Until the Tequila (The Killers #3.5)(14)

“Lucky me.” I untangle her clothes from her feet and throw one of her legs over my shoulder. Looking up at her, I lick my lips. “Baby, I plan on breaking down all your walls, so lean back and enjoy it.”

Then, I do what I wanted to do in her kitchen and again last night before she fell asleep—hell, what I’ve wanted since the moment I laid eyes on her. Her T-shirt has nothing on the nirvana lying between her legs. I lick up from her center to her clit and she grabs onto my hair and gasps. When I suck her into my mouth she thrusts her hips forward, offering me everything and I take it. With one hand on her ass to hold her still, I lift her leg higher and devour her.

So fucking sweet. I’ve come to love my wine, but Mary on my tongue is something far more potent.

But this? Her?

I feel it. She holds me, lock and key. I’m her prisoner.

Mary is my vice.

Between fucking her with my tongue and consuming every inch of her pussy, she starts to rock against my mouth. Her whimpers, shallow breaths, and moans of my name echo off the limestone walls of the barn. It’s the sweetest symphony I’ve ever heard.

When she comes I have to support her weight as her body convulses and she spasms on my mouth. That goes straight to my dick and if I don’t have her soon, I’ll explode.

Without letting her go, I stand, yank her T-shirt up and off, along with her bra. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

In her post orgasmic bliss, she lifts her sexy eyes to mine. “I’ve dreamed of you but never thought it could happen.”

I pick her up and it takes her a tick for her to lift her languid arms and legs around me. With one hand at her ass, I pull the tie on her hair, letting her colorful locks fall around us. “I might eat you out in the barn, but I’m not fucking you here for the first time. We’re going to the guest house.”

She rubs her pussy against my aching cock but her words are nothing but pure sarcasm. “Of course. I should’ve assumed you’d have guest quarters. I was crazy to think we don’t fit—what with me growing up in a crack house, my dad whoring out my mom, and me being bumped around in foster care. We’re a match made in hell, Evan.”

I frown and pull her head back so I can look into her eyes. “I’m gonna fuck those thoughts right out of your head. Don’t ever utter them again.”

I turn the corner and she shivers in my arms from the cool night air as I make the short walk through the darkness to the building next door that my parents converted into guest quarters for breeders and buyers.

I punch in the master code to the electronic lock and turn the knob. Flipping on the lights, I still in the entryway when my eyes catch us in the mirror. Mary is naked and wrapped around me, her fair skin a stark contrast to my tan arms from riding and lacrosse. But it’s the skin above her ass that gets my attention.

“What’s this?” Her body tightens as I run my fingers over the small of her back where the ends of her hair tease my fingers.

She frowns before turning to look over her shoulder. When her eyes meet mine in the mirror, she exhales in a huff—a loss for words.

I grip her ass. “This means something and you’re telling me now so when I’m looking down at this while I’m fucking you, it’ll mean something to me, too.”





9





Game Over





Mary





I tense in his arms.

“I’m serious, Mary. If you inked this on your skin, it means something, not just some drunken ramblings. I want to know before I take you for the first time.”

I look over my shoulder to our reflection. With the dark of night framing us from behind, only the light from the fancy sconces on either side of the mirror brightens our space. I’m naked, wrapped around Evan’s muscular body where he’s holding me easily, his hand squeezing my ass.

His eyes are on my lower back, specifically on the colorful art that decorates my skin. I got the tattoo the day I turned eighteen and was no longer a ward of the state. It looks painted on with bright watercolors in hues of greens, purples, teals, and golds. A dandelion with seeds blowing across my back. I saved up for it, planned it for years leading up to my freedom.

Freedom.

Between my fucked-up parents, the equally fucked-up foster care system, and me trying to survive, I never had a day of it until I turned eighteen.

His eyes catch mine in the mirror and I press my sex into his cock—the rough denim of his jeans biting into my sensitive skin and over stimulated clit from his charmed tongue and lips. All this time I fantasized about that tongue but I never did it justice. His mouth between my legs was pure paradise.

“It’s a dandelion,” I say.

He raises a brow. “No shit. Why do you love them so much?”

I turn away from the mirror and all I see are shadowed whiskey eyes. “When I was put in foster care for the first time, the woman was nice—the nicest I ever had. I was so little but I’ll never forget what she said. She called me a pretty little dandelion who grew up out of the cracked pavement. Then she said most people think dandelions are weeds and crush their happy spirit, but she thought they were beautiful and only needed the warmth of the sun to grow. She was the best foster mom I ever had but the courts gave me back to my dad after just a couple weeks. I never saw her again but I’ll never forget her. My tattoo means I’m free.”