Page 36 of Puck

“Me, how?”

“Naked.”

“And?”

She shook her head. “And . . . everything.”

I laughed, a low rumble. “You want me naked . . . on top of you?” I brushed my lips against her ear. “You want me to tie you up so can’t escape and eat you out until you’re begging me to fuck you? You want me tied up, wearing a cock ring, so you can ride me and fuck me and not let me come until you’re ready? You want to feel my cock sliding down your throat? You want to feel me come all over your tits?”

“That’d be a start,” she answered, a little breathless.

I laughed again, genuinely surprised by her response. “A start, she says.”

“Yeah, a start. You got more?”

Her thighs loosened, and I slid my touch a little higher. “I got plenty more,” I murmured. “Enough to keep you coming for days.”

“Promises, promises.” My phone rang, a short shrill chirp, surprising me. She nudged me. “You better answer.”

“Oh. Right.” I lifted the headset to my ear and answered it. “Ivar.”

“The first vehicle is two minutes from your location.” A brief pause. “I would get my hand out of that woman’s skirt and be ready for action, if I were you.”

I jerked my hand away from Colbie and stood up, searching. “You’ve got eyes on us.”

“I would not survive very long if I went blindly into situations.” His laugh was disconcerting. “I have been observing you attempting to woo that woman for some time.”

“It ain’t an attempt if I succeed, now is it?”

“I suppose not. Now, if you please, attend to the job at hand.”

“I’m attending, bro, I’m attending.”

“Then you are aware of the four men approaching on foot from the east?”

I pivoted, scanning, and found the men he was talking about—on foot on the sidewalk across the street, less than a hundred yards away, each with a pistol out, eyes fixed on me. “Now I am.”

“Do you wish to dispose of them, or should I?”

“Let’s split the fun,” I suggested. “You silenced?”

“Of course.”

I put the phone on speaker and set it down, went to one knee, pistol in both hands. “First to take down two wins.”

“Stakes?”

“Bottle of Pappy Van Winkle.”

Ivar chuckled. “Very well. Begin on three. One . . . two . . . three.”

The moment he said three, I squeezed the trigger, felt the pistol jerk and my ears rang with the report, and I watched the rear-most man jerk backward, his head flying back on his shoulders. At the same moment, the one in front collapsed abruptly, a hole blossoming his forehead. I was already pulling aim on the next man forward, but he already had a hole between his eyes, and the third a split second later. In my defense, I’d already fired twice, and my bullets hit them each a fraction of a second after Ivar’s.

“Goddammit,” I growled. I picked up the phone and clicked off speaker. “Anselm wasn’t kidding about you.”

“What did he say?”

“That you made him seem like a cute little puppy or something.”