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I choose a different route instead, walking up behind her and wrapping my arms around her.
“Think she’d hear us if I bend you over your bed, flip that dress up, and fuck you until you come?”
She chuckles. “I have no doubt about it.”
She wiggles from my arms.
“But that can’t happen,” she says, opening her closet door and tugging the string hanging from the light bulb. “You’re the one who said you have to get to the square, and I don’t have any condoms here.”
I swallow down the urgency to remind her that she’s technically my wife, and we don’t have to use condoms. The truth of it all is I just met her, and that would be insane, even for two people who make impulsive decisions. That has always been one of my hard rules, and I won’t change that, even for a woman who I’ll probably end up spending more time with than I have any other woman before.
“The walls at the clubhouse are thicker,” I say, pressing my palm to the growing erection in my jeans. “But I bet people will still hear you, seeing as you’re a screamer and all.”
She turns to face me faster than I would’ve ever thought she could.
“It’s rude to speak of such things in the daylight, Derrick Lee. You’re in Texas right now, not New Mexico. You need to have a little more Southern charm and couth if you expect to make it around here.”
“Is that so?” I ask, crossing the room and sweeping my thumb over the redness growing in her cheeks.
“Let me change or we’re going to be late.”
I take several steps back, sitting on her bed once the mattress hits my thighs. I don’t hide the fact that I’m watching her. Although the redness in her cheeks grows, making its way down her chest, it doesn’t stop her from pulling her dress over her head and tossing it in the direction of the clothes hamper just outside her closet door.
I’m a fucking goner by the time she gathers all the things she needs to wear, straddling my legs as she expertly snaps her bra into place.
“Just know,” I warn. “All the teasing you do to me now, you’ll get back tenfold later.”
“Can’t wait,” she purrs, rolling her hips against my erection before climbing off my lap and pulling on a pair of delicate lace panties and sliding a pair of well-worn, butter-soft denim shorts up her trim, tan legs.
If it weren’t for the wet spot she left on the front of my jeans, a testament to her own arousal, I might feel a little manipulated.
When she’s done and urging me back out the front door of her house, I still haven’t given up on the idea that there’s some form of sorcery at play.
“Are there any witches in Lindell?” I ask as I wait for her to lock her door.
She chuckles, looking over her shoulder at me, and I can’t help but smile at the woman.
It’s official. I’ve lost my damn mind.
“Witches?” She shakes her head. “We always thought that old man Hinkle was a warlock. He’s a mean old man, and once as a teen, we went out to his house. It was Halloween, and there were several of us who had something to prove. We were at that stage in life where we felt the need to show we weren’t babies. Thank you.”
She locks eyes with me when I pull open the passenger side door of her car.
“You were saying?” I say a minute later once I climb behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition.
The car whines, making this awful screeching noise. Mechanics aren’t my specialty, but there’s something not right with this thing.
“We went out to Hinkle’s farm, and we heard this awful screeching. Later, my brother—”
“Andrew, the county judge,” I interrupt.
“One and the same,” she says, her nose scrunching like she’s as unimpressed with him as I was when I realized last night he wanted to be rid of his sister once and for all. Hell, I don’t doubt his fingers were crossed behind his back when we were repeating our vows to each other.
“Anyway,” she says, rolling her eyes in a way that I find adorable. “He said the screeching was probably that old peahen of his.”
“Pee what?” I ask, turning my head in her direction, my foot pressing the brake before backing out of her driveway.
“Peahen, like a peacock, but female.”
“They’re called different names?”
“Peacock? It implies, you know, a cock.”
“Say cock one more time,” I urge, the hint of a threat in my tone as my eyes lock on her lips.
“We’re going to be late,” she reminds me. “And I don’t want my husband to get into trouble. I promise to say it later tonight.”
I grin at her, unsure why her calling me her husband doesn’t freak me out like I know it should.
