Page 89 of Danger

I can feel the heat of her—her tight little body pressed against mine, her thighs still straddling my lap like she owns me, and maybe she fucking does. Her breath is hot and panting against my neck, her lips brushing my skin in teasing, wet little kisses that make my cock throb like it’s begging for mercy.

“Fuck,” my voice rough, strained, barely holding it together. “You’re gonna be the end of me.” And she knows it. Her hips roll harder, grinding her soaked pussy against the bulge in my jeans, and I can feel every inch of her heat through the fabric.

It’s torture. Pure fucking torture.

And then, I explode. Fucking erupt.

My cock jerks violently in my jeans, soaking through my boxers, and I groan like a goddamn animal.

Winnie’s eyes flash with wicked satisfaction as she looks down, her lips turn into a devious grin that makes me want to bend her over and fuck her senseless.

“If you tell anyone about this…” I warn, but she just giggles, her laughter light and teasing, like she knows damn well she’s got me wrapped around her little finger.

“You’ll what?” she smiles. “Punish me?”

Grinning, I reach out and grab her wrist, pulling her closer. “Uh huh. And you’ll fucking love every second of it.”

She giggles, like I'm joking.

I lean in, my lips brushing against hers, and whisper, “You drive me insane, Winnie Hawthorne.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

winnie

“I need another apple pie,”I shout, loud enough for it to echo off the cooling racks and over the heads of the three-deep line at the counter. My mom and dad are in the kitchen, moving as quickly as they can.

“It’ll be just a minute,” I say to the woman in front of me, a local with peach-pink lipstick and three screaming kids. I ring her up and hand her the receipt. The line hasn’t let up since we opened.

After another half-hour of chaos, I yell back, “I think the line’s finally dying down.”

“Saw this coming. Rodeos always get the town to remember how good we are,” Dad grunts. Then he glances over my shoulder to make sure Mom’s not in earshot. “Your mother’s worried you’ve been working too hard.”

I snort. “She worries too much. I’m fine!”

“Uh huh.” He hands me a tray of still-warm cheese danish, which I maneuver out front to give the last customer waiting.

“It’s been like this all week,” Mom says, her face somewhere between proud and panicked. “I had to order double from thedairy truck. And the strangest thing happened—went to pay rent and they said it was already taken care of for the month.”

I’m scraping out a bowl of filling, not looking at her. “Huh. Weird.”

“Even paid off the supply invoices.” Her eyes flick up to me, sharp. “You don’t happen to know anything about that, do you?”

I keep scraping. “No idea.” I try not to sound too defensive. She keeps watching, and I get the feeling she knows, or at least suspects, that it was me.

She sighs, tucks an errant curl back under the net. “We’ll make it, you know. We always find a way. You could give yourself a break, maybe quit one of those jobs?”

I nearly laugh. “And risk losing my title as Most Overworked Daughter in the Tri-County Area?”

She softens, brushes flour off my shoulder. “We’ll be fine here, love. Don’t burn yourself out.”

I want to tell her it’s not that simple, that the bakery is the only thing our family has, but I don’t. Instead, I say, “I’ll finish up here, then head to Saddle and Oak for the happy hour rush.”

She nods, then kisses the top of my head. “You’re allowed to do something nice for yourself once in a while,” she says. “Maybe spend your money on a nice massage!”

“I’ll think about it!”

I walk back out, wipe my hands on my apron, check the clock. I’ve got half an hour to kill before my shift at the bar. I lock up the pastry case and head to the back to grab my bag.