Page 70 of Buckled in Barbwire

Her gasp brightens her features. “Oooooh, a game? I didn’t peg you as the type.”

“There’s a lot you wouldn’t guess about me,” I taunt. My hand signals for her to go ahead. “Ladies first. Take your time. No pressure.”

“What about rules?”

“Do we need them?”

“I can play fair if you can.”

“Spoiler alert, babe. I prefer a dirty twist.”

“Fine,” she concedes. “But I get the option not to answer.”

“And then you drink.”

Paisley sputters. “This is heavy on the vodka.”

“You can switch to something weaker,” I offer as a compromise.

“Or we can just behave ourselves.” Paisley glares, just waiting for me to argue. Her lips twitch at my feigned obedience. “Would you rather ride a bull or a bronc?”

“Bull,” I answer automatically. “More of a thrill.”

“Figured.” She rolls her eyes, mostly at herself.

“That was too easy.”

“Am I supposed to make it hard?” Her coy tone gets me halfway there.

“You won’t hear me complain.” I spread my thighs to hide the evidence stacking against me.

Paisley nudges my shin with her painted toes. “It’s your turn.”

My palm catches her ankle before she can pull away. Once she’s secured in my grasp, I start massaging. Her skin is softer than velvet, even on the bottom of her foot. My thumbs dig into her arch and add more pressure.

She sags into the cushions, her mouth hanging open. “Ohhhhh, yes. Right there.”

Desire slams into me and I almost grind against her heel. “You like that?”

“Yes!” Her lashes flutter while she surrenders to my touch. “Harder. Please.”

The need to hear her utter that phrase in a very different context has me upping my game. I repeat the motions, and she practically melts in my hands. Her whimper begs for more. A haze of lust descends as I gladly satisfy her plea. While she’s lenient and agreeable, I settle on a question.

“Would you rather kiss me or reveal a secret?”

“Secret.” The response is barely a wheeze.

“Go on then,” I urge.

“That’s not how the game works.”

My focus shifts from the bliss slacking her features to the color of her pedicure. Glittery pink polish, of course. “There aren’t any rules, Twinkles.”

She whines when I slow my kneading. “You make a really great pillow.”

“Did you sleep well?”

Her head bobbles loosely. “Best sleep I’ve had in ages.”

---