23. Danger
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
danger
It’s loud once we get back to the bar. Winnie’s hand is still in mine, though the rest of her—her wild perfect hair, her misaligned lipstick—suggests she barely survived what happened outside of here. But neither did I. I still taste her on my lips, still feel her on my hands.
Everyone around us looks like they experienced something similar.
There’s a woman at the bar who has leaves in her hair, like she went rolling through a field.
And one of Trouble’s buddies is missing the tie and vest he had on an hour ago.
Sawyer has her arm around Trouble’s waist, hair in tangles, face redder than a mortified tomato. Trouble’s grinning, too wide.
“Well, well,” Trouble says, makin’ a show of dusting off his jeans and straightening his nonexistent collar. “If the engagement party’s this rowdy, I can’t wait till the bachelor party.”
Sawyer elbows him in the ribs, but she’s laughing too. “You better behave,” she fires back, flipping her hair. “Or you won't live to make it to the wedding.”
Trouble’s about to retort, but Honey cuts him off from behind the bar.
“Alright!” she yells, holding up a bottle of tequila. “Anyone who needs one of the boot shots, get your ass up here!”
Winnie and I don’t move. She leans in, shoulder touching mine, and whispers, “What happens to the rest of us?”
“Looks like we get the honor of playing whatever the hell that is.”
I glance up just in time to see Charming rolling out some sort of spin wheel from the back storage, like Honey strong-armed him into being her assistant.
The thing is huge, painted in bright colors, with homemade labels for each wedge: KISS SOMEONE HOT, SHOT FROM BELLYBUTTON, LICK A TOE, SEND A NUDE.
Hasn’t anyone learned that drinking games are never a good idea?
Although, the first one wasn’t so bad.
Everyone groans as one. “Haven’t we had enough with the games for tonight?” I ask.
I’m complaining but if this game gives me another opportunity to do anything with Winnie, I’d volunteer for every round.
Honey rolls her eyes. “This isn’t your typical engagement party, folks. You knew, the minute Sawyer and Trouble announced they were getting hitched, that it was gonna be a wild ride.”
Sawyer stands up on the bar—unstable, but she’s got her arms out for balance—and bellows, “Let the games commence! I’ll be the host until Honey is done pouring the poison. Everyone has to do the dare or finish your drink.”
“Charming’s up first!”
Charming’s the unlucky soul. He cringes, hands in his pockets. “Why me?”
“Because you’re an easy target,” Sawyer says, smirking.
“Whatever,” he grumbles, and takes the handle. It rattles around until it lands on KISS SOMEONE YOU THINK IS HOT.
He stares down at his beer like he might chug instead of doing the dare, then looks up and shrugs. “Alright.” He runs behind the bar straight up to Honey, and plants a firm, awkward kiss on her cheek.
Honey laughs. “Was that the best you can do?”
“Not even close,” Charming says, and—god bless him—I know he means it.
“Alright, who is next?” Sawyer says, looking around.
Rylee jumps up. She’s wearing a leather mini skirt and combat boots, hair braided down her back so tight it looks like it might snap. “My turn!” she yells, waving an arm.
Sawyer gives her a look like she’d rather eat glass.
“Fine. Spin.” Then leans toward Trouble, lips barely moving. “Why is she even here?”
The wheel is loud. It stutters, bounces, lands on TAKE OFF YOUR brA OR BOXERS AND GIVE IT TO SOMEONE YOU THINK IS SEXY.
Rylee grins, unphased, then executes some maneuver under her shirt and emerges with a red lace bra in one hand, holding it like a trophy. The room loses it—hoots, whistles, someone’s already clapping. She sashays over and, to my horror, drops it dead center in my lap.
I look down. “No, thank you,” I say, deadpan, and use the bra like a slingshot to launch it at Rogue, who dodges so hard he nearly knocks over his chair.
“I don’t want that bad luck,” Rogue says, shaking his head, hands up.
Winnie’s trying not to laugh. I see her out of the corner of my eye, shoulders shaking. I put my arm around her and say, “Glad you’re entertained.”
She looks up, searches my face, and just smiles. It makes my chest tight in a way I haven’t felt since I was young and stupid.
The wheel makes the rounds. There’s more yelling, more dares—someone has to sing “I Will Survive” with their pants down; another gets dared to do a body shot off someone's buttcrack—Honey’s rules, not mine.
