Alcohol You Later Read online

  Alcohol You Later

  Copyright © 2022 Heather M. Orgeron

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover design by: Y’all. That Graphic.

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  Model: Kaz

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Preview of Pour Judgment

  Novels by Heather M. Orgeron

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  “Nick,” I croak, nearly tumbling out of bed as I reach to my nightstand for my cell. “It’s three in the morning.” I toss the mass of tangled black hair over my left shoulder to get it out of my face while wiping sleep from my eyes—an attempt to make myself a little more presentable though he can’t even see me. Apparently, the mere sound of his ringtone turns me into a bumbling idiot.

  “Told you al co—cohol you later.” The syrupy drawl of his voice squashes what little annoyance I’m able to dredge up. He’s my kryptonite.

  The worst part of this entire situation—he knows it.

  “That was three weeks ago,” I remind him, trying to inject a little irritation into my tone.

  My pulse throbs in my throat. I can almost feel the warmth of his breath through the phone…can practically taste the bourbon on his tongue.

  “Don’t be like that, Ray… you’re supposed to be my dude,” he slurs.

  His “dude.” What every girl longs to hear from the man she’s desperately in love with.

  “I am.” The fluttering of butterflies forming in my chest instantly morphs into lava roiling in my gut, because I want to be so much more. But Nicholas Potter is, in a word…complicated.

  For starters, he’s the drummer for the Rhett Taylor band…only the hottest country group to hit the stage since…well, maybe ever. The boy is living the life of a rock god, with no desire to settle down. Nick’s been nothing but clear on that matter, and I certainly can’t fault the man for my inability to keep my own feelings in check.

  So, I take whatever I can get, convinced that while a new groupie in a different city each night may get his body, I’m the one in possession of his heart. I mean, he hasn’t said as much, but there must be some reason, apart from my killer snatch, that he keeps coming back, right?

  Right.

  “How was the show?”

  “Was good… Great, actually.” His pitch climbs a few octaves. “Rhett and Korie announced their pregnancy at the end. Crowd ate that shit up.”

  “Shut up!” How did I not know that was happening tonight? “Some best friend,” I mutter, referring to, Korie, my supposed bestie, who also happens to be Nick’s cousin and married to the lead singer of his band, Rhett Taylor himself.

  He snorts. “It’s you and me now, toots.”

  “Oh, yeah?” The butterflies return with a vengeance, swarming, and dancing, and stirring up a flurry of emotions.

  “Yup. Those two are so obsessed with each other, it’s disgusting.” He groans. “They don’t have time for us anymore.”

  The level of derision in his tone has me spitting out a laugh. “That so?”

  “If I ever get that gaga over a female, I’m gonna need you to promise you’ll put me in my place.”

  Rolling to my side, I stuff a pillow under my neck, settling in for the long haul. “I don’t know… I think it’s romantic.”

  He gags, but I know he’s just as happy for those two as I am. “Whatever.”

  “You still sound really wired,” I say, moving the conversation along. There’s only one reason this man calls me in the wee hours of the morning, and it’s not to make small talk. “No luck with your groupies tonight?” It’s well known among our group that sex and pot are how he self-medicates his ADHD. Without them, he’d never sleep. Those restless nights are responsible for these drunken calls. Apparently, he believes I don’t need sleep either, or it could be that he knows I’ll never deny him.

  “Couldn’t get it up,” he grumbles, causing me to choke.

  “You really are too honest with me, sir.”

  “Whiskey dick is a natural part of life. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, you’re my best freaking friend. I’ll never lie to you.”

  “So, you keep saying,” I clap back. “But I only hear from you when you need me.”

  The mention of his dick has me pressing my thighs tightly together. I’ve become quite taken with that delectable appendage of his, having more than enjoyed all eight inches on countless occasions. Nothing can compete with the way his Jacob’s ladder feels rippling along the sensitive flesh of my pussy walls. Coupled with his apadravya piercing, it’s safe to say he’s ruined me for all other dick. I don’t know what I’ll do if he ever falls for a woman who isn’t me and I find myself having to return to plain old peen. His bedazzled cock is a diamond in the rough. I’ll never find another that stacks up. The thought is nearly enough to kill my lady boner.

  “I always need you.” His voice turns hoarse, and my blood heats. “You never disappoint.”

  My phone dings, causing my heartbeat to nosedive right to my vagina. I open the message and there it stands in all its glory. He snapped the photo from underneath, showcasing the four barbells ascending his thick shaft. Evidently he’s overcome his earlier case of stage fright in a huge way. A curved bar through the head completes the look with balls slightly larger than those that adorn the ladder on both the top and undersides of his engorged mushroom.

  “Dear Lord,” I mutter, nearly panting with desire.

