Page 191 of Property of Whiskey

“Yes.”

“Not because you’re pissed at Cal?”

“I was wet before Cal got here.”

“Good point.”

“Whiskey.”

“Yeah?”

“Take my fucking pants off.”

His grin turns pure sin. “Now that sounded like an order.”

“Do it.”

“Yes, Deputy.”

He opens my jeans and pushes them down until I kick free.

I turn just enough to work the denim off one ankle, and Whiskey’s hand catches lightly at my hip.

“Hold up.”

I look over my shoulder. “What?”

His thumb brushes the little black dandelion inked low on my back, just above my left hip. Three tiny seeds blow away from it toward my spine.

“Didn’t know you had ink.”

“You don’t know everything.”

His mouth curves. “Yet.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“Little late for that.”

His eyes move over me slowly, without apology. I should feel exposed standing in my bedroom wearing panties while a man I barely trusted two days ago looks at me like that.

Instead, I feel powerful.

Wanted.

Not despite being too much.

Because of it.

“You keep looking like that,” I say, “and I’m charging admission.”

“I’m ready to pay.”

“With what?”

“I’ve been told I’ve got a big cock.”

I laugh. “I can confirm.”