23. Piper #2
“Maybe it’s because I’m third-wheeling you and Christian, which, by the way, you two don’t even try to be subtle.”
“What?” I nearly choke on my drink.
She raises an unimpressed brow. “You’re eye-fucking him so hard I’m shocked the bar’s still standing.”
“Here we go, Nightengales,” Callan says as he strolls over with two glasses of wine balanced effortlessly in one hand and that Crawford grin plastered across his face.
“Thanks, Cal,” I say, taking one of the glasses.
“You’re welcome.” He drops into the seat beside us, taking a long pull of his beer before turning to Violet with a grin.
“What?” she snaps, glaring at him like he’s the walking embodiment of a headache.
“Nothing,” he says innocently, though the twitch on his lips says otherwise.
“Just trying to memorize your face before you crawl back into whatever cave you hibernate in, Lettie.” I choke on my wine, snorting into the glass, and I’m met with a death glare that could freeze Satan’s balls off.
“Seriously, though, it’s good to see you.
I was starting to think you’d died or joined a cult or something. ”
“It’s cute how much you care,” she says flatly. “But for the record, I’m only here for Piper.”
Callan clutches his chest, all mock hurt. “You wound me. And here I was thinking you came to wish me a happy birthday.”
“There you go, assuming I give a shit again… if you must know, I’ m here for the free booze and to stop Piper from dry-humping your brother in front of half the town.”
Callan chuckles, eyes narrowing as he leans in just slightly. “Yeah? So who’s keeping you on a leash tonight?”
“Don’t worry about my leash, Callan. Worry about what happens if I decide to take it off.”
The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on—the kind of quiet that really screams, Hate-fuck me against a wall.
“You two fighting already?” Dillon interrupts, and the three of us look up to find him standing there, hat in hand, blue eyes glinting like some romance novel cowboy come to life.
“You know Lettie,” Callan says, flashing a grin that’s as lethal as his brother’s. “She doesn’t take a day off from giving me shit. Not even on my birthday.”
“You’d hate it if I was nice to you, and you know it,” Violet counters, and when Dillon takes a seat, I’m honestly not sure whether I need a cold shower, to drag my sister away and demand what the fuck that was, or go tell Christian that I’m pretty sure his brother and my sister were about three seconds away from rage-fucking across the table.
“Dillon, what can I get you?” Callan pushes back from the table, and I swear the temperature in our little corner drops ten degrees the second he puts distance between himself and Violet. “Whiskey or beer?”
“Whiskey—it is your birthday, after all.”
Callan nods and walks off, leaving the three of us in a silence that isn’t quite awkward but sure as hell isn’t comfortable.
“You’re both lookin’ lovely tonight,” Dillon says, dropping his hat on the table before running a hand through his tousled blond hair.
“Thank you,” Violet replies, raising her glass with a smile, and I offer him one of my own.
“Surprised to see you here though,” he adds with a chuckle.
“She dragged me kicking and screaming.”
“Not true,” I protest, bumping her shoulder playfully. “I asked nicely, and you didn’t say no.”
“I’m pretty sure my exact words were, please don’t make me do this,” she mutters, taking a sip of her wine.
“He might not admit it, but Callan will be glad you’re here even if it just means he gets to rile you up all night. That’s a gift all by itself.”
“What did you get him, Dillon?” I ask.
“Nothing… Just another year of friendship. That’s what my dad and Rowland Fisher always say anyway.”
“So basically, ‘Happy birthday, I am the gift’?”
“Exactly,”he says, the grin still stretching across his face.
“How’s your dad doing?” Violet asks, and I hear the way her voice softens with him.
“He’s good. Tired, but you know how he is. He won’t listen to anyone who tells him to take it easy.”
“He’s stubborn,” Violet replies.
They fall into conversation without even trying, and watching them together like this, I understand what everyone saw. I get why the whole town just assumed Violet and Dillon were endgame.
“Give me a second. I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.” I stand up, ignoring my sister’s don’t you dare leave me glare because I can see it written all over Dillon’s face—he wants to talk to her.
I make my way across the room, weaving between tables and the crowd of people, but I don’t get far before I lock eyes with my cowboy.
