Page 36 of The Love Wager

“This romper cost me more than my rent!”

“And yet, I bet it’ll look better on the floor.” The words are out before I can think about them, and a flare of fire sparks in her eyes, urging me on.

I should just cut past the zipper; it’ll free her perfectly fine, but I don’t. I raise the blade and find the spot where the v-cut allows her perfect breasts to spill out the slightest bit, and I cut.

Her breathing is heavy and shallow, and one of her hands comes up and holds mine. The air between us turns electric as I free her from the romper, one rip at a time. I don’t stop, even when she’s got plenty of opening to work with. I let the knife continue to rip down over her belly. Dragging over the sensitive mound where her pussy is likely throbbing for me.

“Brooks,” she breathes, waking me from whatever stupor had come over me.

I clear my throat and step back, painfully aware of how hard my cock is behind my jeans.

“You’re free.”

She licks her lips and then peels out of the romper. It falls to the ground in a puddle as she hurries into the small little room where the solitary toilet is closed off from the rest of the room.

The door shuts, and my brain fog seems to clear now that she’s gone. Turning to look in the mirror at myself, I shake my head. I close my knife and pocket it, leaning on the counter, and sigh in disbelief at how deep I’m letting this girl dig into me.

The door squeak has my eyes darting back up to find Indie standing in the door's fissure. In nothing.

“What are you doing?” I ask her, my tone turned to a deep rasp.

She saunters over, alcohol clearly in the driver’s seat.

I turn around, back hitting the counter as she steps between my open legs, reaching up to tug my face down as she crashes her lips to mine.

“How are we going to get you out of here now that your clothes are ruined?” I ask her when she finally breaks her spellbinding lips away from mine.

“I had no plans on leaving here, Brooksie.”

I open my mouth to say something snarky back in reply, but she sinks to her knees, her hazel eyes entrancing me in her siren call as she reaches up for my belt and starts undoing it.

“I hope you locked the door,” she breathes.

THIRTEEN

Indie

I’m not nearly as drunk as Brooks’ worried gaze is insinuating. His hands tangle in mine as I try to pry his well-fitted Wranglers down his mouth-watering thighs.

“Indie, stop,” his deep voice commands.

I sit back on my haunches, furrowing my brows in an exaggerated pout.

A breeze blows through the bathroom window, and the playful conversation around the bonfire below filters into our private moment.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve only had three glasses of wine—child’s play compared to the night at the bar. You’re not taking advantage of me. Now, move your hands.”

His hands drop, but only so he can push his knuckle under my chin, lifting my eyes back to his since they fell to his crotch the moment I could resume my work.

“You’re going to be the death of me, red.”

I let a wicked smile take over my face.

If I’m his death, he’s my undoing.

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