Trouble (B-Squad 2.75)

"What's wrong, Sweets." He nipped at the spot where her neck met her shoulder. "Do you need some relief?"

"Yes." The sooner she could get him somewhere private and rip his clothes off, the better. "Let's get out of here."

"Don't worry," he said, one hand slipping between them and going straight to the button of her jeans. "I'll give you what you want, but it has to be here."

That's not good.

He popped the button open.

She stilled—her body so tuned into him that she almost missed the sound of people and beer bottles clinking in the main bar area.

"Someone could come in," she said, logic fighting through the haze of lust making her entire body buzz with anticipation.

"Yep, it's after work." He nodded and tugged down her zipper. "The town is filtering in so you'd better hurry because we're not moving away from this wall until you come."

Not here. She tried to form the words, but nothing came out. He slid his fingers underneath the elastic waist of her lace panties and brushed against the swollen tip of her clit. Oh. My. God. Forget everything else. Yes.

"Oh, you are so soft and wet for me," he said, moving his fingers in a tight circle around her sensitive nub, the friction of her jeans against her plump, slick folds only intensifying the sensation. "Does this mean I should dance with you more often or are you always like this for me?"

She arched into his hand, her answer more of a breathy moan than anything else, "Always."

"Fuck. I love that."

His fingers moved faster as the heel of his palm pressed against the spot right above her pelvic bone, intensifying every sensation zinging through her. Her body tightened as she climbed higher and higher toward that moment of bliss.

Her head fell back against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut as the pressure mounted. "I'm so close."

"That's good, Sweets," he whispered in her ear. "The pool league meets here every Wednesday night. They'll be here any minute." His fingers went into overdrive against her clit. "Oh hell, Sweets, you just got more wet. You like the idea of maybe getting caught, don't you? Well, you're gonna get caught if you don't come all over my fingers right now."

His touch combined with the threat of discovery sent her over the edge and she came hard, biting her bottom lip to keep from calling out. Chest heaving, she tried not to melt into a puddle on the floor of The Grange's pool room. She didn't even have the wherewithal to get annoyed at Drew's knowing chuckle as he zipped and buttoned her pants for her. Cracking her eyes open, she watched as he sucked her juices off his fingers.

"Damn, you're sweet," he said with a wink.

Those three words were all it took to get her from zero to one hundred in a heartbeat. "Let's get out of here."

Nodding at the pool league regulars filtering in, they made it out of The Grange and into Drew's truck in record time. They were almost to his house when his phone rang.

"Yeah?" He listened for a minute, the vein in his temple pulsing faster and faster with each passing second. "I'll take care of it." Finally, he ended the call and turned into his driveway. "I have to go take care of something. Curtis has been tailing us from the bar. I'll let him know to stay here with you. Don't open the door to anyone but him or me and don't you dare go anywhere until I get back."

"Why," she asked, reaching across the bench seat to run her hands up the inside of his thigh and over the hard outline of his cock. "Would you spank me?"

He clamped his hand over hers and curled her fingers around as much of his dick as the position allowed. "Sweets, I'm gonna do that anyway."

Forget her panties. Her jeans were soaked now too. "I thought you were off duty."

"The mayor's war against his neighbor's cat is a different story," he said, shaking his hand.

"That is so Catfish Creek."

"No kidding."

With a final squeeze of his cock and a hot kiss that curled her toes, Drew walked her inside the house, did a quick walk through to make sure no one was there, insisted she lock the door behind him, and then headed out to fight the cat scoundrels of Catfish Creek. Watching him drive away gave her a sense of deja vu of that summer, but this time was different. This time he wasn't leaving for Fort Worth without even a goodbye. This time he was coming back, which meant more to her than she wanted to admit to herself.

7

Drew

The scene at the mayor's house wasn't chaos, but it was pretty damn close. The local librarian, Maisy Aucoin, was in the middle of Beauford Lynch's front yard armed with a cast iron frying pan and a cat that looked like it had gone through at least eight of its nine lives in the past hour. The distinct stench of burnt fur carried on the early evening air. Beauford and his wife, Betty Sue, stood on their wraparound porch each armed with matching shotguns with Mr. Right and Mrs. Always Right etched onto the barrels in decorative script.