Chapter Eleven
Whiskey
Twila grabs my shirt and kisses me. There ain’t a game in it this time. No keys. No cuffs. No plan to get free.
Just her.
I catch her waist as she comes against me hard enough to drive my shoulder blades into the wall.
“Jesus.”
“Shut up.”
“You always this bossy?”
She kisses me again.
I turn us, and now she’s against the wall. Her hands shove beneath my cut and push it from my shoulders until it lands on the floor.
My mouth finds her jaw, then the side of her neck.
She tilts her head and gives me more.
“Thought you hated me.”
“Fuck you.”
“Getting there.”
She bites my shoulder through my shirt.
I laugh against her throat. “You got a biting problem.”
“You’ve got a talking problem.”
Her hands drag my shirt upward.
I help her get it off, and it lands beside my cut.
Twila looks at my chest.
Really looks. Ink, old scars, newer ones. Years of shit I don’t explain unless I have to. Then her palms touch me. Slow. That nearly does more damage than the kissing.
I grip her hips. “Don’t get sweet on me.”
“I’m inspecting evidence.”
“Find anything incriminating?”
Her fingers trace an old scar near my ribs. “Plenty.”
I kiss her before she asks where it came from.
Her hands slide into my hair while mine move beneath her shirt, palms finding warm skin.
Her body stills for half a beat.
I stop.
Twila pulls back enough to glare at me. “What?”
“Checking.”
“For what?”
“If you still want this.”
Something in her expression softens. Then she grabs my wrist and puts my hand back where it was.
“That answer clear enough?”
My palm slides over her waist and higher.
She arches into me when my thumb brushes the underside of her breast through the thin fabric of her bra.
“Whiskey.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tease.”
Her heel presses into the back of my thigh like she’s trying to physically hurry me along.
That almost kills me.
I look at her. “Careful, Blondie.”
Her blue-gray eyes lock onto mine.
“I want you.”
Fuck.
“Say it again.”
Her lips part. “I want you.”
“Good, because I’ve been trying not to fuck you since you wrapped those legs around me on the bike.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “Maybe quit trying.”
Fuck.
I kiss her hard.
Her shirt comes off. Mine’s already somewhere on the floor. Her bra follows after I fumble the clasp once.
Twila laughs.
I hold the thing up and glare at it.
“Want me to arrest it?”
I throw the damn thing across the room.
She laughs again.
Then I look at her.
Bare from the waist up, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, amusement fading as her breathing gets faster beneath my stare.
My mouth goes dry.
“Well?” she asks.
“Trying to remember English.”
“Thought bikers only knew four-letter words.”
“Got one in mind.”
She rolls her eyes.
I put my mouth on her breast.
The smartass comment disappears.
Twila gasps, fingers tightening in my hair.
“Fuck.”
“That’s the one.”
“Don’t stop.”
I don’t.
My other hand cups her while my thumb moves over her nipple, and her hips push into mine hard enough that she feels exactly how much I want her.
She grinds once. Slow.
“Deputy.”
“What?”
“You’re playing dangerous.”
“Thought we established I like dangerous.”
“Yeah.”
I lift her.
Twila’s legs wrap around my waist, and I carry her down the hall.
“Where are we going?”
“Bedroom.”
“Good.”
I nearly trip over my own boot.
“Christ, woman.”
“What?”
“You keep saying shit like that and I’m gonna hurt myself.”
“Romantic.”
“Ain’t a poet.”
I kick the bedroom door open.
Twila laughs. “Real subtle.”
“Door deserved it.”
I lower her onto the mattress.
She immediately reaches for my belt.
I catch her hand.
Her mouth flattens. “Now what?”
“Need to know this ain’t about your daddy.”
“It ain’t.”
“Or escaping.”
“No.”
“Or proving something.”
“Whiskey.”
“What?”
“If you ask me one more fucking question, I’m gonna finish this by myself.”
My eyebrows rise. “That a threat?”
“Promise.”
I let her hand go.
She opens my belt slowly, looking at me the whole time.
“That enough consent for you?”
“Getting pretty damn convincing.”
She opens my jeans, shoves my underwear down enough to free my cock, and closes her hand around me.
Every joke leaves my brain.
“Fuck.”
Her thumb drags over the head, slow enough to make my stomach lock.
“Still wanna ask me if I’m sure?” she whispers.
“Keep touching me like that and I ain’t gonna remember my own fucking name, much less another question.”
Twila smiles.
I catch her wrist and lift her hand away, not because I want her to stop but because another stroke is going to wreck every good intention I’ve got left.
I kiss her again while my hand slides down her stomach and stops at the button of her jeans.
Twila lifts her hips. I open them, hook my fingers into the denim, and push it down her long legs until she kicks free.
Black panties. Bare legs. Blonde hair spread across my pillow. My bed. This is where good judgment officially packs a bag and leaves Kentucky.
I climb over her. Twila hooks one leg around my hip and pulls me down. We kiss until neither of us has enough air, and then my hand moves between her thighs over the thin cotton.
