Page 28

Tennessee Whiskey – Austin Giorgio

My feet couldn’t carry me fast enough through Illusion’s parking lot and side entrance. A last-minute business transaction had kept me out of the city and away from my newest addiction. Forty-eight hours was long enough. We’d spoken over the phone, but listening to Amara’s voice without being able to touch her was a unique form of torture. I’d intended to stop by her flat, but she informed me she’d arrived at work earlier than scheduled to practice a new routine.

I clenched my jaw at the thought of her on that stage and in a room full of bastards lusting for what was mine. She’d never accept my help financially, and asking her not to perform or cutting the heads off every patron might not go over well.

“ Preziosa , are you in there?” I asked after knocking on her door several times, but I received silence in return.

Music from the main floor lounge filtered through the corridors, drawing my attention. The venue wouldn’t be open to the public for another three hours, and if Amara wasn’t in her dressing quarters, then I had to assume she’d already taken to the stage. Over the last several weeks, I had committed every piece of her music to memory. But the melody filling the walls of Illusion was new.

Following the alluring notes like a siren’s call, I was utterly mesmerized by her movements, as if it were the first time. We locked eyes from across the room, and I noticed her falter for a moment once she realized I was watching, but she seamlessly recovered, kicking her legs up and twisting around the pole.

I stepped onto the stage and dropped to my knees as she arched backward from the top, her hair falling like a curtain of curls before me.

“ Sei fottutamente squisita ,” I said, my hands in her hair, mouth coasting over hers.

So fucking exquisite.

She grinned and snaked out her tongue, licking my lips. “Like what you see?”

The groan that rattled past my teeth was all she needed to hear before I stood and peeled her off that damn pole, carried her to the bar, and laid her across the counter.

“Don’t you dare move.”

I silenced the protest on her lips with a rough kiss, leaving her breathless as I took off to ensure every entry point in the club was locked.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a coy smile as I rounded the bar and slipped in behind it.

“I think you meant to say that you missed me the same way I missed you.”

Amara took my hand and threaded her fingers through mine. “No one has ever missed me before.”

“Good,” I said, pressing my lips to her knuckles and trailing down until I reached the black band on her wrist. “You know you don’t need to hide from me.” I slid it off and slowly kissed the discolored skin.

She touched my cheek, offering me a smile. “I’m getting there. And I did miss you. But you also owe me a date.”

I laughed as I hooked my thumb over the thin red strap on her shoulder and looked to her for consent.

“The trip to Philadelphia is booked,” I said, swiping at her nipple.

She arched toward me and closed her eyes. “So you’re following through on that private jet, after all.”

“I’ll take you anywhere. You just say the word and we’re there the next day.”

Her expression shifted from one of ecstasy to that of nostalgia. She had a place in mind. “Tell me where,” I urged.

Biting her lip, she tugged me back to her nipple. “I’d love to visit my hometown someday.”

“Done.” I caught the underside of her breast with my teeth, causing her to jerk away from me and laugh. How far gone did one have to be to love the sound of another person’s laugh?

“No, someday. But not yet.” Clutching my hair, she tipped my focus back to her eyes. “What are we doing?”

Her question was more than just about this moment or lying on the bar like dessert ready to be devoured. We were making plans for the future, shared plans. The thought was as terrifying as it was hopeful. I was privy to the loss and heartache that could accompany giving up your heart to another. I’d witnessed first-hand despair so great and sacrifice so absolute.

Love was not for the weak.

“Whatever we want,” I assured her, sliding off her matching red shorts and thong. I said nothing more and simply indulged in everything I’d been missing these last two days.

“Santi, touch me,” she whispered. Taking my hand, she bravely guided my fingers, and I noted the slight tremble lining her abdomen. As much as my cock ached to be inside her, I craved to soothe those last tendrils of anguish in her heart.

Grabbing a bottle of my favorite Pinot, I popped the cork and knocked back a drink before climbing onto the bar and pulling her toward me. “I got into town this morning, and all I could think of was being with you.” My fingers tangled into her hair. “You’ve bewitched me.”

