Page 103 of Property of Whiskey

“That’s true.”

“Fuck you.”

“Was headed that direction.”

Color climbs into her cheeks.

I smile. “See?”

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re still sitting on my dick.”

She glances down before snapping her eyes back up. “Your jeans are between us.”

“Ain’t helping much.”

A quiet laugh escapes her, but she doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

My hand slides along her waist until my fingers reach the bottom edge of her shirt.

Then I stop.

Twila notices immediately.

“You stopped.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I ain’t fucking you while you’re my prisoner.”

The playfulness leaves her face.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

I look pointedly toward her hips. “Your hips sent a different memo.”

She shoves my shoulder, and I steady her automatically before she can tip backward.

“Asshole.”

“Yep.”

“I thought bikers were supposed to take what they want.”

“Some do.”

“You?”

“Can’t.”

That changes something in her face. Small, but there.

I keep my voice low. “You wake up tomorrow pissed at yourself, that’s your business. You wake up tomorrow wondering if I took something because you were trying to get out, that becomes mine. I have a daughter.”