Page 127 of Property of Whiskey

That gets my attention.

“Twila.”

“What?”

She pushes harder until I roll onto my back.

“Deputy.”

“Biker.”

Her smile is all trouble.

Then she slides down my body.

Oh, fuck.

“What’re you doing?”

“Gathering evidence.”

“That joke was better when my fingers were in you.”

“Shut up.”

She hooks her fingers into my open jeans and drags them lower.

My cock springs free.

Twila looks at it.

Really fucking looks.

Then she looks at me.

“Problem?”

“Considering jurisdiction.”

“Jesus Christ.”

She wraps her hand around me.

Every muscle in my stomach locks.

“Twila.”

“Still talking.”

Her tongue drags slowly over the head.

My hand fists in the sheet.

“Fuck.”

She smiles against me.

Evil woman.