I brought the bottle to her lips and tipped it, and as she drank, the liquid dripped down her chin, and I leaned forward, licking the spilled wine and stealing what she hadn’t yet swallowed. My kiss was rough, teeth clashing together, tongue dominating hers. The urge to devour her was so great I could think of nothing else.

“Lie back, preziosa . I’m going to taste you again.”

“Right here?”

“Right fucking here.”

The corner of Amara’s mouth pulled into a shy grin, and she did as she was told.

Spreading her thighs, my mouth watered at the sight of her pretty little cunt. I’d had a taste of her, a tease that was just enough to cue my obsession. And I needed more.

“Up here,” I said, smoothing my hand over her calf and propping it on my shoulder as I tipped the bottle again and watched as the wine raced down the length of her leg, pooling at the junction of her thigh and coating her pussy. I started at her ankle with tender kisses and languid tongue strokes, chasing the taste of her where my fingers were already gliding across slick skin.

Amara gripped the edges of the bar and breathed my name when I buried my face between her thighs and rolled my tongue over her clit.

“I always knew that’s what you’d taste like.”

She pressed a stiletto against my chest. “And what’s that?”

“Mine.”

I hauled her toward my mouth, throwing her other leg over my shoulder as I feasted without an ounce of mercy. The bottle of wine was knocked off the counter, shattering against the floor. Amara startled at the sound of breaking glass, but I dipped my fingers deep inside her, refocusing her attention on where she’d be coming apart soon enough.

“Santi…fuck,” she panted, raising her arms and reaching for the counter above her head.

Watching her break for me was my new favorite thing. This state of vulnerability was a gift, something she’d kept locked up for so long, and I was honored to be the first man she trusted. Erasing her past was impossible, but I’d make damn sure to be the only one she remembered.

“I don’t know”— lick —“if I’ll ever”— suction —“get enough of you.” I gripped her hips tighter, conscious that bruising was inevitable. But I knew she was close as she tightened around my fingers, thighs shuddering against my head. Not a single drop of her would go to waste.

“I’m…I can’t… please ,” she begged, her neck arched, mouth open.

“Tell me, preziosa .” Another flick of her swollen clit, and she jolted. “Tell me what you want.”

She shook her head from side to side, lips caught between her teeth, unable to utter a word as she clamped down and shattered.

Not a single drop.

I lifted her ass off the bar, splitting her open as she spilled onto my tongue.

Amara’s nails scraped against my scalp when she attempted to free herself from my grasp. There was a moment I hesitated, afraid to make her feel confined or trapped if she didn’t desire to be, but when I saw the sated expression on her face, it spurred me on, and I indulged until she was pounding on the counter and crying out my name.

“Next time I leave, I want you with me,” I said, alternating kisses between her shaky thighs. For the past two days, my thoughts centered on Amara. The way she felt in my arms. Her voice. My name on her lips. And how good her pussy swallowed my cock. Fuck, I had it bad.

“What if…I have work?” she asked between pants.

Work? I’d be damned if she ever set foot on that stage again. But that was a conversation for another day. My pants had converted into an ancient torture device. Lifting her off the bar, I cradled her body, her back against my chest, and nuzzled her hair.

“All of that can wait. I need you.”

“Take me,” she whispered as she ran her nails along my nape. The fire of her touch moved through me like a fuse.

Gently bending her over the counter, I used one hand to smooth over her ass and the other to free my cock. The red gleam of a lamp above us highlighted her glowing skin, drawing my eyes to the faint linear scars on her cheeks and along her back. The horrors my girl had been subjected to had kept me up at night, pacing my room, hands buzzing for revenge. Even if I were unfamiliar with a world where death was currency, I’d still understand her taste for blood.

When I hoisted her higher against the bar, I got a clear view of her swollen pussy, and I was suddenly ravenous all over again. But nothing compared to the feeling of making her mine. Maybe I was obsessed, infatuated, fucking mad—whatever agony I’d felt at her absence, only quelled when I slid inside her.