Page 256 of Property of Whiskey

“Starting to think.”

“Too late.”

Before I can answer, Twila slides off the folded mats.

I expect her to stand.

She doesn’t.

She drops to her knees.

My entire brain stops.

“Deputy.”

She looks up while opening my jeans wider.

“Problem?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“You were fishing for reassurance.”

“Pretty sure I got it.”

“I’m thorough.”

She drags my underwear down.

My cock comes free inches from her mouth.

“Twila.”

“Still talking.”

Her tongue touches the underside of the head.

My hand slams against the shelving behind me.

Boxes rattle.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

She smiles.

Then takes me into her mouth.

Fuck me.

Her lips close around my cock while one hand grips my thigh and the other works the base.

I look down.

Big mistake.

Twila Dix is on her knees in wrestling boots and tiny fucking shorts with my cock in her mouth, blue-gray eyes looking straight up at me like she knows she has me by the throat without touching anything above my waist.

“Fuck.”