"I don’t want the memory of my face between your thighs to be clouded by a whiskey haze." Her brain conjured the image on its own. It was a frequent enough occurrence in her dreams (both at night and during the day), that the image of his grey eyes gazing up at her was easily drawn to the front of her consciousness. He pulled his hand up, intentionally dragging his middle finger over her clit as he pulled away completely. Her groan was quickly changed to a mumbled protest. 