Chapter 6
chapter
six
Payton
The moment Jules’s lips touch mine, every coherent thought leaves my head.
There’s just her mouth, warm and tasting faintly of lime. She makes a small sound low in her throat and blood rushes to my dick. My hands find her waist, and I squeeze her gently.
She pulls back first.
Not far. Just far enough to look at me, both fists still wrapped in the front of my jacket, her breath quick and warm against my chin. The streetlight buzzes overhead.
She pats my chest. “Okay then. Drive,” she says.
I have never gotten into a truck so fast in my life.
She lives twelve miles out, in the tiny town next to Saddle Creek called Limestone.
It’s the kind of town that’s one blinking yellow light, a Dollar General, and a Baptist church with a marquee out front that says something about Jesus and air-conditioning.
Also home to the Limestone Brewery, but I don’t care about any of that right now.
She gives me directions one word at a time.
“Left.”
For the first five miles she stays plastered against her door like I might bite. Then, somewhere past the cattle guard at the county line, her hand lands on my thigh.
I nearly put us in the bar ditch.
She chuckles. “Eyes on the road, cowboy. Take a right at the Dairy Queen.”
“My eyes are on the road.”
“Your eyes are on my hand.”
“Your hand is on my leg.”
She looks over at me, streetlight sliding across her face and then gone. “Want me to move it?”
“Absolutely not.”
She laughs, low and pleased with herself, and thankfully doesn’t move her hand. Instead, she strokes up my thigh.
“Next driveway on the left. With the carport.”
Her house is a little white single-story on a street with no sidewalks.
The porch sags in the middle like a hammock.
The door is painted a bright, cheery yellow.
The mailbox under the porch light has a sunflower painted on it.
The porch light flickers. It’s either a short or that bulb is on its last leg.
I make a mental note of it while Jules fumbles her keys. She swears at the lock under her breath.
“You’ve got a real thing against inanimate objects tonight.”
“The inanimate objects started it.”
The door finally gives. She flips on a lamp, and I stop dead in the doorway.
It’s not a big house. Living room, a kitchen past a half wall, a hallway going dark toward the back.
But every surface is covered in color. Canvases leaned three deep against the walls.
Mason jars full of paintbrushes sit on the windowsill.
More of them, empty but with paint smears on them, sit on top of the old upright refrigerator.
A big painting hangs over the couch, all red and gold and slashing blue, that I don’t understand at all and can’t stop looking at. I think it’s flowers, bold and happy, but a little abstract.
“You did all this?”
She drops her keys in a bowl that’s clearly handmade and likely by a child. “Occupational hazard.”
“Jules. This is—”
“Payton.” She’s already backing toward the hallway, tugging her hoodie up and over her head. A faded gray T-shirt underneath rides up with the hoodie, and I get a glimpse of her pale, perfect skin.
“You can look at my paintings. Or you can look at me.”
I’m already looking at her, stalking towards her.
Her bedroom has one lamp and a quilt so brightly colored, it’s practically shouting. She turns around at the foot of the bed, and before I can say anything, she hooks two fingers in the knot of my tie and tugs.
“You wore a tie to the hospital.”
“I wore a tie to my grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary. The hospital was a surprise.”
“It’s a good tie.” She pulls a little harder, bringing my head down to hers. “Take it off.”
I laugh against her mouth. Then I kiss her again, slower this time, because I can. She makes a sound when I slide one hand up the back of her T-shirt and spread my fingers across her spine.
She gets my jacket off my shoulders, then my tie; both get tossed somewhere behind her. She gets exactly two buttons of my shirt undone before she huffs in frustration, and I reach back and drag the whole thing—and the undershirt—over my head.
She stares.
Just stares, for a good three seconds, eyes moving over my chest and shoulders like she’s tracing every line.
“Fuck,” she finally says. “What do they feed you out on the ranch?”
“Mostly brisket.”
She nods. “That tracks.” Then her hands are on my chest, exploring. “You just hide all of this behind clothes every day?” Her palms flatten on my stomach.
“It’s not exactly safe to handle cattle in the nude.”
She looks up at me. “What?”
“You were saying something about me hiding myself behind clothes. I was just clarifying that my brothers and parents would have a lot to say about me riding a horse naked.”
“Pretty sure they call that bare back.”
I snort.
“I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud. But damn, sir, look at yourself.”
I shake my head. “I want to look at you. All of you.”
Her fingers go to the button of my jeans.
