Page 52 of Single Malt

I wastwenty-five years old and had been living in my own place for more than five years, but every time I walked into my childhood bedroom, I felt like I was a kid all over again. It didn’t help that Aline and I had both left things in our respective rooms so that we didn’t need to pack much for trips back to L.A.

While neither room really felt like they were lived in, they also didn’t have the absent atmosphere that lingered in abandoned spaces. I wondered if, at some point, our parents would finally convert both of our rooms into additional guestrooms. Honestly, I suspected they wouldn’t do it until Aline or I had kids, arguing that even if we were in a relationship, our rooms had private bathrooms and king-sized beds, perfect to share with anyone we brought home.

I stared up at the ceiling and sighed. I really just wanted to go to sleep. A deep, dreamless sleep that would shut off my brain for a few precious hours so that I wasn’t completely obsessing over whatever my mind decided to bring up next. My last semester. My plans after graduation. Aline’s plans. How things would change.Ifthings would change.

The information came in a nonstop cycle, another thought popping up as soon as I’d managed to push the current one aside.

Like right now, my ruminations about my bedroom had brought up something else. Would graduating prompt Aline to start dating? She’d been so focused on her classes that there’d been little time for socializing, something for which my parents and I were grateful since Aline had always been years younger than her classmates. By the time she’d been old enough that the age gap hadn’t mattered, she’d had a comfortable routine that neither of us had wanted to alter.

Now, she’d be in a different environment, with different people. More opportunities to meet new men. To find someone who made her stomach twist and her heart pound. Someone who invaded her thoughts, even when she didn’t want him to. Someone she’d find herself looking for at the strangest times and places.

“Dammit, Brody.” I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

Desperate, I began to count sheep, first in English and then in Spanish. Russian. Japanese…

* * *

The sun waswarm on my naked skin, almost as soft as the caress of my lover’s hands. I kept my eyes closed as I arched my back, wanting more. He squeezed my breasts, teased my nipples with his fingers. Little prickles of pleasure bit at my nerve endings, and I shuddered.

“Salty and sweet.” His voice was like molasses.

No, melted caramel. Lighter and sweeter than molasses. But just as…tasty.

His lips made their way along my collarbone and then down to my aching breasts. His tongue dipped into the hollow between them to catch a drop of sweat, then traced a path down to my naval. I laughed and felt him smile against my belly.

“Ticklish.” He scraped his teeth over my soft flesh. “I do love to see you squirm.”

I buried my hands in his thick, sun-warmed hair, and he made a pleased sound. I liked that sound. I wanted to hear it again. And I wanted to hear it when he was inside me.

I flipped us over, straddled his waist. His cock was hard beneath me, and I rocked on it. Cursing, he grabbed my hips, his eyes heated.

“Is there something you want?” I asked. Slick skin slipped and slid, a different sort of friction that sent a shiver up my spine.

“You,” he growled. “Wantyou.”

I smiled and ground down on him, making him curse, that insanely sexy Scottish accent growing thicker with each word. Damn if it didn’t just make me wetter.

“Freedom…”

My name was a warning, and a thrill of excitement went through me at the danger I heard there. So much of my life was safe. Even when I was protecting Aline, I wasn’t really in any danger. Brody was dangerous in ways that should have terrified me.

Wouldhave terrified me if any of this had been real.

But it wasn’t real.

I suddenly realized this was a dream. Relief and disappointment flooded me. I didn’t let it linger, though. This might not have been real, but I could still come, and at least this way wouldn’t have to deal with the fall-out.

I let the knowledge of reality fade away before it could wake me up and turned my attention to the body beneath me. I had no doubt I’d remembered him perfectly, including his scars, though I still didn’t know how he’d gotten them. I leaned over and kissed each one even as I rubbed myself against him.

The texture of the scar tissue against my tongue was different than the rest of his skin. Not bad, just different. The way the light dusting of hair on his chest was rougher than the hair on his head. The way the skin on his cock and balls was so much softer and more delicate feeling than anywhere else on his body.

I took him in my hand, stroking him from base to tip with a touch too light to give him the friction he’d need to come. A frustrated groan made me smile, and I flicked my tongue against the tip. Peering up at him from under my lashes, I leisurely licked him, reveling in every sound he made, every twitch of his cock. When I took him into my mouth, his hips jerked up, forcing him deeper than I’d intended.

But it was my dream, so I took it all, let the top couple inches into my throat. He cursed, hands grabbing at me, desperate to regain control. I grabbed his hips, dug my nails into his flesh, a reminder of who was in charge. I swallowed, and he cried out my name. He came but was still hard when I released him from my mouth.

A perk of this being a dream was that he could go as many times or as long as I wanted him to. And I was just getting started.

Thirty-Four