Alcohol You Later (59)

“I don’t know.” I picture their innocent, trusting faces. The sound of their deep belly laughs and toothy smiles. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“I think you do,” she challenges. “A week ago you wouldn’t consider anything other than sending them back.”

“That’s still the plan.” I grip her chin, locking eyes with her to make sure she knows I’m serious. “I don’t want you getting your hopes up, Ray. Touring isn’t the life for a couple of babies. They deserve a real home.”

“Home is with the people who love you…wherever they may be.” Her hands scrub over the scruff on my cheeks. “You’re my home, Nicholas. And we could be theirs.”





“Mmm,” I garble, mouth full of food. “This is delicious.”

He beams, winking as he forks another bite of meat into his mouth.

“I mean the steak is amazing, but those potatoes.” I moan for effect, letting my eyes roll back with delight.

Nick’s head shakes. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

“What can I say?” I cluck my tongue. “Learned from the master.”

“Can’t argue there.”

I’ve made it through half my plate and can’t possibly eat another bite. Defeated, I drop my utensils and retrieve the white cloth napkin from my lap, waving it in the air.

Nick’s arm stretches across the table. He stabs his fork into what remains of my filet and drags it back to his plate. “Can’t waste that… This is prime meat.”

“Meh,” I shrug. “I’m leaving room for some kielbasa.” I waggle my brows.

“Well, you are in for a treat, little lady.” He dabs at his lips with a napkin before suddenly losing interest in his own plate. “We offer only the best, most coveted cuts of meat here at Potter’s.”

He pushes back from the table, rising to his feet.

I stare up at him—at all six foot three inches of perfectly sculpted muscle looming over me. Dressed for the occasion in a baby blue polo shirt and khaki shorts, he still manages to look every bit the bad boy rocker with his inked arms and spiked up, platinum hair. His overall presence would be intimidating to most, but I find him nothing short of beautiful. “Dance with me?”

I take his offered hand, though there’s no music. I’m unsure whether he’s asking for an actual dance or if it’s a euphemism for dessert. I’m down for either.

Nick leads me toward the living room, fiddling with his phone for a bit before the familiar opening cords to “Faithfully” by Journey filter through the surround sound.

Tears build in my eyes as he pulls my body flush against his, trailing a string of kisses along the side of my face, only stopping when his warm lips reach my ear. His sturdy arms wrap around me, holding me close in a vice grip. The scent of his cologne overwhelms my senses.

My fingers dig into the back of his shirt as a swarm of butterflies take up residence in my chest. My pulse thrums wildly in the back of my throat as I listen to this man sing about the difficulties of starting a family on the road. In a deep baritone, he tells the tale of lonely nights I already know all too intimately. Each word is sung with such intention, his conviction felt down to my marrow. Nick’s not just reciting lyrics but pledging his love and faithfulness…to me.

Every word drives home that this is real. That he’s finally mine.

As the song winds to a close, he clutches the back of my head in a hand, angles it to line up with his, and slowly begins moving his mouth toward mine. His tongue gently prods against the seam of my mouth, begging for an entrance I’m all too willing to grant. Nick’s soft, pliant lips mold to my trembling ones. With a firm grip on my chin, he takes control, guiding me, and with skilled precision, he proceeds to make love to my mouth, his tongue mating with mine in a sensual dance as he swallows my moans and drinks up every whimper, indulging himself in my raging desire.

We engage in an erotic game of give and take.

From slow and tender to desperate and ravenous, our need for each other grows.

I bite down on his lower lip and tug, before ripping his shirt over his head. My yellow sundress quickly follows. Piece by piece, we strip each other bare.

With every slip of clothing I lose, my body grows hotter, his electrifying gaze warming me from the inside out.

“Is this real?” he asks, standing there in all his naked glory, laying worship to my body with a look that has me curling my toes.

My nipples harden, desire pooling in my belly, and I nod. “Finally,” I rasp, hardly able to believe that after all this time we seem to have gotten it right.

“Don’t move.” He holds out a finger before moving to a closet on the far end of the room and retrieving a stack of blankets.

I watch as he layers them one on top of the next, forming a pallet on the floor in front of the fireplace. The orange glow from the firelight emphasizes the dips and ridges of his abdomen, making him appear godlike.

The sight of his erection, standing tall and proud, and knowing it’s for me, has me feeling some kind of powerful, too.

“You sure?” he asks, stroking his thick cock as he advances on me.

My breath catches at the erotic sight. “Absolutely,” I assure him with what little voice I can produce.

With a resolute nod, he takes me into his arms, gently laying me in the center of the blankets. He takes his time, fanning my hair out behind me, like he’s posing me for a painting.