“Hey.” I catch her wrists, gently. “Before we—you sure about this? You’re not—”
“I had one glass of wine at nine o’clock and four tacos since. I’m stone-cold sober and extremely sure.” She tilts her head. “Are you?”
“I’ve been sure since you punched that vending machine.”
“I slapped it.”
“Semantics.”
She pulls her wrists free, grabs the hem of her T-shirt, and peels it off. Then she reaches behind her and unhooks her bra and lets it fall. Whatever I was about to say goes right out of my head along with the rest of the English language.
She’s beautiful. Freckles scatter across her shoulders like someone flicked a paintbrush at her. I want to touch her everywhere. Her breasts are heavy and perfect with blush-colored tips. Her belly is softly rounded, and I just want to press myself against her.
“Keep going,” I find myself saying. “I want to see all of you.”
She toes off her worn tennis shoes, then unbuttons her jeans.
“This isn’t a free show; you have to do this with me,” she says.
I pull my wallet out first and find one of the two condoms I keep inside. I toss it on the bed.
Her eyes flick to the foil square.
“Magnum? Optimistic… I like it.”
I pull off my boots, then stand upright in time to see her jeans hit the floor at her ankles. Jules is on the taller side and her long legs prove it. Her simple black panties are so sexy.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” I say.
“Most guys look at a woman’s face when they say something like that.”
I glance up at her. “Oh, your face is beautiful. But you know that. You know how sexy you are, and that just makes you even hotter.”
One of her brows cocks.
I shuck my jeans, tossing them on the floor and pulling off my socks while I’m at it. Then I’m just standing there in my boxer briefs. My dick is already obnoxiously erect. Way to play it cool, buddy.
Her eyes slide down my chest. “Or not at all optimistic. Holy shit, cowboy. How do you walk around with that monster between your legs?
I nearly laugh, but then she’s suddenly on her knees in front of me.
“I need a closer look.”
She latches onto the waistband and pulls my underwear off of me and down my legs.
I grip my dick and give it a tight squeeze because holy hell I cannot come yet. But the sight of Jules on her knees in front of me is driving me crazy.
“Big hand, big dick,” she says. “Okay, I get it, you’re proportionate, but still. Do you know how well hung you are? I mean, do you know this isn’t normal and above average and all of that?” She’s pointing at my dick the entire time she’s talking.
“Can you get up, please? It’s very distracting having you down there,” I say.
“In a minute. I’m doing an inspection.”
That makes me laugh. I’ve never laughed during sex.
She knocks my hand away and then replaces it with her own. But her fingers don’t touch when she wraps them around my shaft. Then she leans forward and takes me in her mouth.
“Fuck, Jules,” I groan. I squeeze my eyes shut and simultaneously try to focus on anything else, while also enjoying every second her hot, wet mouth is on me.
“Great idea,” she says as she pops off of me. “You should definitely fuck Jules.”
I grab her and kiss her hard, pressing myself against the warm softness of her skin. Then I pick her up and toss her onto her bed.
“Tell me what you like,” I say.
She blinks up at me. For a second, something moves across her face. Surprise, maybe. Like nobody has ever asked her that before, and she isn’t sure what to do with the question.
Then it’s gone, and the sharp, bossy version of her is back.
“You want instructions?”
“I want to get it right. Want to get you right.”
Her mouth softens at the corners. Just barely. Then she takes my hand and moves it down her stomach to the waistband of her panties.
“Start here,” she says.
So I do.
Here’s what I learn about Jules over the next hour: she’s as commanding and feisty in bed as she is everywhere else.
I lean in and run my nose up her bare thigh. “So damn bossy.”
Her fingers slide into my hair and hold on, and when I finally settle between her thighs and taste her.
“There. Right there. Don’t you dare stop,” like she’s threatening me.
I don’t dare stop.
I learn what she likes by the way she breathes. The catch when I circle her clit with my tongue. The way her hips lift off the quilt when I slide two fingers inside her and curl them. The sound she makes, low and raw, when I figure out exactly how much pressure she needs and give her exactly that.
“Payton.” Her thighs are shaking against my shoulders. “Payton, I’m—”
She comes with my name in her mouth and her fingers fisted in my hair hard enough to sting. I don’t let up until she’s pushing at my head, completely wrecked.
“Okay,” she wheezes. “Okay, you—come here.”
I crawl up her body and she drags my mouth down to hers. She doesn’t care that she can taste herself on me. If anything, she kisses me harder.