Johnnie Blue by Denyse Cohen Page A

“Bartender, another one for me and one for the lady.” The bartender nodded, opened a cabinet behind the bar, and pulled a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.
    “Whoa.” I whispered at the sight of Johnnie Blue and looked at grey eyes who smirked triumphantly at me. “This is not going to get you inside my pants.”
    “We’ll see.” He gave me a devilish wink.
    We’ll see.
    The golden liquid looked like melted amber, we were unable to look away as the bartender poured it into two crystal glasses.
    Turning on the stool to face me, he picked up the glasses and handed me one. “To the poor bastard who’s gone out for a steak while he has a filet in the fridge.”
    “Meat analogy, huh? How classy.” I tried unsuccessfully not to roll my eyes and drank the whisky, savoring its fiery nuances. It glided down my throat smooth, smokey, and sweet. Immediately, an amazing heat spread through my body. I closed my eyes to take in every flavor, every sensation. Hot just like sex.
    “I can’t help it.” He took a sip and, leaning toward me, whispered. “For the past five minutes I’ve been thinking how delicious your pussy must taste.” His scent was intoxicating: earthy, spicy, and sophisticated. His grey eyes lit with fire heat radiated off him melting my bones, and before straightening himself up again he said, “I want to eat you up.”
    My thighs clenched, the hair on the nape of my neck stood up, and my nipples seemed to have a will of their own, reaching out and as if they wanted to touch him. Those were the boldest, crudest words a man had ever said to me. Still, I was so wet for this, this…asshole I feared I would be dripping down my thighs at any moment.
    I looked at his crotch again. Oh, fucking hell. My mouth actually watered as I imagined myself sucking his dick. His left hand rested on his knee: no ring.
    Glancing at my own wedding ring, I said feigning nonchalance, “Sorry, pal. It’s not going to happen.” I took another sip and said, “Thanks for the drink.” Then, I walked away with my glass — of course.
    Honestly, I had no idea where to go. Completely disoriented but trying hard to keep my poise, I looked over my right shoulder: cheery twenty-something women dying to catch the bouquet. I looked over my left shoulder: exit door and bathrooms. I  couldn’t leave without my husband, so I moved toward the bathrooms.
    I was dying to look back and see if grey eyes was watching me, but I feared that if our gazes locked again I would not be able to resist fucking him senseless.
    Inside the bathroom, I went straight to the sink. My cheeks were burning from whiskey or desire. Who cares?
    I downed the whiskey and, for the first time in the night, I was happy I took a cab here. My husband had driven straight from the airport, he’d just arrived from a week long business trip. This wedding was a pain in the ass, I didn’t know anyone to begin with nor cared to anyway, but the groom was one of my husband’s clingy high school friends who was finally marrying the homecoming queen and insisted all his buddies were here to witness the deed. Needless to say, I was in a bad mood, extremely horny, and on my way to getting hammered. Good times.
    The bathroom was empty, thank goodness. The last thing I needed was some Daisy Duke trying to chit chat while I decided if I was going to finger myself into a quick orgasm to release the steam. I turned on the faucet and wet my fingers, when I lifted my head and brushed them over my lips I saw, through the mirror, grey eyes standing behind me.
    “What are you doing here?” I turned around and leaned against the sink.
    “You, I hope.” He closed the distance between us in two long strides and took my face into his hands, crushing his lips to mine. The kiss was everything I hoped it would be—and more; his lips were soft and warm, his tongue sure and wanting.
    “Someone will see us.” I reluctantly pushed him off.
    Someone will see us? You whore. But before I could