Page 32 of Cold Foot Cash

She offered him a tremulous smile, and then disappeared into her room.

Cash relaxed his head back, stared at the hallway ceiling as he asked his heart rate to slow down.

You’re dangerous, aren’t you?

Yep. He was dangerous to them both.

****

Harley staggered into her motel room, closed the door behind her and dragged an unsteady breath into her lungs.

The way Cash had looked without his shirt—all muscles.

The way he had looked at her with such fire in his eyes had her more turned on than she’d ever been before.

He was right there, two rooms down, probably with his dick in his hand right now, thinking about her.

Just the thought of him pumping his cock in his hand buckled her knees. Harley slid her back down the door and drew her knees up, spread them apart and slipped her hand under the elastic waist of her panties.

As she touched her slick folds, she gasped at how ready she already was. At how good it felt to slide her finger into herself. It had been so long since she’d even had this urge.

She closed her eyes. In her mind, Cash was sitting in the chair in his room, pumping hard, his teeth gritted, his eyes closed, imagining her. Faster. Harder.

She huffed a breath at how good it felt to touch herself to the vision of him.

Faster…harder.

She squeezed her eyes tighter closed and imagined him finishing, spraying his chest with jets of release as he gritted out her name.

Her body shattered around her finger, and she slid over, laid on the floor, pressing into herself jerkily to drag out every pulse of pleasure.

She was panting as she opened her eyes to the dimly lit motel room.

This right here, this moment, it felt better than any time she’d ever been with Lance. By a lot. Just imagining Cash was hotter than anything she’d ever done with her ex, and that was telling.

Oh, she was attracted to Cash, but more than that, she liked his layers. She found him interesting. She wanted him.

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, and it was well past midnight.

She blew out a trembling breath.

It was officially Thursday now.

Five more days.

Chapter Eight

Special delivery.

Harley stretched in the motel bed and then squinted at her phone screen and read the text from Cash again. Special delivery?

Half asleep still, she kicked off the covers and rolled out of bed, made her way to the door, then pulled it open to find something utterly glorious sitting there waiting for her.

There were three iced coffees, and a folded piece of paper under the one on the far right.

Smiling sleepily, she knelt down and plucked the note from underneath. Already, it had a ring of condensation on it, so some of the words on the other side were smudged, but readable.

The note was scribbled neatly onto a page from the complimentary motel notepad in each room. It had the motel’s logo at the very top.

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