Page 17 of Ridin’ Dirty

As I slid my fingers across his palm, I fought a smile and a shiver.

The smile, I beat.

The shiver, I did not.

I knew he felt it when the corner of his mouth twitched and he turned, headed for the hallway. As I trailed after him, I didn’t even bother looking back, too excited about what was ahead of me—and possibly a little distracted by his four-legged companion, who trotted along beside us as we went.

Pistol led me straight to the fourth door on the right. All three of us entered, he flipped on the light, then shut and locked the door. I was on the cusp of turning my face to get a glimpse of his space, but then he had hold of my chin, his fingers spanning the length of my jaw, his grip firm but not unyielding.

It got my attention, anyway.

I watched as his eyes danced around my face before they landed on my lips.

My insides quivered and I felt my clit pulse as he leaned into me—close enough that I could smell him—close enough that on my next breath, it took everything in me not to shut my eyes and get lost in the pleasantly earthy scent of him.

Rain. Moss. Leather.

He was a forest in which I wanted to wander and get lost.

For one night, I wished to be reckless and free.

“Want these red lips wrapped around my cock,” he said, extracting me from my thoughts and pulling me back into the moment.

My sex trembled in delight, and I leaned into him a little—my inebriated state and his desires stated plainly making my knees weak.

I was awesome at giving head.

I knew this without a doubt.

I knew this because I’d done it enough times to be sure.

I also knew I had a talent for it because I liked it.

I got off on it.

I was a sucker for the empowerment that came along with the act.

He wanted my red lips around his cock, and I wanted to give him that.

I let him know this by reaching for the button of his jeans. His eyes shot up to find mine when I freed it, and we stared at one another as I lowered the zipper of his fly. It was when I hooked my thumbs over the denim and into the waistband of his boxer briefs that he let go of my face. I dropped to my knees, yanking his clothes down with me.

At the sight of his dick—impressive even at only half-mast—I couldn’t silence the soft cry that sounded from the back of my throat. A fresh surge of wetness coated my insides, and I marveled at the way this man managed to get me drenched without even touching me.

Hell—I needed this.

This night.

This moment.

Pistol.

I grabbed hold of the base of his cock and slowly dragged my tongue along the underside of him. His hips jerked instantly, and I heard his barely contained grunt in response.

My bundle of nerves pulsed again, hyperaware of our circumstances.

I hadn’t had a man inside of me in months—but Pistol—Pistol hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in years.

Peering up at him from beneath my lashes, I considered the magnitude of the moment. Sure, it was only a blowjob; but, so far as I could tell, it was a blowjob of significance. His first one after gaining his freedom.