Page 25 of Home to the Hollow

“Sugarplum, I don’t think the first time is gonna last awfully long. You’re dolled up like a pin-up girl in a tattoo mag under here. It’s making my dick do backflips.”

“What, country girls around here don’t have body piercings and tats?” I tease. I slide my pussy over the material of his boxers, my eyes rolling back into my head at the friction. He’s right, of course. The ordeal with our clothes should have dumped ice water on our heads, but his acceptance of me only fanned my flames hotter.

His fingers pinch my ass in reprimand, and I scoot down his thighs, nipping at his delicious abs as I go. He tries to wriggle away, but now I’ve decided that I’m on a mission. If the first time will be quick, I’m going to show him how fast I can make it. Biting down on the waistband of his boxers, I tug the material down with my teeth until his cock springs free.

Well, butter my biscuits and call me Betty Crocker—I hit the jackpot.

He’s got a sexy ass ladder on that thick shaft of his, and his pelvis is covered in intricate tats of his own. They look vaguely Gaelic, but I’m too excited about my dicks-covery to scrutinize them. Leaning in, I inhale his scent, pleased to find that he smells like body wash and outdoorsy man, not sweaty horse guy. That alone deserves a treat. So I lick the tip lightly and he shudders from head to toe.

Oh, this will be fun. I think Wolfie likes me in charge.

Swallowing him in one deep motion, I run my tongue over the bars, flicking them in a way I know will feel good. It’s not my first rodeo with a pierced dude, but they always have different versions of how they want you to play with their steel. I bob up and down slowly, humming a bit as I learn what spots make him gasp and squirm. If you’re wondering, I’ve had lessons, and I’m a fair bloody hand at this, but I don’t do it for everyone.

However, Hottie McBabyVet can ask nicely annnnytime.

I suppress a giggle when I feel his hips jump and I go back to work, licking, sucking, and teasing until I can feel his frame tense. He mutters something about moving, but I bat his hands away, giving him one more nip at the tip as it passes through my lips. The orgasm must hit him like a brick to the face because he shouts so loud that I worry someone’s going to hear, and salty fluid fills my mouth. When I can feel his breathing even out, I give him one last kiss, sliding up his body like the cat that blew the canary.

Which I did, thank you very much, and he should praise me for it.

“Holy Horned God, Jolene. Where in the hell did you—never mind, I don’t wanna know. Just… give me a few and we’re back, sugarplum.”

I arch a brow at him. “A few?”

His grin spreads wider. “Darlin’, I’m only twenty-two. I definitely meant a few.”

This time my eyes fly wide, and I squeal as he flips me onto my back.

What have I gotten myself into?

* * *

“Hello, there, guys,”I say, looking at Jekyll and Hyde with a disapproving look.

They lift their heads from the bowls of lunchmeat they’re munching with guilty expressions. Several of the hands’ kids, and a bunch of tour folk, are watching them in fascination and now I know why they weren’t available to save me from myself.

They found people to feed and lavish attention on them.

Some wing… cats… they are.

“Uh, sugarplum?” Wolfie asks, walking up behind me. He picks a piece of grass out of my hair, and I know I turn beet colored as the tourists laugh and whisper.

“Goddamnit,” I mutter. “Must I always look like an idiot in public in this town?”

He drops a kiss on my temple and takes the basket out of the cart. “Well, if it’s with me, I can’t say I’d complain.”

“Wolfgang Lucien Fletcher!”

The shriek catches us and the crowd off guard, but my faithful companions leap into action. Jekyll and Hyde spring from the bowl of meat towards the blonde woman that is striding over as if she’s the Fifth Infantry mounting a surprise attack. Agatha is so intent on screeching at my most recent lover that she doesn’t notice them, and they hit her in unison, causing her to totter on her ridiculously high-heeled boots.

“Ahhhh! I’m beingattackedby vicious monsters!”

I roll my eyes at the crowd, hoping to calm them, and follow Wolfie to where my now forgiven wing-cats are pinning the shrieking banshee to the ground with snarls. Taking a chance, I decide on German because I’m hoping to figure out if they’ve been trained with actual commands. “Jekyll! Hyde!Mach Schnell!”

Their heads raise and they bound to my side immediately, still sneering and growling at the prone woman. Agatha doesn’t make a move to get up, only continues wailing as if someone has fatally wounded her. Wolfie looks at me and shrugs, and I shrug back. I don’t know what the hell she’s playing at.

“They’ve broken myankle!Help!”

“Uh, doubtful, you cotton headed ninny. If it’s broken, it’s those idiotic heels are to blame, not my cats,” I call, giving the photo snapping crowd a wink.

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