I take it all in, grin where I’m supposed to, play along like I’m not counting down the minutes till I can get Winnie alone again.
When it’s Finn’s turn, I stand up to get a drink. “You want anything?” I ask her.
“No,” she says. But there’s something in the way she says it—like she’s bracing for something. Or maybe it’s just me, always looking for a storm.
I’m leaning on the bar when Trouble steps up next to me. He’s got two whiskeys, slides one over.
“You look nervous,” he says, “Knew I grabbed two for a reason.”
“Why would I be nervous?”
I take the whiskey, as much as I can in one go.
He points at the wheel, where Finn’s spinning it so hard it might break off. “Maybe because Finn’s been staring at your girl, or whatever she is to you, since you two walked in.”
“She’s…” I think, unsure of what I should say at this point. “We’re just?—”
Trouble snorts. "Don't even try, man. Didn't believe it at first, but I can admit when I'm wrong. That girl has you by the horns."
“Fuck me.”
The wheel’s slowing. Trouble leans in. “What’s your move?”
“If I need to bail early, you gonna forgive me?”
“Only if you plan an epic bachelor party,” Trouble grins and slaps my back.
“Got you, brother.”
The wheel stops. TAKE YOUR CRUSH HOME.
I finish off the rest of my drink and set the glass down.
Finn turns and starts walking straight for Winnie.
No way in hell this fucker would even try.
Trouble’s look says everything: Handle it.
I do.
I beat Finn by half a second. Sweep Winnie up—literally, arm around her waist, her feet off the ground as I throw her over my shoulder. Her laughter breaks free from whatever was holding it down.
Subtle has never really been my style.
“Sorry, bud,” I say to Finn. “This one’s already going home with someone.”
“No,” Rylee calls. “You can’t do that!”
“Guess I make my own rules.”
“What are you doing?” Winnie giggles on my shoulder as I make my way out the bar.
“What I should have done earlier,” I say.
“Are you taking me to your place?”
“Is that what you want?” I ask, setting her down as soon as we get outside.
She grins. “Yes.”
It’s not supposed to be this easy, but she’s already pulling me toward the truck, so I let it happen.
“Wait, my car—” she says, but I cut her off.
“I’ll drive you wherever you need. That thing’s a hazard.”
I can’t even understand how it’s still running.
She pretends to pout. “You’re such a hater. My car has personality.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I say, opening the passenger door for her.
She climbs in, skirt bunching around her thighs as she gives me a look that says she’s never going to quit fighting the battle about her car.
When we pull up to the ranch, the sky is clear, moonlit, the kind of night that makes even broken things look whole. I park close, kill the lights, and rest my hands behind my head, because I’m not sure what happens next.
Winnie leans in. “Are we gonna talk about how territorial you got back there when Finn was headed my way?”
I shake my head. “Can we talk about the nerve of him to even try it? Whole town knows you’re with me.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Do they?”
“They do now.” I should probably be careful what I say to her, but I don’t. She makes it hard to hold back.
She laughs, soft and open. “You were so jealous.”
“I was not.”
“Danger Stetson was actually jealous.”
She’s gleaming, smug.
“Quit saying that,” I say, and grab her hand to guide her across the console. She lands on my lap, knees on either side of my thighs, fingers digging into my shirt.
“Make me,” she whispers.
I run my thumb over her jaw.
She shivers. Her lips are an inch from mine, breath warm and sweet.
“Come here,” I say, and then I’m kissing her, hungry and clumsy.
I taste cranberry, and with it comes the realization of just how badly this could end. Still, I don’t want to pull away. I let her have all of me. Greedy, desperate, honest.
I’m consumed. Lost in her. And goddamn if she doesn’t make my dick twitch with everything she does. She’s on my lap, straddling me like she owns me, her thighs squeezing tight against my hips.
Her hands are everywhere, clawing at my shoulders, tangling in my hair like she’s trying to pull me deeper into her. Her lips are wet, all in, like she's done pretending she doesn't want me.
I hit the button on the side of the seat, and it slides back, giving us more room.
Her shirt rides up as she grinds herself against me, and my fingers slide underneath, tracing the hot, smooth skin of her stomach. She’s soft, fucking perfect, and when my fingers brush the bottom of her bra, she lets out this little tiny moan that shoots straight to my dick.
