Page 124 of Property of Whiskey

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.”