She jerks against me.
“Whiskey.”
“That’s my name.”
“Smartass.”
“Usually.”
“Jimmy?”
“Yeah, Jim. I’m grown.” I rub her pussy through her panties slowly.
Her nails bite into my shoulders.
“You’re wet.”
Her eyes flash.
“You a detective?”
She reaches between us and closes her hand around my cock again.
“You’re hard.”
My teeth clench, hips jerking once before I lock them down.
“Fightin’ dirty.”
“I wrestle.”
“Not like this.”
“You complaining?”
“Not even a little.”
My fingers slip beneath the edge of her panties.
She inhales sharply when I drag them through the wet heat between her thighs.
“Jesus, Deputy.”
Her eyes flash. “What?”
“This wet for a man you still keep threatening to arrest?”
“Maybe I’m gathering evidence.”
“Then gather this.” I slide two fingers into her pussy and curl them slowly.
Her smartass answer breaks apart on a moan. She grabs the back of my neck and pulls me down to kiss her. Her head falls back into the pillow, body tightening before she starts moving against my hand.
I take my time.
Not because I’m trying to be nice.
Because watching Twila Dix get progressively more pissed off while she tries not to beg might be my new favorite hobby.
“You planning to impress me anytime soon?” she asks.
I laugh. “Talking shit while I got my fingers in your pussy is brave.”
“You like brave.”
“Love brave.”
Her eyes flick to mine at the word.
Fuck.
I kiss her before either of us can examine that too closely and curl my fingers harder inside her.
Her hips come off the mattress.
There.
I do it again.
“Whiskey.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t stop.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
My thumb finds her clit.
The first circle makes her thighs tighten.
The second makes her curse.
The third wipes every bit of attitude off her face.
“Oh, fuck.”
“That’s better.”
“Don’t get smug.”
“Too late.”
She tries to glare at me, but I curl my fingers again and whatever insult she had ready turns into my name.
That does something ugly and possessive to me.
I lower my mouth to her breast, suck her nipple between my lips, and keep working her with my hand.
Twila’s fingers lock in my hair.
“Whiskey.”
“Come on, Deputy.”
“Don’t order me to come.”
I laugh against her skin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
My thumb circles faster.
“Do it because you fucking want to.”
Her whole body goes tight.
Then she comes.
Hard.
Her thighs clamp around my wrist while her hips jerk against my hand, and she buries her face against my shoulder to catch a sound that still gets loose anyway.
I keep my fingers inside her through it, slowing only when the tight pulses around them start easing.
Twila lies there breathing hard.
I’m feeling pretty fucking pleased with myself.
Her eyes open.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that says you think you deserve a trophy.”
“You screamed my name.”
“I did not scream.”
“Volume was concerning.”
“Liar.”
She catches my wrist and pulls my hand away.
I think she’s done.
Then she pushes against my chest.
“Move.”
“What?”
“My turn.”
That gets my attention.
“Twila.”
“What?”
She pushes harder until I roll onto my back.
“Deputy.”
“Biker.”
Her smile is all trouble.
Then she slides down my body.
Oh, fuck.
“What’re you doing?”
“Gathering evidence.”
“That joke was better when my fingers were in you.”
“Shut up.”
She hooks her fingers into my open jeans and drags them lower.
My cock springs free.
Twila looks at it.
Really fucking looks.
Then she looks at me.
“Problem?”
“Considering jurisdiction.”
“Jesus Christ.”
She wraps her hand around me.
Every muscle in my stomach locks.
“Twila.”
“Still talking.”
Her tongue drags slowly over the head.
My hand fists in the sheet.
“Fuck.”
She smiles against me.
Evil woman.
Then her mouth closes around my cock.
My head hits the pillow.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
She takes me deeper, one hand wrapped around what she can’t fit while her tongue works underneath.
I reach for her hair, then stop myself.
My hand lands on the mattress instead.
Twila notices.
Of course, she fucking notices.
Her eyes lift to mine while my cock is still in her mouth.
That sight nearly ends me right there.
She pulls back just enough to speak.
“You can touch me.”
“You sure?”
She takes me back into her mouth instead of answering.
Clear enough.
I slide one hand into her hair.
I don’t push.
Don’t guide.
Just hold on while she decides exactly how much of me she wants.
Apparently, the answer is enough to kill me.
She takes me deeper.
I groan and tighten my fingers in her hair.
“Fuck, Twila.”
Her hand works with her mouth, slick and slow at first, then faster when my hips start moving before I can stop them.
“Careful.”
She hums around me.
My eyes close.
“That shit ain’t fair.”
She does it again.
“Woman.”
Twila pulls off with a wet little sound that makes my balls tighten.
“You complaining?”
“I’m warning you.”
“About?”
“I’m close.”
Her eyes hold mine.
“Good.”
Fuck me.
Her mouth closes around me again.
No teasing this time.
She works me like she means to finish the job, taking me deep enough that every intelligent thought leaves my head.