Page 8 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

Kendra

A warm palm settles on my knee.

And the heat of it sends a bolt of electricity up my leg. Straight to my core.

I squeeze my thighs together.

If his touch doesn’t end me, I’ll likely expire of embarrassment. If not tonight, then tomorrow when I remember all the things I’ve said and done.

Calling him Papi. Boldly touching his leg. Him telling me he prefers Daddy , and then me saying it. Doesn’t matter that I did it silently.

I’ve never felt so confident.

Never dared to act like this with a stranger.

I take another drink of my beer.

I’ve also never had such a perfect opportunity to explore this side of myself.

A hot as hell man.

A bar in the middle of nowhere.

A place I can avoid forever, if I want to.

If there’s ever an ideal setup to have a legitimate one-night stand… this is it.

I don’t have to ask what he wants out of his future.

I don’t have to worry about my heart getting broken.

I bite my lip as excitement thrums through me.

Luther’s fingers flex, and his thumb traces a circle on the inside of my knee.

It’s nothing.

But it’s making my core throb.

Jessie sets a new pair of shot glasses on the bar.

We pick them up, his hand not leaving my knee.

Luther holds my gaze as he lifts the small glass to his mouth.

I lift mine, but then I pause as he slowly licks a path across the rim.

The white salt crystals look harsh against the pink of his tongue.

Jesus shot-taking Christ.

My pussy throbs.

He swallows down the liquid.

I swallow nothing.

Then he sets the empty glass down, reaches over to the cocktail napkin, and lifts the lime wedge I sucked on after the first shot.

I watch, mouth going dry, as he lifts the lime to his mouth and bites down on it.

My eyes dart back to the bar, to the third shot glass holding two lime wedges.

He didn’t need to take mine.

Even if there weren’t new ones, he could’ve taken a drink of his beer as a chaser.

But he chose my lime.

He discards the rind back on the napkin, then picks up one of the fresh wedges and hands it to me. Proving he knew it was an option.

I take it, our fingertips brushing.

Someone shouts from the kitchen.

“Our dinner is ready,” Luther states, then he nods to my shot.