Page 126 of Property of Whiskey

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.”