  “He is rather godly, isn’t he?”

  “You’re so damn full of yourself,” I rasp, barely suppressing a laugh.

  “Actually,” he says, and my phone vibrates with a notification from him. “Nothing could be truer.” In this one, his hand is curled around the thick flesh.

  I gasp. “Nick.”

  “I need to see you,” he all but begs as the FaceTime request appears on my screen. I press the green button and I’m greeted with the sight of his fist pumping up and down his
erection. His thumb is toying with the larger ball at the underside of the head, the one I love to tease with my tongue and teeth.

  With the phone gripped in my left hand and my eyes locked on the screen, I trail my fingers along my stomach, beneath the elastic of my panties. When my fingers brush over the sensitive nerves throbbing in my clit, I damn near leap from the bed.

  “Fuck, that’s hot,” Nick groans as I draw a shaky breath. “I wanna see. Don’t hide from me.”

  I hesitate, chewing on my lower lip while still stroking myself beneath the covers.

  “Come on…” His familiar face appears on the screen, burning with desire. Those hooded emerald eyes of his implore me. “Don’t play coy, pretty girl. Show me how you touch yourself.”

  “That’s it,” he encourages as I prop the phone against the lamp on my bedside table so it’s angled to where he can see the length of my body. I throw my comforter to the side. “Now lose the shirt.”

  “Bossy much?” My voice is sandpaper, lacking any semblance of ire.

  Nick tosses in a please to placate me, and I shed my tank in one fluid motion, nearly ripping an earring out in my haste.

  His answering moan is deep and low emanating from the back of his throat. “Hottest fucking tits I’ve ever seen.”

  I preen beneath his praise, mewling and writhing as he trails a hand along the ridges of his chest and abdomen.

  “Ray?”

  “Yeah?” I pant.

  “Lick your fingers, beautiful.”

  My nipples pebble at his request, but I narrow my eyes because I know the banter turns him on.

  “Will you lick the pads of your thumb and index finger for me, please?”

  Burning to jump ahead to the next step, I make a show of tonguing the digits. But trust me when I say it requires every ounce of restraint I possess to refrain from touching myself without permission, as I eagerly await his next instruction.

  “That’s it. Get ‘em nice and wet… Now tweak your nipples and imagine it’s my tongue swirling over those pretty pink buds.”

  A flush works its way through my body as I become lost in sensation. In the sound of his voice. In knowing this mammoth of a man gets off on watching me. Reality fades away. I can practically feel his big strong hands. Taste the salt of his skin. Smell the faint stench of pot that always lingers on his clothes and in his hair.

  “Pinch and tug on that jewelry,” he orders. “Pretend it’s my teeth…yeah, baby…” His breaths start coming harder and faster. “Can you feel my tongue flicking back and forth over the metal? My teeth grazing your tender flesh.”

  “Oh, fuck,” I moan, pulling on my nipple piercing while pumping two fingers of the other hand in and out of my soaked pussy.

  I loll my head to the side, stealing a glance at his fingers wrapped firmly around the head of his engorged cock. It looks painfully swollen, red, and clearly ready to blow. But Nicholas is a generous lover, even during our mutual masturbation sessions, always staving off his own release until I find mine.

  “I’m coming,” I scream, pumping my fingers in and out, increasing speed at his encouragement while rotating the pad of my thumb over my clit. My head drops back in ecstasy as I ride out every last wave of pleasure, my body vibrating through each surge until physically, I’m sated.

  And yet I find myself left in a perplexing state of sheer bliss and crushing disappointment over the realization that I’m still here…in my bed…and very alone.

  “Fuck,” he growls, furiously pumping his fist as he chases his own release. He tips his head back and I watch, enthralled by the way his abs contract as he works himself over. “I…”—his voice stutters—“I wish you were here, dude.”

  “Me too,” I whisper.

  “Wanna come all over those pretty tits.”

  I slide my hands back up my belly, to my breasts, tugging on the curved rings through each nipple. “Yes, Nick.”

  “Fuck! Raven!” He shouts, his hot release spilling onto his rock-hard abs.

  A beat of silence hangs over us as we work to get our breathing under control.

  “I really do wish you were here, you know?” He grins. “And not just for this.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he answers with a yawn. “I miss falling asleep with you in my arms.”

  “I’m sure you won’t have to look too hard to find a willing pair to hold you tomorrow night.”

  He snorts. “It’s not like that with them.”

  “Not like what?” I press.

  He shrugs, giving his answer more thought than I expect. “When I’m done with them, I’m done, you know?”

  “No,” I say. “I don’t.” I hope I don’t sound as desperate as I feel, but I’m grasping for any indication that I’m not pining away for a man who may never want me the way I crave him.

