Page 103 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“Ah, you’re forgetting the harness and reins. It’s a little kink of mine.”

Sutton kept her expression neutral, though she wanted to grin. She knew a man with a kink of his own. A man who liked to kneel and take instruction—and the afterglow of ordering him around still simmered low in her body.

“I’ll file that away for a rainy day,” Sutton said.

“Is that confirmation that you did the deed?”

“I am neither confirming nor denying that we had sexy-time.”

Jo made a face. “You need a damn intervention if you’re using words like sexy-time.”

“What would you call it?”

“Sex. Fucking. Screwing. Getting railed. Riding him like he’s late to the starting gate. Letting him rearrange your insides. Doing the horizontal hokey-pokey. Bumping uglies. Slap-and-tickle. Playing hide-the-salami. Dropping your panties for the D. Mounting up and shouting ‘Yee-haw, take me, cowboy.’”

“Dear God,” Sutton muttered.

Jo shrugged. “Vocabulary is important.”

Sutton shook her head, still reeling from Jo’s verbal onslaught. “Why exactly are you in a drought? You’ve been on, what, six dates since I moved here?”

Jo rolled her eyes toward the ceiling like she was consulting a higher power. “Nine. And every single one of them was allergic to adventure. They want polite kisses and missionary with the lights off. Not one of those men wanted me to drop to my knees and take off their belt with my teeth.”

Sutton choked on a laugh. “Maybe because that sounds like a workplace injury waiting to happen.”

“I sign liability waivers in my sleep. I want a man who worships confidence. Who wants a little danger. Someone who doesn’t flinch when I say bite here.”

“And you don’t think that has anything to do with the sexy Coast Guardman who’s been home on medical leave?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You mean the one who stood ten feet away this morning at the donations table and pretended he wasn’t watching you like a heat-seeking missile?” Sutton pressed.

Jo crossed her arms, cheeks going pink. “He likes community involvement.”

“He likes you, Jo.”

Jo scoffed like Sutton’s statement was laced with judgment and edges. “He likes hazard pay and ocean rescues and public bicep flexing. He does not like women who know their way around a belt buckle.”

“You nearly snapped your own neck sneaking looks at him.”

“That was me stretching,” Jo snapped. “Neck flexibility is vital. Anyway, we haven’t spoken in eight years. We’ve mastered pretending the other doesn’t exist.”

“Could’ve fooled me. His eyes damn near combusted when you reached for the donation sheet and your bra strap slid down your shoulder.”

Jo groaned. “That was literacy, not longing. Literacy.”

“Uh-huh. So he’s the reason for the drought.”

“I’m temporarily selective.”

“That’s not a drought,” Sutton teased. “That’s waiting for your Coast Guard to dock his boat in your harbor.”

Jo snorted but didn’t deny it. “Well, my dock isn’t open for just anybody to slide into my harbor. Especially men who live in fatigues.”

Sutton laughed—right up until she noticed Vivi drifting toward them like she’d been hit by lightning and hadn’t finished processing the strike.

Vivi stopped in front of them, eyes wide and unfocused.