Chapter 9: Whiskey and Truths

Sienna's POV

Who was really behind the messages? And how long before our fake marriage became the only thing keeping everything from collapsing?

I set my phone down on the coffee table, the warehouse threat still burning in my mind. Andrea stood by the windows, shoulders tense, staring out at the city like it owed him answers. The platinum band on his finger caught the light—our thirty-day shield.

“Enough for one day,” I said softly, walking over. I took his hand and led him to the couch. “We need to unwind or we’ll burn out before Blackwood even makes his next move.”

He didn’t argue. For once, he let me pull him down beside me. I poured two generous glasses of whiskey from the bar cart. He accepted his without comment, swirling the amber liquid before taking a long sip.

We drank in silence at first. The burn settled warm in my chest. After the second glass, Andrea’s rigid posture loosened. His stormy eyes grew heavier, less guarded.

“You know what scares me?” he murmured, voice lower than usual. He stared into his glass. “Not losing the company. Not Blackwood. It’s how easily you’re becoming… necessary.”

I turned toward him, surprised. “Andrea…”

He set the glass down and ran a hand through his hair. “Elena wanted what I could give her—power, money. She never saw me. You do. Even when I don’t deserve it.” His words started to slur just slightly. The whiskey was working. “I notice everything about you, Sienna. The way you defended me in the boardroom. How you chose this fake marriage with me instead of running. I’m not supposed to feel this.”

Andrea Voss POV

The words kept coming. The whiskey had stripped away layers I usually kept bolted down. Sienna sat close, her knee brushing mine, eyes wide and soft. She wasn’t looking at the ruthless billionaire right now. She was looking at me.

“I built everything so no one could touch me again,” I continued, voice rough. “After Elena, I swore never again. But you signed that contract and suddenly I’m lying awake wondering what happens after thirty days. I don’t want you to leave, Sienna. Not really.”

Her breath caught. I reached out, tracing her jaw with my thumb—gentle, no demands. “Tonight I don’t want to own you. I just want to feel you. Like this is real.”

Sienna's POV

His confession hit deeper than any command ever had. This was the man behind the mask—vulnerable, raw, wanting me not because of a contract but because of me. Heat pooled low in my belly. I set my glass aside and climbed into his lap, straddling him.

“Then show me,” I whispered, cupping his face. “No rules tonight.”

Andrea’s hands settled on my hips, sliding under my dress with slow reverence. He kissed me deeply, unhurried, tasting of whiskey and need. His tongue stroked mine as his fingers traced up my thighs, finding me already soaked. No panties—his rule, but tonight it felt like a gift.

“Fuck, you’re wet for me,” he groaned against my mouth. His voice was thick with drink and emotion. He circled my clit with his thumb, slow and perfect, drawing soft moans from me. “I love how your body responds. Every time.”

He lifted my dress over my head, tossing it aside. His mouth moved to my breasts, sucking one nipple deep while his fingers plunged inside me—two thick digits curling just right. I rocked against his hand, grinding on his lap where his cock strained hard against his pants.

“Please, Andrea,” I breathed.

He stood, carrying me to the bedroom without breaking the kiss. He laid me on the bed like something precious, stripping slowly. When his thick cock sprang free, heavy and leaking, I reached for it, stroking the velvety length.

He groaned, eyes half-lidded. “Your hands feel so good.”

I guided him between my legs. He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching me open until he bottomed out. We both moaned. He stayed there, buried deep, forehead pressed to mine.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, almost broken. Then he began to move—long, deep strokes that made my toes curl. Not fucking. Making love. Every thrust ground against my clit. His hands roamed my body, caressing, squeezing, worshipping.

I wrapped my legs around him, nails digging into his back as pleasure built. “Andrea… I’m close.”

“Come for me, baby,” he urged softly, kissing my neck, my jaw, my lips. “Let me feel you.”

I shattered hard, pussy clenching rhythmically around his cock, soaking him. He kept moving through it, drawing it out, then sped up just enough. His breathing grew ragged.

“I’m gonna fill you,” he panted. “Want you dripping with me.”

One final deep thrust and he came, groaning my name as hot spurts flooded me. He stayed inside, holding me close, pressing soft kisses to my shoulder while we caught our breath.

We stayed tangled like that for a long time. He stroked my hair, murmuring how beautiful I was, how much he needed this. How much he needed *me*.

Andrea Voss POV

Sobriety would return in the morning. The walls would go back up. But tonight, with her warm and full of me, I let myself feel it all. I was falling. Hard. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop.

Sienna's POV

As he drifted toward sleep still inside me, I traced the wings tattoo on his back. This soft, open side of him was dangerous. It made the fake marriage feel terrifyingly real.

My phone lit up silently on the nightstand with another unknown message, but I ignored it. Whatever storm was coming, tonight we had this.

Tomorrow the cold mask might return. But I had seen the man underneath. And I was already craving more of him.

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