Page 228 of Property of Whiskey

“My balls.”

I grin big.

“Always thinking about my dick.”

I slap mud across his cheek.

His laughter dies instantly. “Twila.”

“What?”

“That was beard territory.”

“So?”

“Sacred.”

I laugh hard enough that my balance shifts.

His hands catch my waist.

Then neither one of us is laughing anymore because I can feel him hard beneath me through his jeans.

Very.

I look down, then up. “Oh.”

Whiskey’s eyes narrow. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been straddling my dick for the last five minutes.”

“Through jeans.”

“My dick knows where you are.”

I shift against him deliberately.

His fingers bite into my hips. “Careful, Deputy.”

“Thought you liked me on top.”

“I do. That’s the fucking problem.”

Whiskey closes his eyes.

I shift my hips once, just enough to make his fingers dig harder into my waist.

“Twila.”

“What?”

“You start that shit out here and I ain’t responsible for what happens.”

I lean closer. “Thought you liked dangerous women.”

“Like living too.”

“Coward.”

“Men have died over less.”