Page 89 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

I fucking love you.

Throwing my arms around his neck, I hop onto the counter, grip his shirt with my fists, and pull him close. I lick the seam of his lips and say, “I love you.”

He mutters, “I know,” and crashes his mouth to mine.

Clothing is shed fast. The door is unlocked. I’m pretty sure his truck is wide open in the middle of downtown, and we’re getting lost in each other. His mouth is everywhere. He cradles my breasts in his palms and sucks one peaked nipple into his mouth as his thumb flicks the other before he switches it up. Releasing one with a pop, he growls, “See, no need for a damn bra.”

I laugh before it ends on a moan as he yanks me to the edge of the counter. My bare ass is on it and he’s kneeling between my thighs. His mouth finds me, and I pull his face deeper into me. His tongue, fingers, and lips leave me wailing and bucking on the counter. Fisting his hair, I yank as hard as I can. He stands, and as he enters me, I slam my mouth against his. He fucks me with the same tempo as our tongues. My nails are digging into the tattooed muscles of his shoulders as his fingers dig into my hips so tightly, I’m going to bruise. I don’t care.

The slapping of our flesh and the joining of our hips bounces around the small trailer. It echoes and reverberates. I moan, “Chase… baby… Ohhhh, Chase… Yes, baby… Yes.”

He groans and grunts. The angle of my being on the counter has him hitting my sweet spot with every thrust and it vibrates against my clit… I can’t… Leaning forward, I bite the hell out of his shoulder as I come. It triggers him and he bellows, “Rox… Oh, Roxy… I fucking love you…” as he shatters. He pulses inside of me as he fills me, and I continue to tremble.

My eyes slowly open and I snicker as I glance around. “Babe… we just christened your food truck… in a parking lot…”

Pressing a kiss to the curve of my breast, he chuckles, “Of course we did. I mean, we’re us.”

Slapping his shoulder, I mutter, “Gonna get arrested for public indecency or some shit.”

Chase laughs outright, “Nah. We’re inside the truck. Besides, I’ll feed the police for free. With my food and your face, we’re golden, Rox.”

After we get dressed, we grab the antiseptic wipes from Chase’s toolbox and clean everything. Then, we spend an hour inside, sketching ideas on the counters with dry-erase markers and arguing over menu names.

“No, babe, you can’t name a burger ‘The Wedding Crasher.’” Chase exclaims.

“Why not? It’s fun!” I retort cheekily, loving the banter between us.

“It sounds like it comes with divorce papers.” He growls.

I laugh. “I could never serve you with any.”

He mutters, “We should name it Dressed Hot Mess, after you.”

By the time we lock up the truck, my cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing.

He laces our fingers together and walks me back to his truck “Can you believe it? It’s happening.”

I hop into the seat as he opens the door but wrap my arms around his neck and hold him close. He leans in, resting his forehead against mine. “I’ve never believed in anything harder, baby.” I kiss him.

Back home, I curl into him on the couch.

“Next step’s inspection,” he says. “Then, finishing the wrap design and I hopefully get my liquor license.”

I nuzzle his shoulder sleepily. “What’s the design?”

He grins while watching me. “Your face.”

“Chase! Are you serious?”

Is he? Is my face really on his food truck?

He nods. “Dead serious. It’s Foxy Roxy’s Fork Yeah! Why wouldn’t your gorgeous face be on it? But you’re illustrated and holding a margarita in one hand and a shrimp and grits empanada on a fork in the other.”

I shake my head, laughing. “You’re being serious.”

He shrugs. “I already told you I was dead serious, babe. You love me.”

Pressing a kiss to his jaw before settling back into his arms and sighing, I mutter, “God help me, I do.”

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