Page 212 of Property of Whiskey

Then we start laughing quietly into each other’s mouths like teenagers trying not to get caught.

I peel her jeans down her legs while she gets my belt open, both of us trying to do it without rattling the damn bed frame. She shoves my jeans and underwear down just far enough to get her hand around my cock.

I bury my face against her shoulder before the sound in my throat gets loose.

She whispers, “Thought I was the one who had to be quiet.”

“Keep your hand moving and neither one of us is making it through this quietly.”

Naturally, she strokes me again.

Smartass.

I hook my fingers into her panties and drag them down, slow enough that she has to lift her hips for me. She kicks them somewhere off the side of the bed.

“Better?” she whispers.

“Getting there.”

I take my time with her.

Eventually she hooks one leg around my hip and whispers, “You’re the accountant. Figure out how many inches you can give me without making this fucking bed squeak.”

I bury my face against her neck. “Jesus Christ.”

“Shh.”

I lift my head. “You did not just shush me.”

“Thought you wanted quiet.”

“Woman.”

She smiles against my mouth.

I reach into the nightstand, find a condom, and roll it on while she watches me with that smug little smile.

“Still think you can keep quiet?” I whisper.

“Put your money where your mouth is.”

“Wrong profession.”

“Whiskey.”

I pull her leg higher over my hip and push into her slow. Her mouth opens against mine, but not a sound comes out.

“Fuck,” I breathe.

She tightens around me deliberately.

I stop dead. “That’s dirty.”

“Shh.”

The next thrust goes deeper, and she bites my shoulder to swallow the moan.

I nearly lose what little control I’ve got left. “That’s cheating too.”