The world outside the porcelain rim of the tub dissolved into a blur of steam and shadows. There was no more time, no more logic, and certainly no more "Professor Sabrina." There was only the searing, liquid heat of the Scotch and the overwhelming, muscular presence of the man who had just conquered her.
As Mike's mouth crashed against hers, the sensation was violent in its beauty. The Scotch was a molten river, a heavy, amber fire that flooded her senses.
'Oh god...' her mind screamed, a frantic, disoriented thought amidst the sensory overload. 'It's too much... it's too hot... but why don't I want him to stop?'
The kiss was deep, demanding, and utterly unyielding. Mike wasn't just sharing the drink; he was using it as a weapon of intimacy.
He would take a swallow, the liquid swirling in his mouth, and then he would press his lips to hers with a forceful, rhythmic pressure, forcing the spirit into her mouth.
