Page 194 of Property of Whiskey

I raise an eyebrow. “You keep those handy?”

“Single man.”

“Whore.”

“Jealous?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He rolls it on, then comes back over me.

The jokes disappear from his face before he says my name.

“Twila.”

I know what he’s asking.

“Yes.”

“Ain’t gonna be gentle if you start that wrestling shit.”

Heat rolls through me. “Promise?”

His eyes darken. “Woman.”

I wrap both legs around him. “Quit talking.”

He pushes into me slowly enough that I feel every inch.

For exactly two seconds.

Then I tighten around him and Whiskey swears.

His forehead drops against mine. “Jesus fucking Christ, Twila.”

I squeeze him again on purpose.

His hand clamps around my thigh. “You keep doing that, I’m gonna fuck every smartass thought right out of your head.”

“Big promise.”

“Then hold on.”

I laugh.

He thrusts harder, and the laugh breaks into a moan. He kisses me. I move with him, not just beneath him while he does whatever he wants.

With him.

Every thrust pushes me deeper into the mattress, and I meet each one, rolling my hips back into his. His hand grips my thigh as I push against him.

He groans. “Jesus Christ.”

“You like it.”

“Too fucking much.”