Page 16 of Wild Horses

If it feels this good when she licks my wrist, I may not survive having her mouth anywhere else. My mind paints a vivid picture. One of Laramie on her knees, guiding my hands to her head before opening to take me deep. What a way to go.

“Welcome to the afterlife, Warren Phillips. What brings you here?”

“Death by blowjob.”

I reach beneath the table and discreetly adjust my cock. If these goddamn pants weren’t so tight, I could hide it better. As it stands, anyone within ten feet can see exactly what this woman does to me.

The lime wedge barely stifles my moan when her sweet tongue runs up my skin once more. She drains the shot and leans forward, her lips pressing to mine as she sucks the sliced fruit.

It’s over far too quickly. My cock throbs, and I swear I’ll let her use my body for all her eating and drinking needs from now on if it means putting her mouth on me again.

“Your turn.” Laramie slowly parts her lips, allowing me to slide the lime wedge into her mouth. She offers me her wrist, and I mirror her actions, relishing the taste of her.

My pulse pounds as I lap up each grain of salt, throw back the shot, and capture her mouth, draining the lime dry.

She wasn’t lying; this is the cheapest, nastiest tequila I’ve ever had, and nothing has ever tasted better.

When I break away, her pupils have eaten up the brown of her eyes, leaving them like midnight without a moon. Laramie’s hand cups the back of my head and she pulls me in, her fingers grasping the short hair at my nape. The kiss is demanding, hungry, and perfect. There’s no gentle exploration.It’s a mutual conquering. Each of us taking and giving, battling and conceding control.

She tastes like lime and the sharp bite of the tequila, and this just became the best date I’ve ever been on.

It isn’t until a gentle cough sounds that we break apart. “You two wanna come up for air? Or at least for food?” Dolores gives us a cheeky smirk.

“You have the worst timing.” Laramie laughs, fanning her flushed cheeks as she takes our order from the waitress.

“Oh, to be young and beautiful again. All caught up in those first-date flutters.”

“I’ve seen you and Mel; you two are disgustingly in love.”

Dolores blushes. “Alright, enough of that. Can I get you anything else?”

“Three more rounds of shots, please.”

Three more? She really might be trying to kill me—or make me come in my pants.

When Dolores drops the drinks off, Laramie crooks a finger. I offer her my wrist, but she shakes her head. Then, with a slow smirk, she says, “Not there.” She tilts my head and laps at the side of my neck before sprinkling salt there. This time when she goes to lick my skin, she nips too, then soothes away the sting before downing her shot.

Desire, desperate and hot, courses through me when Laramie cants her head, exposing the slender column of her neck. Like it has a mind of its own, my hand settles around her throat, my thumb skimming over her pulse point. I love the way it paces at my touch. At her shudder, I lean in. Instead of licking, I place an open-mouth kiss on her neck. Followed by a second one. And a third for good measure. Only when she’s squirming and making soft, needy sounds do I sprinkle the salt on her skin.

Hours pass in a blur. Talking, laughing, lingering touches. Kisses that almost reach the point of no return. Before I know it, we’ve downed shots three and four. Who knew steak fingers and cheap tequila pair together so well? Throughout the meal, the salt has found new and unique places to be licked from, and the time spent sucking the juice from the lime has grown.

“I need to share this with Manon, my parents’ cook.” I fight back a hiccup as I drag a French fry through a mixture of cream gravy and ketchup before feeding it to Laramie, groaning when she nibbles the tips of my fingers.

“Told ya. Food of the gods. Or at least of the hungry and tipsy.”

When Dolores clears the baskets—not plates—from the table, I slump against the booth, nursing the warm beer Laramie ordered when we first arrived. I clear my throat. “Do you have anything else planned for the evening? If not, I’ll call us a car.” At her single raised eyebrow, I add, “Separate, of course.”

Laramie’s hand skates up my thigh as she leans closer. The soft brush of her breath tickles my ear as she whispers, “How about instead of a car, you get us a room? We can sleep off the tequila at The Rusty Spur? Or, even better…” Her teeth scrape my lobe. “Work it off.”

Holy shit. Who is this woman, and how can I convince her to be mine?

CHAPTER SEVEN

laramie

I could drive my truck through War’s open mouth.

He straightens, his honey-brown eyes searching mine. “You want to get a room?”

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