Page 258 of Property of Whiskey

I catch her shoulder.

“Twila.”

She keeps going.

“Baby.”

That stops her.

Her eyes lift.

I’m breathing like I just fought three men.

“You keep doing that, this ends with you swallowing and me being useless for the next five minutes.”

She licks the head slowly.

“Maybe that was the plan.”

“Mean little thing.”

“Thought you liked mean.”

“Love mean.”

I pull her gently to her feet.

She looks offended.

“I wasn’t finished.”

“Neither am I.”

Her eyes darken.

I turn her toward the folded mats.

Twila looks over her shoulder.

“You about to prove that first-flat-surface threat?”

“You offering?”

She plants both hands on the mats and pushes her ass back against me.

I close my eyes.

“Jesus.”

“Yes or no, Whiskey?”

My eyes open.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She reaches back, catches my wrist, and pulls my hand to the waistband of her shorts.