“Fuck, Winnie,” I growl against her lips, my voice rough, strained. “You make me wanna do very bad things to you.”
She doesn’t respond, not with words. Instead, she rocks her hips harder, grinding herself against the bulge in my jeans. The friction is torturous, brutal, and she’s soaking through her panties. The thought of how wet she is drives me fucking insane.
Her hands move lower, tugging at my shirt, pulling it up so she can feel my chest, my abs.
Her nails dig into my skin, leaving little crescent moons that sting in the best fucking way.
She’s panting now, her breath hot against my neck as she works herself against me, her hips moving in tight, desperate circles.
My dick pulses in response, straining against my pants, desperate to be inside her, to feel her tight, wet walls clenching around me.
I grab the door handle with one hand and hold on because it feels that good.
“You’re so big,” she whispers, her voice trembling and shaky. “I can feel it. I can feel how hard you are.”
Her words are a match to gasoline, and the pressure builds, the heat. She’s going to make me fucking cum in my pants like a fucking fool, and the thought of it—of her grinding on me until I explode—is too much.
“Goddamn,” I groan, my hands gripping her hips, guiding her movements. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.”
She grins, that wicked little smile, and leans in close, her lips brushing against my ear. “What are you gonna do about it, daddy? Spank me?”
The words send a jolt of electricity down my spine, and I let out a low, guttural laugh. “Keep talking to me like that and I’ll bend you over the hood of this truck and punish you for it.”
Her eyes darken, and she bites her lip, her hips never stopping their rhythm. “Promise?”
My hands slide down to cup her ass, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp.
I draw each word out slowly as I say, “You’re so polite in public but you secretly wanna be dirty with me, huh? You wanna be a good girl and fucking take all of me, don’t you?”
She nods, her breath hitching as she grinds herself against me, makin’ the fabric stick to my skin. I can feel her pussy, hot and swollen, pressing against me through the thin barrier of her panties, and it’s driving me fucking wild.
I shove the fabric of her skirt higher, exposing the smooth, trembling skin of her thighs, the lacy edge of her panties.
"Look at you," I growl, squeezing her thighs as I drag my thumbs along the soaked silk between her legs. "Fucking drenched.”
“Maybe I’m just seeing how much control you actually have,” she says, eyes flicking to my mouth.
“Careful,” I warn.
She smiles, unapologetic. “You’re the one teaching me how to keep a man’s attention, remember.”
“You have my attention.”
She whimpers, her voice trembling, her hips losing their rhythm as she gets closer to her own edge. “Enough to make you break your other rule?”
“No,” I whisper, my fingers digging into her hips, forcing her to slow down.
She lets out this frustrated little moan, her hips jerking against mine as she fights for control. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, her nails biting into my skin as she grinds herself against me, desperate for that release.
“Had a feeling you would say that,” she grins, understanding, but her eyes are wide and wild.
My hands slide up her shirt, cupping her tits through her bra. Her nipples are hard, pebbled against the fabric, and when I pinch one, she lets out this sharp, desperate cry that makes my dick throb.
I can feel the heat of her—her tight little body pressed against mine, her thighs still straddling my lap like she owns me, and maybe she fucking does.
Her breath is hot and panting against my neck, her lips brushing my skin in teasing, wet little kisses that make my cock throb like it’s begging for mercy.
“Fuck,” my voice rough, strained, barely holding it together. “You’re gonna be the end of me.” And she knows it. Her hips roll harder, grinding her soaked pussy against the bulge in my jeans, and I can feel every inch of her heat through the fabric.
It’s torture. Pure fucking torture.
And then, I explode. Fucking erupt.
My cock jerks violently in my jeans, soaking through my boxers, and I groan like a goddamn animal.
Winnie’s eyes flash with wicked satisfaction as she looks down, her lips turn into a devious grin that makes me want to bend her over and fuck her senseless.
“If you tell anyone about this…” I warn, but she just giggles, her laughter light and teasing, like she knows damn well she’s got me wrapped around her little finger.
“You’ll what?” she smiles. “Punish me?”
Grinning, I reach out and grab her wrist, pulling her closer. “Uh huh. And you’ll fucking love every second of it.”
She giggles, like I'm joking.
I lean in, my lips brushing against hers, and whisper, “You drive me insane, Winnie Hawthorne.”