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I swallow a couple deep gulps, loving the smooth warmth of the whisky as it slides down my throat, before turning to her and commanding, “Follow me.” I toss her a shaker, and she just barely manages to catch it against her full tits. I tuck the delectable image away for later. Gathering all four bottles in one hand, I slide the stem of the coupe glass between my teeth, grab my whisky glass in the other, and lead her toward the kitchen.

“Wow,” she gasps when we enter my favorite room in the apartment—on this level, anyway. “I would kill for a kitchen like this.”

“No need to commit murder, angel,” I chuckle after I’ve thrown everything down on the black marble countertops. “I’ll get you a key, and you can come over and cook anytime you want,” I offer before I can hold myself back.

Jesus Christ, I feel like I’ve asked her to move in with me except for the fact that giving her free-use of my goddamn kitchen is even more fucking intimate. She’s barely stepped into my apartment, and I’m crossing lines already. I drain half my glass and slam it against the counter, licking away the remnants of liquor from my lips with my tongue. I catch her staring at my mouth as I do, and my cock makes it obvious that the heat in her eyes gets me hard.

Groaning with the effort it takes not to bend her over the counter and show her exactly what she does to me, I go to the fridge and grab a couple blood oranges and a lime. I hold out my hand for the shaker, and she slams it against my palm a little harder than she needs to. Guess she has some pent up tension of her own. “You’ll feel better in a minute,” I tell her with another long sip from my glass. “Unless you want to take off your panties and let me fuck all that angst out of you before cocktail hour?”

“Can’t,” she replies, a coy smile tugging on her lips.

“Still just dinner, then?” I huff, wondering why she’s choosing to torture both of us rather than just giving in.

“No, I mean I can’t because I’m not wearing any panties.”

Holyfuckinghell. I think I just came a little because my cock is suddenly so wet I can feel the damp material of my boxers chafing against my swollen head. “Such a naughty angel, teasing me with your bare cunt,” I growl, reaching down to adjust myself. “I’ll add it to your list of punishments for tonight.”

“So many threats, chef,” she purrs, the golden flecks in her warm eyes sparking with mischief. “At this point, we won’t have any time for dinner.”

“There’s always time for dinner. You just won’t be getting much sleep tonight.”

“We’ll see,” she replies in a sing-song tone that sounds distinctly like she’s taunting me.

I fist my hands at my sides, ignoring the impulse to make the little tease scream rather than sing. “Let’s get you a drink. Can’t have you taking advantage of me in my weakened state.” I throw back the rest of my whisky, refill my glass, and start slicing the fruit in half to juice.

“Can I help?” she asks, coming up behind me until she’s so close I can smell the cinnamon sweetness clinging to her skin. I want to suck that warm sweetness right from her veins.

“Here, squeeze these.” I slide a bowl and the blood oranges across the counter so that she’s forced to put some distance between us. I have a citrus press, but I want to see her wring them dry with her bare hands. She gets to work while I add ice to the shaker and pour in several shots of Mezcal. I squeeze in half a lime, a splash of fernet, and a heaping helping of cinnamon syrup, knowing she’ll prefer it sweeter.

When I look back at her, she’s pressing her third piece of orange, juice dripping down her arm like blood. Without thinking, I reach across the counter and grab her wrist, tilting her arm toward my lips and lapping at the juice until she’s licked clean. She moans as I take each of her fingers into my mouth and suck them until every last drop of sweetness is gone. The decadent sound of her arousal makes my cock swell so much I feel like it might burst.

“Don’t want you ruining that pretty white dress,” I offer in defense of my sudden attack as I tear myself away from her. My control is slipping fast. “That’s enough juice.” I take the bowl from her and dump the contents into the shaker before slamming on the top.

I release my aggression on the shaker, the deafening sound ofhard ice ricocheting against cold metal obliterating any mounting sexual tension in the room. When I finish, I double strain the liquid and fill her glass to the brim. I pull out a knife and cut a single slice of blood orange as a garnish, using the tip of the knife to lower it into the center of the glass. I slide the drink across the counter toward her. “Sangre dulce,” I announce.

“Sweet blood,” she translates with an amused smile as she picks up the cocktail and brings it to her nose. “Smells good. Did you add cinnamon?”

“Reminded me of you,” I answer with a shrug.

“Well,salud.” She lifts her glass toward me, and I clink mine against the edge.

“Salud,” I add before tipping back my glass and gulping it down until I can’t breathe. “How is it?”

“It’s good.” She licks her lips, and I couldn’t take my eyes away from her wet tongue if I tried. “The cinnamon and blood orange is a perfect balance.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

Keeping her dark eyes locked on mine, she puts her glass to her lips and drains the entire thing before slamming it down so hard on the counter it’s a wonder the delicate crystal doesn’t shatter into pieces. “Another?”

“Slow down, angel,” I laugh while reaching for the shaker and topping up her glass. “You don’t want to be sick.”

“I can handle my liquor,” she bites back, taking on her second drink almost as quickly. She holds out the empty glass with a pleading pucker to her pretty lips. “More?”

“I’m cutting you off after this, so you better fucking savor it,” I grit as I drain what’s left into her glass. I frown down at her, wondering what exactly it is she needs all this liquid courage for. Is my girl really that scared of me?

She swirls the red-tinted liquid in her glass, her eyes fixatedon the way the blood orange rotates along the edge. “Tell me,” she whispers after a long stretch of silence.

Ahh, so that’s the reason she’s suddenly turned into a binge drinker. I thought maybe she’d forgotten about our little deal, but I should have known better than to underestimate her morbid curiosity. I could lie to save myself from looking like a villain, but I promised her honesty, and she deserves nothing less.