Wrangler by Dani Wyatt Page A

simmers then explodes in the cool late summer night. 
    Her dimple is on full display, making my balls quiver like a scared little girl. But no way. If anyone is cumming tonight, it’s her.  My greedy ass dick will have to cool his heels; this filly is always going to come first. 
    “I know I served you ice water all night, but maybe you sipped on your grandad’s jar of white lightnin’ when I wasn’t looking.”
    I may be jumping the gun, I get it.  What I know about her could fit inside a thimble. I know her first name, I’ve managed to hold her hand, get my fingers on the softest skin I’ve ever felt, but even with so little, it’s so much.  I’ve gone from a man who hasn’t given a woman a righteous second glance for far too long, to one that takes a leap from holding a hand to thoughts of carrying her over the threshold and a desire to secure her in my life by any means necessary.
    I lower both hands to entwine our fingers.  The way her soft skin contrasts with my calloused hands is beautiful.
    “I did feel drunk back there, I’ll admit that.  And I was drinking something. Only I was using my eyes not my mouth.”
    As soon as the words leave my lips, my chest constricts at the thought of my mouth between her legs, drinking her, and I have to swallow hard and let go of her hand.
    I drop our hands, grip her waist and feel her press her back toward the open tailgate at my touch. “One, two, three, okay?”
    “What?”  She crinkles her nose when she says it and I like how she doesn’t know what to do with her hands, but she’s also not pushing mine away.
    I nod at the open truck bed and secure my fingers at the nip of her waist. 
    “Ready?  On three.”  I nod, dig my fingers into the softness. Her eyes are on mine, looking like the most delicious melted chocolate.  “One, two, three.”
    She gives this little bunny hop and it makes her as light as a Saturday evening breeze. It takes no effort to lift her, and a moment later I’ve got her where I need her, facing me, ready to lay her back and show her just how I intend to worship her.
    She goes to adjust herself, scooting back and tugging at the hem of the soft fabric of her skirt and I move in, pressing my body between her knees.
    “There.”  I lick my lips trying not to drool. “Now, have you decided how to thank me?” 
    I can’t help it, my fingers toy with a stray hair that dangles over her forehead.  An intensity is growing inside of me that could quickly turn dangerous.  I want her in a way that scares me, like I didn’t even know what wanting was before, and I don’t know anything about her, but I intend to have it all.
    “Thank you.  I said thank you.  Do you want some money?”  The words come out in a whisper, like she’s not quite sure what’s about to happen.  Her eyes teeter between twinkling excitement and more than a healthy hint of fear.
    “No.  I don’t want money, Dove.”  I inch forward, spreading her legs with my hips, and I fucking swear I catch the scent of her pussy on the air and I just about lose my mind.
    I want to flip her skirt up and see what’s under there.  I’m hoping soft cotton, white maybe with the day of the week embroidered on them.  She’s not a thong girl, and that’s only right.  Something about her makes me want her to be innocent so I’ll be the first to be here.
    Only me. But a beauty like this, she’s surely had dicks after her for a long time. I’m sure one of them has been where I want to be right now and just the thought has my jaw tight. 
    “I...I have some tip money I could give—” I cut her off when I settle my hands above each knee, gripping the softness there. 
    “I told you, I don’t want your money.  I want your thanks.  Those are very different things.”
    “I don’t know—” Her eyelids flutter shut as I press my hands a bit farther up her thighs, my fingers finding the skin just under the hem of her skirt. The warmth is radiating straight onto