Christian’s standing at the bar, deep in conversation with Preston, one boot propped up on the brass rail, an elbow resting on the surface with a tumbler of whiskey dangling from his fingers.
But those rich brown eyes are all mine as he tracks every step I take.
The lust in his eyes drags over my skin, and my body responds the way it always does when he looks at me like that.
I know that look—he’s mentally calculating how quickly he can hike up my dress, bend me over the nearest flat surface, and ruin me in the best possible way.
But beneath that hunger is a tenderness that promises no matter how hard he takes me apart, he’ll be the one to put me back together again.
When I step out of the bathroom, he’s already waiting, leaning against the wall like every wet dream I’ve ever had.
He’s got one boot propped against the wood, his cowboy hat tipped low, and I can see the muscle in his jaw working as his gaze travels over me.
I don’t say a word. I don’t need to. I just take one slow step toward him, then another, watching the tension coil in his shoulders as I close the distance.
“Keep looking at me like that, Piper, and I’ll stop caring where we are or who’s watching.”
“Maybe I don’t care who’s watching, cowboy.
” The words barely leave my lips before my back hits the wall, and his arms cage me in, one hand planted above my head, the other already sliding down my side like he’s daring me to stop him.
We’re technically hidden from view, but anyone could walk by, which only makes the fire between us burn hotter.
He grabs my wrist and presses my hand against the thick length straining his jeans. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me. Got my cock damn near begging to be buried in that tight little pussy.”
I curl my fingers around him through the denim, squeezing tight enough to make him suck in a breath between his clenched teeth. My lips brush his as I whisper, “You’re talking like I’m not aching for you right now.”
His forehead drops to mine, and his eyes squeeze shut like he’s fighting a war with his self-control and losing spectacularly.
“Goddamnit,” he groans, pressing into my palm. “Outside. Now.”
He grabs my hand and practically drags me out the back door, not slowing down until we reach his truck. My back meets the cold metal, then his mouth is on mine, hands framing my face as he kisses me breathless.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” he murmurs against my lips. “Watching you in there, knowing I couldn’t touch you...”
Those rough palms slide down my body, bunching up my dress with the kind of urgency that makes my thighs clench. He reaches behind me, yanking open the passenger door before lifting me onto the bench seat and climbing in after me, his big frame crowding me in the cab.
His mouth crashes into mine, and everything else—every sound, every thought—dissolves. My hands slip beneath his shirt, palms gliding over the hard planes of his chest, desperate to feel the heat of his skin beneath my fingertips .
“Sit that pretty ass down on me,” he murmurs, sinking into the seat and pulling me with him.
My legs settle on either side of his waist, and the hem of my dress rides up as his large hands find my thighs. I rock against him, feeling the heat of him beneath rough denim, and his belt buckle presses against my stomach. He draws in a shaky breath, eyes dark as he watches me move above him.
“Keep grinding on me like that, darlin’, and I’ll come before I even get inside you.”
The desperation in his voice matches the ache between my legs, and I know we’re about to steam up these windows like horny teenagers. Except there’s nothing teenage about the way this man handles me, nothing innocent about what he’s going to do to me in his truck.
I lower my mouth and trail slow, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, tasting salt and heat as my hands find their way under his shirt.
My fingers trace the hard ridges of his stomach, feeling his muscles jump under my touch.
I love how responsive he is to me, how even the lightest brush of my fingers makes him shudder.
He frees himself from the confines of his pants, and before he even thinks about sliding inside me, he hooks a finger in my thong and shoves it to the side.
He grips my jaw and forces my eyes to his. “Open.”
I part my lips and suck his finger deep before he pulls it free and slides that same finger inside me, followed quickly by another.He rubs against that spot, again and again. My hands fly back to clutch his knees for balance as I fuck down, chasing the kind of pleasure only he can give me.
“That’s my good girl,” he growls, his voice thick with pride. “Keep fucking those fingers. I want that wet cunt to make a mess all over my hand.”
He touches me so damn good, it’s like fire under my skin, heat sparking through every vein, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
When he suddenly pulls his fingers out of me, I cry out at the loss, sagging against him as he denies me my release.
He brings his soaked fingers up between us, eyes burning into mine as he sucks them clean— tongue greedy, lips wrapped tight, and his eyes roll back in his head like a fucking savage.
“Christian…”