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My throat burns. What would she think if she knew what I was involved with? What I’ve done?

Christ, I want her. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone in a long time. Her body. Her conversation. But she’s temporary. She’s too young for me. She has secrets. And so do I. I’ve already gotten too close, too involved.

I don’t deserve anything she can give me.

Ezra’s voice pulls me from my grim memories. He watches as a couple of armed men stack pallets. “You know where these are going?”

“Don’t need to know,” I gruff. The last thing I want is them involved any more than they need to be. “This is our last run. All we need is the go-ahead.”

River nods. “Cole’s right, focus on the whiskey, Ez.” The guilt on his face stings. He feels responsible that we’re in this mess, but it’s never been on him.

I nod, wanting him to take his own damn advice, then stick my hands in the pockets of my jacket. Tense at the feel of silk. My heart hammers against my chest.

I clear my throat. “Gonna head back.”

My brothers murmur their goodbyes. Darkness swallows me up as I creep through the tunnels and back to the distillery. Cold air blasts me in the face as I enter the tasting room. There, in the dim light, I pull out what’s in my pocket.

Panties.

Delilah’s panties.

Tension knots my shoulders. A chuckle leaves my lips.

The girl’s ballsy.

They’re light blue silk, the edges lined with delicate white lace. Expensive. Sexy as fuck.

I bring them to my face. Immediately, the scent of her hits my nose. My dick turns rock hard. Her. The smell is all her. Baby oil and honey. Heady and delicate and sexy as fuck.

A groan erupts in my chest. Goddamn, I ache to eat the fuck out of that pussy.

So I do the next best thing. I lick the seam of her panties, panting against the silky fabric.

Urgency scorches through me. My balls are as heavy as lead.

I reach for my fly and release the button. I wrap the panties around my dick, stroking them over the shaft. Closing my eyes, I imagine it’s Delilah’s pussy, wet and pink and ready to be fucked by me.

“Christ,” I groan. My hand shoots out, twisting the panties tighter over my dick. “Fuck, baby. Fuck, Delilah,” I grunt, pumping roughly into the silk of the panties. Sweat drips down my spine. “Let me deeper, darlin’. Deeper.”

Delilah’s face flashes in my mind. The sway of those gorgeous hips. That ass. Her sweet innocence and wild beauty as she dances for me. Her pleading and writhing beneath me as I bury my cock in that warm pussy. Taking all of me like the good fucking girl she is.

“Good girl,” I grunt, stroking faster, grinding to get closer. Rutting in the soft silk like it’s her drenched pussy. “Good girl.”

My entire body clenches, then erupts. I slam a palm on the lip of the bar, bellowing as I pulse thick wrenching spurts of come into her panties.

Fuck.

I breathe heavily, bow my head as I grip the bar top. Delilah’s panties dangle around my softening cock.

Breathless, I rub a hand over my face, remembering where the fuck I am. Our tasting room humping her panties like a goddamn dog. I wipe up the mess with a handful of cocktail napkins, then stick her panties back in my pocket.

Fact is, I’m not the same man I was before Delilah came along. The girl’s doing things to my brain, making me obsess, when hell, I’ve never wanted a woman like I want her.

I’m the one who’s fighting this—this feral desire between us.

Maybe that needs to fucking change.

20 Delilah