Rock And Scotch Novels & Stories

SPADE I checked the time on my watch as I entered the Bazz. I thought I would be late. After receiving the text earlier about the meetup with the address and time, I joined Lex to play golf. This bar was always crowded at any time of the day or night. Wave moved to the corner as I found an empty stool at the bar. “What can I get you, sir?” asked the lady bartender. “Just Scotch on the rocks, please.” I tapped my fingers on the counter, thinking of Robyn, waiting for me at home.

THE FIXER {Playlist Suggestion: "Brother" by Gerad Way / "Heartless" by The Weeknd} ~KOLT POV~ The scotch in my glass cost six hundred dollars a bottle. It tasted like oak, smoke, and misery. I sat in the dim light of my penthouse living room, watching the rain line against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Across from me, Knox was loosening his tie for the third time, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger.

There's even a smell to the place, a masculine smell but I like it. Declan watches me as I take in the place. He must have showered before I came, considering his chocolate hair is wet, his curls loose. I have this weird urge to run my fingers through it, but shake it out of my head. He probably just got out of practice not too long ago. I lift my hands up and say, "I brought popcorn and soda." "You came prepared," Declan smiles. He reaches his hand out, "let me take those."

“Do you know what you want to drink?” “I have a scotch on the rocks,” Brian said. “I’ll have a Pepsi,” Lacey said. “All right, I’ll be right back.” She left them. They were quiet for a few moments as they looked at the menu. Hmm. Oysters. I read they were an aphrodisiac. “What looks good to you?” You do, actually. Brian wore a pair of jeans that hugged him in all the right places. A navy blue polo shirt covered what Lacey imagined was a lightly muscled chest. He had such strong looking forearms.

She's a waitress too, but over time, Ruru assigned her to handle the expensive drinks. "Lisa! Were you not listening to my explanation earlier?" She waved the black cloth she was holding in front of my face. "Top Shelf Liquor can be divided into two categories! Darks and Lights. The Darks include Scotch, Brandy, and Whiskey, while the Lights are Gin, Tequila, and Vodka," she explained once again. I nodded to move the conversation along, her words were barely audible over the DJ's music and the people dancing on the floor.

Chapter Twelve Alpha Lir POV, The scotch tasted like battery acid. It didn't matter that it was a fifty-year-old single malt, aged longer than the peace treaty between Silvercrest and Dawnridge. Right now, it burned on my tongue. I leaned against the stone gallery, hidden in the shadows of the banquet hall, my fingers gripping the railing so hard the stone began to crack under my touch. Breathe. Just breathe. But my tailored suit jacket was a vice around my shoulders. My silk tie felt like an executioner's noose, tightening with every second.

He sat on the‌ stool next to me, t‍aking up space like he bel‍onged‍. I blink‍ed slowly and saw him: t‌all, broad shoul⁠ders filling a b⁠lack shirt, sleeves rolled up showi‌ng dark hair on his forearms. A jaw sharp enoug⁠h to cut glass, deep brown‌ ey‌es scanning the bar like he owne⁠d the pl⁠a⁠ce. He didn’t look at me at first; he just order⁠ed a scotch, “O‍n the rocks.‍” The bartender poured without a word.

A diamond ring, perhaps—an emblem of my commitment to her, a symbol of the future we could share. The hands of the clock seemed to mock me as they swiftly ticked away, signaling the approach of nightfall. I sat in anticipation, a tumbler of Scotch cradled in my hand, waiting for Xavier's crucial call. Now, I know what you might be thinking—how could I possibly indulge in alcohol mere minutes before a high-stakes fight? But Scotch had a way of calming my nerves, a ritual I had come to rely on before embarking on missions or engaging in intense battles. It was my own personal way of finding solace amidst the chaos.

Cold liquor hits my belly in a thick stream, splashing, running fast down my sides, pooling in the dip above my mound before dripping right over my clit and mixing with the mess already leaking out of me. I hiss at the chill. It burns a little where it hits my overheated skin. He slams the bottle down, and his mouth crashes onto my stomach first—big, sloppy licks scooping up the scotch, tongue flat and greedy, dragging over every inch until he’s following the rivulets lower. He bites the soft skin just above my clit, hard enough to sting, then soothes it with a long, wet swipe. “Fuck, you taste dirty,” he growls right against my folds. “Scotch and pussy juice. My favorite fucking cocktail.”

“It’s a Watermelon Cobbler, and I think that you’re going to like it.” “You do know I’m only 17 years old, right.” “So, you’re with me so don’t worry so much.” I took a sip of it and coughed a little bit. This is my first time with anything that had alcohol in it. I can hear him trying not to laugh about it, asshole. “What are you drinking?” “It’s a Scotch neat.” “Neat?” “Usually, people will have it on rocks, but I prefer it neat. Would you like a sip of it, but this drink might be too much for you to handle.”