Page 74 of Roulette Rodeo
She laughs, full and bright.
"Wow. At least you're honest." She winks, the gesture somehow both innocent and knowing. "Good thing I don't have any experience in that department to compare to."
The reminder of her virginity hits like a shot of adrenaline straight to my cock. Twenty-four years old, untouched, and looking at me like I'm something worth wanting.
The idea of being her first…fuck.
"Well," I say, voice rougher than intended, "guess we gotta court you faster so we can dip our toes into that, huh?"
She blinks, tilting her head like a confused puppy.
"Court?"
Before I can explain—court, as in date, as in prove we're worth your time before we claim you in every way possible—thunder booms overhead.
We both jump.
Duke barks at the sky like it personally offended him, racing around us in agitated circles.
Uh oh…
We'd been so focused on each other, we hadn't noticed the storm rolling in.
Dark clouds have swallowed the sun, turning the clearing into something from a gothic novel.
Red looks up, then at me, understanding dawning in those whiskey eyes.
"So how long until it pours like madness?"
I'm already standing, pulling her up with me, but the moment I see the sky, I know we're fucked.
She must see it in my expression because she starts to say, "Oh, we're fuc?—"
The rain cuts her off.
Not a gradual buildup, not a warning drizzle. The sky opens like someone turned on a fire hose, instant and complete saturation.
Red squeals, but it's not distress. She's laughing, head thrown back, letting the rain plaster her hair to her face.
"Come on!" I shout over the downpour. "Back to the house!"
But she's not moving toward shelter.
Instead, she's spinning, arms out, face turned up to the sky like she's never felt rain before.
"I can't run for shit in these boots!" she yells back, still laughing.
The silk pajamas are already soaked through, clinging to her like a second skin. The red fabric has gone dark, almost black, and completely transparent. I can see everything—the curve of her breasts, the peak of her nipples hard from cold, the indent of her navel, the shadow between her thighs.
But it's her face that stops me from dragging her inside.
Pure, unbridled joy.
She's jumping in puddles that are already forming, splashing mud on those expensive pajamas without a care. Duke's joining in, barking and leaping, both of them playing like children who've never learned that rain is supposed to be an inconvenience.
The memory hits without warning:Sophia, caught in a similar storm our first week together.
She'd cried, upset about her ruined dress, her makeup streaming down her face. We'd rushed her inside, apologizing for not checking the weather, promising to buy her new clothes, new everything.
