Page 102 of Now and Then

“I like anything you do to me.” I adjust myself, trying to lessen the pressure my Wrangler’s are causing.

“How about this?” She presses her palm against me and squeezes me through my jeans.

My hips rise involuntarily toward her.

“You know,” she pants, kissing along my cheekbone, “you never did pay up.”

“Pay up?” I’m barely able to hear anything over the buzzing in my ears from her touch, let alone figure out what she’s talking about. She must see my confusion.

“You lost our bet,” she says, eyes full of fire and want.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

I look at her. Her emerald eyes are flaring, and I can practically see the war battling in her mind.

“I want to touch you.” Her eyes never stray from mine.

“So touch me.”

Sutton leans forward and unsnaps my shirt buttons. The more she exposes my chest, the more transfixed she becomes. Her right hand dips beneath the fabric of my shirt and smooths over my pectoral muscles. We moan at the same time.

“You like this?” She pushes my shirt off my shoulders.

“Sutton.” I lay my head back against the seat. “You could be throwing darts at me, and I think I’d like it.”

This makes her giggle. “I won’t throw darts at you. Promise.”

My shirt gets stuck at my elbows, but she leaves it there, instead pulling the waistband of my jeans. When her hands drift lower, my stomach trembles. Fantasies don’t hold a candle to how it feels having Sutton touch me like this.

Her voice quivers, barely mumbling, “Can I?” She nods toward the bulge in my pants.

“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth.

With one hand, she unbuckles my belt and pops the button on my jeans. She slowly slides the zipper down. I grip the steering wheel so hard I think I might tear it from the dashboard.

“I always wondered . . .” She trails her fingers through my chest hair.

I groan at the touch. “Wondered what?”

“If you had hair—” She makes a gesture from my chest hair down to my pelvis, making me chuckle.

“That’s what you’ve been wondering all these years? Whether I man-scape or not?”

She snorts and looks me in the eye. “Yes, but also . . .” Her voice fades off.

“Baby girl, you’re killing me here.”

We’re breathing so quickly I’m certain one or both of us may pass out at any moment.

When her fingers trail down my chest and stomach and dip below the band of my briefs, I freeze. Sutton’s fingers tremble, her touch too light, like maybe she’s nervous, so I take her palm and shove it down my jeans. She moans as her hand closes around my warm flesh.

“Holy fuck,” we say in unison.

Neither of us say anything as she squeezes me. It’s almost painful not being able to touch her.

“Hunter.” The way she sighs my name as she strokes me should be illegal. Her palm covers the crown, but the confines of my jeans make it difficult to do much else.

“This would be a whole lot easier at home,” I groan out.