"Whoa," he chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, as I pushed him back onto the couch. "Ellie, don't do anything you'll regret tomorrow," he warned, but his grip on my legs tightened as I straddled him.
"Who says I'm going to regret this, Mr. Blackwood?" I asked, my hand settling on his chest, his back pressed against the plush cushions.
"You're drunk, baby." The honeyed sweetness of his voice was almost as intoxicating as the tequila, but it had a deeper effect on me than the alcohol ever could.
"I'm not drunk." Why was everyone telling me that? "I just had a few shots of tequila, that's all." I leaned close, burying my face in his neck, my teeth nipping at his skin. His moan was a delicious sound.
"Those tequila shots had you this wild?" He hummed, pushing me back by my shoulders. "Bab
