Page 87 of Drifter’s Heart

Winnie licks her lips again and traces the outline of my cock as I thicken beneath her ministrations. Fuck, her hands are made for me. Too small to fully grip and work me; strong enough together to get the job done. The tease edges me to the limits of my control, and she’s just getting started.

I palm the wall, willing myself into some semblance of control. Right now is her playtime. That’s what tonight is about. It’s not a dirty weekend—or at least it’s not just that. Sure, Winnie’s got a babysitter and free hours. Hours we’re both gonna regret for her lack of sleep, though both of us are primed that way. Her shift work and my insomnia are a match made in nursing hell for her.

I’ll always be up when she gets home, to eat with her. I’ll be there when she needs me to fuck her at all hours of the night. I’ll be there when she needs to blow off steam for as long as she wants. Fuck, if she keeps playing the way she is, I’ll be taking a knee for a different reason, and it’ll be with a ring in one scarred hand.

And not just because my girl has some talents I didn’t know about earlier, though they’re a pretty benefit right now.

She reaches for my belt, a question in her eyes. Not breaking our unspoken rule for the night, I give her a single nod. She works the leather free, her concentration the prettiest thing I’ve seen in hours. I ache to touch her, but I keep my hands to myself and let her play, work it all out of herself.

Winnie loves control, and stripping that away from her right now might also shatter the fragile trust we’re still developing. I can hold her later. After. When she’s ready to be held. All I can do right now is endure the torture that she wants me to tolerate at her hands.

Hands that skim over me as she lets my pants drop to my knees.

I step out of the slumped fabric pooling at my feet at her nod and hold out my wrists, breaking the rules. Letting her know that this is still my game, if she’s willing to play. A frown crosses her face and I smirk, thumbing the cufflinks once.

She figures it out fast after that, taking the silver longhorns with their diamond-studded eyes and sliding them into my pocket with my permission—another nod easily given. It becomes a simple shorthand, tonight’s form of communication. Her body rubs lightly to mine before she steps back, a juddering inhale fortifying her before she reaches up to roll my shirt from my shoulders.

It’s been a long damn time since I’ve had a woman undress me, and never with the reverence or focus that she does now. The fact that she’s dressed when I’m not doesn’t bother me in the least. Winnie is set on her task, tracing over muscle and scar and ink with tentative touches. I nod each time, letting her know she’s all right to continue, giving her access to every single part of me without limits.

She takes that tour, moving me away from the wall and then back again in a slow circle, seeing me naked for the first time. When she drops to take my socks off my feet, I secure a lock of hair and tug gently, drawing her upward, shaking my head for the first time.

She blinks, shocked by the subtle no, but I have zero intention of letting her kneel for me tonight. “But⁠—”

I shake my head and place a fingertip over her soft lips, tracing their shape. She lets me, sighing as I plump her bottom lip, prying her mouth open. Blown pupils meet mine and hold as I slide my finger into her mouth. She sucks gently, flicking the top with her tongue, warm and soft.

My hitched breath gives her the signal she wants, and she sucks while her warm hands find my bare cock and work me just as gently.

I groan again, sliding a second finger into her mouth as I force my hips to keep still. It’s utter torture and perfection in one. She knows exactly what I need—sweet pressure, a thumb swept through the beads of precum leaking from my tip for her and spread over my head as she pumps me and then traces lightly. One hand drops to my balls, fondling me.

I want to close my eyes and blow my load all over her hand, giving in to the need building fast inside me.

I want to spin her about and sink inside her warm heat, fill her with my seed and mark her as mine again and again.

I want to kiss her and feel her respond to me until the sun replaces the fake city lights outside.

I do none of those things.

Slowly, excruciatingly, I withdraw my fingers from her lips and wipe them on my thigh. She drops her hand, her breaths slow and steady. The peace between us is a moment I’m unwilling to shatter. A serenity she’s come here seeking. And when I take her hand, leading her to my living area, I know that I’m about to shatter that all to hell.

Because that calm that we’ve just worked for, our bodies and lips tingling for what’s to come?

It’s the moment that thread of perfection starts to unravel.

TWENTY-EIGHT

WINNIE

What Is Soft Is Strong

My body aches and drips all at once for the man who stands naked before me like a glorious tanned, scarred god. Perfect and imperfect, proud and unashamed.

Glorious.

He’s everything I want and need and yet unattainable all at once.

West’s hand wraps around mine, his hold firm as he leads me into the living area. My lips still feel the indent of his fingers pressed between them where I sucked them, but the indecency of that action is the least we will do tonight. I know that, and I’m prepared.

That’s what I came here for, after all.