“How’s that whiskey you hate so much taste now that it’s on my tongue?” I groan, my hips shifting to try and get some kind of relief from the need quickly building in me, and a deep chuckle rumbles through him. “It’s an acquired taste, I suppose,” I murmur. “I haven’t quite decided yet how I feel about it.” “Give me a few minutes, I can guarantee you’ll love the taste when I’m done with you.”
