Page 62 of Just This Once

Whip’s arm casually rested along my back, rubbing a small circle where my shirt separated from my jean shorts.

His warm fingers dipped past the waistband and stroked my skin. “I think we’re good, but maybe just stay down to be safe.”

“Okay.” I stared ahead, directly at his crotch, and waited, my hands tensely gripping his thigh. My face was in his lap as he kept driving. As I crouched down and stayed pinned in place, I realized he’d become hard.

“Are we out of town yet?” I didn’t dare peek.

“Oh yeah, have been for a while.” His smug words had me rolling my eyes and playfully slapping his thick thigh as I sat up.

“You’re the worst.” I shifted back to my side of the truck.

Whip laughed. “Can’t blame a guy for enjoying that, just a little.” He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself in the most obscenely masculine way. A bolt of lust shot through me.

I crossed my arms, still pretending to be annoyed and to hide the fact that my nipples had puckered into hard little points. When we finally turned down Whip’s quiet stretch of road, I relaxed. The sun had finally disappeared beyond the trees, and in the twilight, I could just make out the shape of his expansive house.

When he parked near the outbuilding and not in his garage, I looked at him in question.

“I wanted to show you something.” Whip got out and rounded the truck to open my door.

I grinned at him as I climbed out. “I could get used to the princess treatment.”

A smirk hooked at the corner of his mouth when he swept the hair from my shoulder and leaned in. “I’ll give you the princess treatment now because once you’re on your knees, begging for my cock, you’ll have earned it.”

Shivers racked my spine, and my knees went soft. I gripped his shirt. “That’s a deal I’ll take.”

“Good.” Whip started toward the garage, and I followed. Once inside, he flipped on the overhead lights. In the center of his workshop was a large boat with what looked like fishing rod holders and ropes attached to the side. It was filthy and seemed to be in rough shape.

On the stern,Noble King Fishing Tourshad been painted, though it looked like there was something else underneath.

I tilted my head. “A boat? Do you own a fishing company or something?”

Whip’s smile was soft as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “No. This boat was supposed to be a bigfuck youto the Sullivans. Check it out.” He stepped forward, using his fingertipto outline the layer of paint hidden beneath the boat’s new moniker. It was painted over, but you could still see the outline of a name.

“Juney?” I asked.

“The late Mrs. Sullivan’s name was June.”

A twinge pinched in my chest.

Whip’s lips pressed together, and he nodded grimly. “My father has always had a hard-on for knocking the Sullivans down a few pegs.”

“Because of the rivalry,” I confirmed.

His head twitched. “It’s more than that for him. Sure, we fuck around and prank each other, but that’s all petty, harmless shit. This was personal.”

I stayed silent, feeling the weight of the room, and waited for him to continue.

“Red Sullivan—their dad—is a farmer but saw fishing tours as a lucrative tourism opportunity. It probably would have been a good one too.”

Dread oozed into my stomach. “Would have been?”

Whip nodded, his eyes never leaving the boat. “Red got sick. Early-onset dementia, I think. Dad bought the boat from under him only to slap his name on it and docked it in a prominent slip at the marina, simply because he could.”

“That’s...” I had no idea what to even say to that.

“Shitty?” Disgust tainted his words. “Yeah, it was.”

“And why do you have it?” I searched the side of his face, my chest squeezing.

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