Page 37 of Second Chance with the Rancher
She shook her head, grinning. “Yeah, I lost count of how many shots I had. I think if I were to ever get married, I’d get stoned instead of drunk.”
He nodded emphatically. “Hundred percent.”
“Plus, the consummation sex would be better. At least, that’s what Triss said. She said she was stoned at the wedding and had amazing sex.”
Heat tingled between his legs.
“We got ripped off, didn’t we?” she asked, taking the cup from him and holding it beneath the spray as she continued to milk Callie.
“In what way?” Now, he was crazy-curious where she was going here.
Her shoulder lifted. “I dunno … just that we don’t even really remember having sex. And yet, we know we did because it resulted in a pregnancy. Because I hadn’t been with anyone else before or after to muddle the timeline. But all I remember is running out of the reception tent and across the field laughing.”
“Then you tripped.”
She giggled. “Then I tripped.”
“And I helped you up.”
“You helped me up, we held hands and continued to run. But I don’t think we kissed.”
“I don’t think we did, either.”
“Then we made it to the barn, but we didn’t make it inside. You plastered me up against the wall—”
“You hiked up your bride’s maid dress—”
“While you unbuttoned your pants.”
“Then you pushed your underwear to the side—”
“And leaped up onto your hips.”
“And …” He lifted an eyebrow and smiled.
“And …” She mirrored him, but her smile was less playful and more seductive. “I remember struggling to get off—which, I know is not a reflection of your prowess—I hope—”
“It’s not,” he said quickly. He needed to make that point very clear. “I have a very nice sized cock and I know what to do with it.”
Her lip twitched like she was trying not to laugh, but all she ended up doing was nodding. “It has to do with my whiskey-numbed clit.”
He snorted. “Whiskey-numbed clit.”
She pressed on. “But like, I don’t even remember what your dick looks like.”
He choked on his spit like a moron, coughing for no reason until he could say, “Not sure I whipped it out and swung it around, so …”
That made her smile. “I think I’d remember that.” Her gaze drifted down to the front of his jeans and she chewed on her bottom lip.
Fuck him. What was she trying to do? Kill him? ‘Cause she was going to succeed. He would die from loss of blood flow to his brain for sure.
“What’s going on here, Minx?” His voice came out far raspier and desperate than he intended, but it seemed to have the right effect on her because her cheeks turned pink and she sucked in a sharp breath.
She shook her head and blinked quickly. “Nothing, sorry. Sleep deprivation.”
“Mhmm.” But he let it drop, despite how badly he wanted to keep going down this interesting rabbit hole.
She still thought about that night. So did he.
