Page 7 of Until You

“We lead very different lives. I’m on the ranch all day working with cattle and other things. He’s a tech genius.”

“Interesting,” she says.

“Is it?” I ask.

She laughs. “No, not really.”

Her tongue slips out and slides over her full bottom lip, and my dick tightens against my thigh. It’s a wonder I have any blood left in my brain at this point.

A crowd moves in from outside and starts filing in to grab tables. A few of them have umbrellas that they leave at the front door.

“Must be raining,” I say, stating the obvious.

Mischief grabs my hand. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yes.”

I take her hand and lead her outside. Heavy rain falls into the parking lot and thunder booms in the background.

“My truck is over there.” I point to the white double cab under one of the blinking street lamps. “I don’t have an umbrella.”

She gives me a grin. “I won’t melt.”

I grab her hand and we make a run for it. Her delighted giggle punctuates our entire jog to my truck. By the time I lift her up into the cab, she’s pretty well soaked.

I make my way to my side, and my shirt is drenched, but my hat kept it out of my face.

I slide onto my seat and close the door. Then, I reach into the backseat for some towels I always keep on hand. You never know when you need to clean up something when working with livestock.

I’m halfway to handing her a towel when my gaze snags on the front of her tank top. It’s now virtually transparent from the rain, and I can clearly see her tight nipples straining against the fabric, and both of them have bars through the tips.

“Fuck. Are your nipples pierced?” I ask, my voice doing nothing to hide my desire.

“They are,” she says. She glances down at her wet shirt. “Guess I’m not leaving so much to the imagination at this point.”

I swallow thickly and shake my head because words won’t form.

She reaches out and grabs one of my hands and pulls it to her breast. “They’re very sensitive,” she breathes.

I swipe my thumb against the metal and turgid flesh, and even through the material of her shirt and bra, she still arches into my touch.

I adjust my erection. “I’m going to drive somewhere,” I say. “Anywhere in particular you want to go?”

“Somewhere a little more private.”

I nod, then start the truck.

She takes it upon herself to lean forward and turn on the radio. Country music fills the speakers and almost immediately she starts singing along.

“You listen to Country?” I ask.

“I listen to a little bit of everything. Truth be told, country music from the nineties is my favorite. It’s what my foster mother listened to, so it’s what I grew up with.”

“Good stuff in the nineties. Garth Brooks, George Straight, Diamond Rio.”

“Don’t forget Reba,” she says.

“I could never forget Reba.” I give her a grin. Thankfully, I get to where I’m heading faster than I expected, and then I’m pulling down the narrow back road that leads to Seven Mile Dam.