  “It’s just sex. A way to wind down…but I don’t…” He trails off, and I can see his brows working while he tries to think through the lingering alcohol induced fog. “It’s just a little fun, that’s all,” he finally says, giving up on whatever profound thought he was toying with. “I don’t want anything deeper with them.”

  I nod, working to conceal the pain from my expression. Maybe they mean nothing to him, but that’s far from the case where I’m concerned. My mind begins to wander, as it often does…ruminating over how many there’ve been just in the three weeks since our last…whatever the hell this is.

  “I mean, would you want to cuddle with a stranger?”

  “No,” I rasp. “Definitely not.”

  He gives me another lazy smile as his eyes grow heavy.

  Before he nods off, I’ve got to leave him with a reminder of the promise I made on the night he broke down over a year ago, confiding in me about his past. A vow to both of us that no matter what, I’d always be here.

  “Nick?”

  “Mmm?” he grunts, peeping those green irises at me through the tiniest sliver in his lids.

  “I’ll keep you safe,” I whisper, powerless to keep from getting a little choked up.

  Warmth floods my veins at his answering smile.

  I like to believe it’s more than just sex that prompts these late-night sessions, but also reassurance of my unwavering devotion he seeks.

  “And I’ll keep you wild, pretty girl.”

  He attempts to punctuate his declaration with a wink but is far too gone to pull it off. A throaty laugh and brief series of slow blinks later, my room fills with the familiar sound of his rhythmic snores.

  It’s in moments like this, when he’s tender and seems so genuine, that I allow myself to believe he feels for me even a fraction of what I feel for him.

  That I convince myself that once he’s gotten over this need for sex, drugs, and rock and roll, he’ll be ready for something real…

  That I dare to hope that when the time comes, he’ll choose me.

  But I’m painfully aware that no matter how badly I want them to be, his pretty words are nothing more than a product of post-orgasmic bliss.

  Our concert just ended, and I’m flying high, riding the rush I’ve only ever gotten from performing. It’s an addiction, this life. I’m talking blood pumping, heart racing, bones shaking. The kind that keeps me constantly firing on all cylinders.

  I need a bar. A drink. A joint. And a nice warm pu—

  “Great show, boys.” Our manager, Anika, steps out from the shadows backstage looking anything but approachable. Her long brown hair is pulled back in a severe bun with an expression on her face to match. Her arms are crossed over her chest…her right stiletto steadily tap, tap, tapping the tile floor. And for some reason those honey brown eyes of hers are narrowed in what looks to be my direction.

  This can’t be good.

  That girl has two moods: happiness and rainbows, and raging bitch, and if her scowl is anything to go by, I’ve got a date with the latter.

  Aiden nudges me with an elbow to the ribs, muttering something about me being in trouble, and my chest fills with d
read. No one can kill a buzz quicker than that tiny dictator.

  “Hey, Annie,” I greet with a playful smile. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

  Her ice-cold fingers curl around my forearm, her nails digging in so deep I’m certain she’s about to break skin. “Apparently that honor belongs to you,” she grits between clenched teeth that are poorly veiled behind a half-assed smile. “Come with me.”

  “Ooooh,” Lyle and Aiden jeer as we head for my dressing room.

  I flip the two pricks off before locking eyes with Rhett and jerking my head toward the door in a silent order to follow. I don’t know what the hell has Anika so riled up, but I’m not about to face her wrath alone.

  Message received, he and Korie fall in line behind us.

  The media are everywhere, shoving mics in our faces and rapid-firing questions. To their credit, we’re usually more than happy to engage them after a show. That we’re rushing off is going to have them all working triple time to be the one to discover the Rhett Taylor Band’s latest drama.

  Anika politely declines, citing an urgent need for a moment of privacy and promising they’ll get their chance for pictures and questions once we’re through. She directs them toward Lyle and Aiden, who are deeply focused on signing a very juicy set of knockers. I’m fighting the urge to pout out of pure jealousy when she ushers us into the room, shutting and locking the door behind. I’d much rather be autographing boobies. Hell, with the scowl on boss lady’s face, John Hancock-ing a dick doesn’t even sound too bad right about now. I give myself a little mental pat on the back at my masterful pun, but the she-devil’s whisper-hiss brings me quickly back to reality.

  “Before we start, I’d like to remind everyone of the importance of keeping our voices down…the last thing we need is for any of those vultures out there to catch wind of this.”

  “Catch wind of what?” I ask at the exact moment that she directs my attention to the far side of the room.

  “Explain.” She waves a hand toward an unfamiliar brunette, who’s staring back at me with two cotton-haired babies, one on each hip.

  Try as I might, I can’t place her. “I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.”