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“Sucker!” she calls out, taking her lead back as I fumble to pull my shorts up.
She bolts away from me, laughing her ass off, and I shake my head, grinning like a fool.
She only makes it about twenty feet before I come up behind her. Before she can fight it, I lift her up into the air, tossing her on my shoulder as I continue to run.
“You play dirty, Little Bird!” I grip the back of her thigh, just under her asscheek.
Her leg is smooth and toned, and I will my brain not to think about raising my hand higher to palm her ass.
“Hey! Cut the shit!” she screeches, pounding my back and kicking her feet. “Put me down, butthead!”
“Butthead?” I snort. “Been a while since I’ve been called that. In fact, last time was probably at that fancy dinner at your family’s lake house.”
“Well, you were being one then, and you are being one now!” She tries to hide the laugh in her voice, but I hear it anyway.
We get closer to the truck, and I know I have to think of something to liven this so-called race up even more. As fast as she is, even if I set her down now, I know I could still beat her. I’m six foot three. She can’t be more than five foot three, if that.
Heading down toward the bank, she pounds on me harder as she sees where we’re headed. “Don’t you dare throw me into the river, Hunter Thompson! I will chop your balls off! And then I will let you bleed to death!”
I pretend like I’m going to toss her into the river, but instead, I set her down gently, only ankle deep in the water, before I turn and head toward the truck, Sutton right on my heels.
“Now, my feet are nasty. You’re so going to pay for that!” she squawks.
Picking up the pace, I almost make it to the counter before I slow up and wait a few seconds for her to catch up. If I lose, I get to buy her ice cream. And I’m sure as hell not letting her buy mine.
Passing me, she touches the counter before turning toward me. “You let me win, jerk!”
“Did not. I got a leg cramp and had to slow down.” I shrug. “Guess I’m buying your ice cream tonight.”
Rolling her eyes, she smiles. “Real smooth, Thompson.Realsmooth.”
“What?” I play dumb.
Taking a step toward me, she looks up, tilting her head to the side. “If you wanted to buy me ice cream…all you had to do was ask.”
I lean a little closer, and the corners of my lips turn up the slightest bit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” she teases before turning toward the menu. “I know what I’m getting.” Smiling at the girl in the window, she looks at the board one last time. “Pumpkin, please. One scoop on a sugar cone.”
“Pumpkin ice cream?” I scoff. “That’s gross.”
“Excuse me, jerk. It’s September. Which means it’s PSL season.” When I stare at her blankly, she throws her arms up. “Pumpkin spice latte. Duhhhh.”
“Yeah…I don’t drink coffee. Or lattes. Or any of that crap. And I sure as hell don’t eat pumpkin pie.”
Stepping back, she widens her eyes. “Psychopath.”
The girl hands her the cone and takes my order.
And when I go with plain chocolate, Sutton tilts her chin up and down. “Feeling super adventurous, huh?”
“I know what I like,” I say, resting my hand on my hip lazily. “And it ain’t pumpkin.”
My eyes move downward, staying fixated on her mouth as her tongue pokes out, swiping across the ice cream before licking her own lips as she shuts her eyes.
“Mmm. So. Freaking. Good.”
A jolt of electricity goes directly to my dick as I watch her lap the creamy substance again. With each lick her tongue takes, my eyes glaze over more. Unable to look away even though I know I need to in order to not look like a complete fucking pervert. Breathing becomes harder as I imagine her on her knees, submitting to me as she uses that same enthusiasm on my cock.
