrows lifted but it listed like it was drunk, too. “Whadya mean?”
“Like any hard shit. The shit Trip doesn’t like to see around the farm.”
He shook his crotch again. “Got somethin’ hard.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. And don’t offer something you aren’t willing to give. That’s just being a tease. Now light one of those fatties and puff, puff, pass.”