Page 13 of Double Bucked

I feel his grin on my lips. “Imagine how good it’s going to feel in a bed.”

“In a Parisian bed. Silk sheets.” I kiss his lips. “Warm, fluffy croissants for breakfast.” I nibble the scruff on his jaw. “Champagne with freshly picked berries at the bottom.” I trace the bulge of his Adam’s apple with the tip of my tongue.

He moans and starts to swell again inside of me.

“Quit it.”

I nip his lip. “Quit what?”

“You know what you’re doing, woman.”

Princess when he adores me. Woman when I’m being a pain in his ass. Pain in his balls. Pain in his throat.

I still haven’t decided which term of endearment I like more.

I grin. He growls and kisses me—hard, playful kisses all over my face—until I’m squeaking with laughter.

We’re interrupted when the house bell strikes. Three times. A loud, vibrating gong that you can hear miles out.

My good mood deflates, the knowledge of what comes next sharpening. Anxiety rustles around in my chest like a squirrel in a pile of autumn leaves.

“Daddy’s calling,” Ransom says.

“I have to go. Put me down.”

“One more for the road.”

He grips my hips and gives me a sudden, rough thrust that makes me gasp. I’m still floating on the unexpected bolt of pleasure when he finally pulls out of me. He lowers me down gently back into my flats, one foot at a time, so my toes don’t touch the dirt below us.

As I readjust my underwear over my hips and Ransom fixes his belt, I start to drill him. Because Ransom—God love him—can be thick as a bolder sometimes.

“Are you packed?” I ask.

“Since Wednesday.”

“With your passport?”

“Yep.”

“And you know to be ready?—”

Ransom cups the back of my head and pulls me in close.

“Eleven fifteen,” he recites. “Round the back of the main house. You and I will jump in a car to take us to the airport. Get checked in with time to kill, and then we’ll be wheels up and Paris-bound and leave Belleflower in our rearview. No looking back.”

He strokes a stray strand of blonde hair back with his thumb, those chestnut eyes looking down at me. “How’d I do?”

The anxiety squirrel morphs into butterflies. “Perfect.”

I remove the handkerchief from my throat and put it back around his. I adjust it to hide my bite marks and tuck it into his shirt.

I like putting my man back together as much as I like making him fall apart.

He crushes my mouth in a kiss, and it becomes harder and harder to leave him.

Soon, we won’t have to sneak around, stealing kisses like criminals.

Once I’m out from my father’s tight grip, we’ll be free to be ourselves. New country. New city. New us.

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