Page 54 of Country Contract

“We could head over to your place. I could drop you off, and you could take a hot shower and wash the smoke off?”

Then I push the signal down, and it starts blinking and clicking to signal left.

“Or we could go to my place. I could take you out back, we could sink into the hot tub and see where the rest of the night takes us.” I put the blinker back to the middle. The truck is deadly silent with only the soft sounds of our breathing.

She opens her mouth, and I expect her to say something smart, but then she closes it and rubs those pink lips together hard, drawing the bottom one in before it pops back out. Harlow leans over the center console, the smell of smoke clinging to her hair. Her long, lean arm reachesacross, and she pushes the signal down. She leaves herself leaning over the console, turning to meet my gaze. Even in the low lights from my dash, I can see pink tinging the apples of her cheeks and a hint of heat from her dark eyes.

It’s all I need. It’s her answer; she doesn’t have to say anything for it to mean everything.

I’m waiting by the back door of my place, staring at the light coming from under the bathroom door.

I toss two large beach towels on the table and wait for her. In my hasty offer, I didn’t realize that Harlow likely didn’t bring a bathing suit for her fall vacation in a state much cooler than her own. I offered her a gray or white shirt, and she brazenly took the white one from my hands. It was another choice she made tonight with fire in her eyes. Each one only makes me harder for her.

When the door creaks open, I keep my eyes fixed on the floor, taking two steadying breaths before looking up. My eyes travel up a pair of long, slender, creamy legs. My shirt comes just past her underwear, and I catch the smallest sight of black fabric. Instantly, I’m as hard as stone knowing what’s under that cotton barrier.

As my eyes continue moving up, I note how my shirt hangs loosely off her, almost as if she’s wearing a bedsheet sewn together at the sides. I anticipate the showing of black fabric peeking through the white shirt where her bra would lay, but nothing is there. Two small points peek through the fabric, and I’m practically drooling.

Her swan-like neck without the curtain of thick black hair behind it is tinged pink with blush. Her thick mane is piled on top of her head. It's messy and out of the way. Inote the blush that stains her cheeks; it could be from my lingering eyes or the drinks we had at the bonfire.

A quick swipe of her tongue over her lips, and I know I’m a goner. This woman could ask me to do anything, and I would oblige without argument. She could ask me to be her footstool, and I would. She could tell me to fuck off, and I would try my hardest, likely repeatedly jerking off to the very vision in front of me for the rest of my life.

It’s not the first time I’ve looked at a woman wearing one of my shirts, but it sure as hell is the first time the sight has brought me to my knees.

“I left my clothes on the counter.” She pauses for a moment. “For when you drive me back.”

I feel a pang in my chest. I suddenly remember that I’m going to have to drive her back to her place after whatever happens tonight. The no-bed-sharing clause in our agreement. It’s disappointing that I won’t be able to reach for her in the middle of the night.

“That’s fine. Let’s hop in the tub before you catch a chill,” I push myself to say, hiding my disappointment.

Harlow walks toward me, and I swing the back door open, leading her out to my small patio and hot tub. While she undressed, I got it uncovered and the lights set on a low, red setting. She pads her feet onto the cold stone patio, and I watch a shiver take over her.

“Hop in real quick. I’m going to shut the house lights off once you’re in.” She takes light steps on the balls of her feet over to the tub and up the steps before swinging those long legs I crave over and inside. I stare for a moment longer, but she turns to me expectantly.

“Come on,” she commands. I hit the lights and make my way to her.

At the edge of the tub, I pull my shirt over my head andtoss it on the steps before getting in. She sits on the far edge, her arms crossed over her chest, holding herself tightly.

From opposite sides of the tub, we look over each other with hungry eyes. I love the way she looks at my body. It’s like she admires me the way someone would a sculpture in a gallery. There’s an appreciation there that my previous girlfriends didn’t have. It makes me want to preen for her. Not once in my life had I considered myself a pretty boy, but I wouldn’t care if that’s how she saw me right now.

“Is it too hot?” I ask, worried that’s why she’s not sinking in.

She raises a brow at me and slowly shakes her head.

“Sit down.” Without hesitation, I drop onto the seat below me. The hot water rushes me, and I hiss out a breath.

Harlow’s arms drop to her sides, her hands dance across the water, and she takes a few slow steps until she’s in front of me. She’s so tall that only the bottom of my shirt and her panties are wet. The fabric clings to her, and her pink skin peeks through. I look up at her face and see passion burning in her eyes.

In seconds she straddles me, seating herself against my hard length. Water sloshes around me and more fabric clings to her, turning almost transparent. I reach for her, but she catches my wrists, pushing them down to my sides on the seat. The motion causes the front of her to get drenched in warm water, her gaze meeting mine in a silent command to sit still. A quick nod lets her know I won’t move.

Once she rises, I can see her pert, small chest perfectly through my shirt. I groan, wanting to just strip the fabric off her. It clings to her skin, and I’m jealous.

Harlow puts a hand on each shoulder and kneads my tight, hard flesh, her nails just barelyscratching. My head rolls back, and I let her hands slide up and down my shoulders.

She’s exploring my body, and I revel in her adoration. A hand slides across my pecs while the other down my arm. My eyes close as I will her to move farther down. Instead, it slides up past my shoulder, up my neck, and to my chin where she takes hold of my face. With a firm grip, she brings my face forward, and my eyes shoot open.

She’s intoxicating—a true sorceress who has me under her spell.

“Fuck, witch, you’re too much. I want to touch you so fucking bad.”

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