Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(95)

I was sure there were more words. And definitely a few not so pretty ones. I had to tell him about the sketch, and we had to talk to Sheriff Tucker sooner rather than later.

But for right this second, I was just going to kiss the hell out of Jonah Bodine on a beautiful, hot summer night.

His mouth closed over mine, tongue and teeth taking charge, and I welcomed it. He was who I wanted for my lifetime. We fit. We belonged.

“Shelby, honey, how much do you like that dress?” he asked.

“Not as much as I’d like your hands on me,” I told him.





53





Shelby





The garden shed had the metallic tang of potting soil in the musky air. Dimly, I could make out shelves along one wall stocked with terra cotta pots and the like. The opposite wall was a puzzle of tools and gardening implements. And on the back wall, there was a long, skinny workbench.

Jonah carried me to it, settled me on it, and drew me to the edge.

He cupped my face in one hand, and I felt rather than saw him stare into me.

“My girl,” he breathed.

I spread my knees wide and used my heels to drag him against me.

The bulge behind his zipper ground into me. I could feel the metal through the thin cotton of my thong.

The noise he made was primal. We were eye-to-eye as he flexed his erection against my opening.

I gripped the edge of the workbench, and the straps of my dress slid down my arms, hanging precariously. The scoop neck deepened to indecent. Jonah was bucking against me now, slowly, rhythmically. As if he were waiting for the dress to give up its battle against gravity.

Obliging him, I curved my shoulders forward and was rewarded with a gasp that I felt on my hard, furled nipples. He bent and dipped his tongue into the neckline of the dress where one areola peeked through. The rough flat of his tongue drove me wild. While he licked and sucked, I went to work on his belt and pants.

I didn’t want him slow and sweet tonight. I wanted him wild with his own need. Desperate to have me.

I used my hands and my heels to shove his pants down just enough.

He sprang free, bobbing against my swollen clit, and it was my turn to gasp. Ignoring the fact that I was fisting the root of his cock, Jonah moved to lick over my other nipple. The dress was bunched around my waist from the top and bottom like a yellow tutu. My breasts were bared to his mouth while his hand slid between my legs.

He hooked a finger under the thong over the growing wet spot and then, with unfair patience, dragged the material back and forth over my cleft.

“I’m going to want you in this dress again and again,” he growled.

He raked his teeth over my nipple, and I shivered.

“I’ll want you bent over a table, your skirts pushed up, and your sweet ass on display. Just waiting for me to touch you.” He slid the thong to the side and skated the tip of one finger through my seam.

I was balanced on the edge of the table and had nowhere to go. Forward would have me falling. Back would take me away from the cock I was trying to tempt with busy fingers. I stroked up to the top, my thumb dancing over the slit there.

“I’ll want you to wear this to nice parties so I can lure you out into the woods and finger fuck you against a tree.”

Jonah pumped into my hand and then slid two fingers into me.

I gripped his cock tighter. He groaned, nuzzling his cheek against my breasts before bringing his mouth to mine.

The kiss, that glorious filthy kiss, mimicked what we were doing to each other. Short, sharp thrusts of tongue, finger, cock. I ached for more, even as I felt my inner muscles dance. I could come on his fingers. But I wanted all of him. I wanted to seal this night and our promises the right way.

“Take me here, Jonah,” I begged. I brought my heels to the edge of the table, opening my legs as wide as they could go.

“Fuck, Shelby. Who could say no to you?” He brought his forehead to mine, nipped at my lower lip, still pumping himself into my hand, still fucking me with his fingers.

Our breath mingled in the dark.

“Please, Jonah,” I breathed.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “Your body’s been through a lot today, and I’m worked up enough that I don’t know if I can be gentle.”

“That’s exactly what I want. Don’t be gentle with me. Trust me to take it, to handle it.”

He growled low, fighting with his body’s wants and his need to be careful with me.

“Show me you trust me,” I demanded. I angled the head of his cock so it brushed between my wet, wet folds on his next thrust.

I saw the tightening of his jaw. He grabbed me by the back of the neck with one hand. “I’m going to be so pissed at you if you let me hurt you.”

“We’ll both deal with it,” I promised, nudging my hips forward so he was notched in place. “Take me. Show me.”

Without warning he drove into me, impaling me on the table. And then he was dragging his cock in and out of my slick flesh. Owning me. Claiming me.

He held me by the neck, keeping our foreheads pressed tight as he fucked into me.

“Stay quiet,” he warned. “There are about fifty people right outside this door who could hear you scream when you come on my cock, Shelby.”

I sobbed out a response, clinging to his shoulders as he used my body. It felt so decadent. Like my body and I were no longer strangers. Like Jonah had taught me how to find the pleasure my body could afford.