Boredom, the root of my evil.I had it all, dream job, boyfriend, stability.
Alastar O’Shea.An enigmatic, artistic Irishman who had more sexual energy in his pinky finger than anything I had ever dreamed of.
He was hot, toxic and the most exhilarating experience of my life.Like a drug he entered my bloodstream.
Did I meet him by chance or was it a calculated hit?I did believe in fairy tales but he isn’t who I thought he was.
He stands back and his eyes drop down my body for a moment. “Do you want to play a game?”I smile.
He picks up the bottle of liquor and leads me by the hand into the kitchen.
“Shot glasses?” he asks.
“Umm.” I try to think where I have seen them. “Top cupboard.”
He gets out six shot glasses and lines them up on the bench and then opens the tequila and fills them all.
I stand still and watch him, my core throbbing and wet from the feel of his cock only moments ago.
“What’s the game?” I smirk.
He kisses me and his tongue sweeps though my mouth before he lifts me to sit on the kitchen bench. Fuck, he’s hot.
“The game is called unshot.”
I frown. “Unshot?”
His mouth drops to my breast through my shirt and he bites my nipple.
“For every shot that I drink, I get to take a piece of clothing off you.”
I smile. I like this game.
“What do I get when I drink a shot?” I breathe.
His dark eyes hold mine. “You get my tongue on you somewhere.”
My insides start to liquefy and my ovaries are chanting skull, skull, skull.
He picks up his glass and tips his head back, drinking it down. His large tongue comes out to lick his lips and anticipation thrums through my body. He puts his glass down and lifts my shirt over my head. I sit on the bench in my black lace bra and skirt and stockings.
He licks his lips again and his eyes drop to my breasts. Oh, I want that tongue on me.
I pick up my glass and drink my shot and he bends to pull my bra back and takes my nipple in his mouth, quickly biting me with a hard suck. I jump and my legs open that bit farther by themselves.
He stands and drinks another shot, licks the tequila from his lips again, and lets his dark, wanting eyes burn holes in my restraint.
Holy fuck, this game is hot.
“Stand up.” He growls.
Lover of her husband, children, words, chocolate and margaritas.When she is not writing her next novel, you will find her in a café drinking coffee with friends.
Writing is her passion.
Books by T L Swan Stanton Adore