Read Online Betting on Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 2) by Roxie Noir - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Roxie Noir
Ads: Link
wide.
I want to lick it , she thought.
Instead, she reached out one hand and ran her forefinger along the scar. She started at the circle on his chest, and let her finger trail down, until the scar ended, almost on his hip bone.
“This was all one steer?” she asked, letting her hand linger over him, running her finger up and down the end of the scar, through the light line of hair that ran down his belly and into the waistband of his jeans.
Jack nodded.
“It took about two seconds, maybe less,” he said. “It threw me, I got up, and bam . Unzipped me, then stuck a horn right through.”
He twisted in the booth, moving his shirt out of the way so she could see the round scar on his back, this one only the size of a quarter. Kirsten touched that one too, her fingers exploring the smooth surface, the edges.
At another table, Kirsten noticed a couple of women staring at Jack and not even being subtle about it.
Ha! she thought. He’s with me!
“Now I run a glorified bed and breakfast,” Jack said.
“Well, you partly run it,” said Houston. “I don’t remember the last time you opened a spreadsheet.”
He had his arm around Kirsten now, and she relaxed into him, even as her hand trailed along Jack’s torso. Jack cast a glance around the bar, then started buttoning his shirt again.
“Oh, come on,” said Kirsten. She hooked one finger under the waistband of his jeans and tugged, even though he could hardly move closer to her. “Don’t do that.”
Jack looked over Kirsten’s head at Houston.
“I swear she wants us naked in public,” he said.
“We already put on a show that she personally requested,” rumbled Houston. Kirsten could feel his voice vibrate through her as he spoke. “I don’t know how much raunchier we can get without getting kicked out.”
Jack put one arm under Kirsten’s feet and hoisted them onto his lap, so she was leaning against Houston on one side and Jack on the other. Her skirt had ridden up so that it was now mid-thigh, and out of habit, Kirsten tried to pull it down.
Both of them laughed at once.
“So I can be naked, but you can’t show a little thigh,” Jack said. “I get it.”
“I can show a little ,” said Kirsten.
“But you’re not that kind of girl?” asked Houston.
Kirsten was less sure of that with every passing second.
“I don’t want to flash the whole bar,” she said, trying to sound reasonable.
Jack put his hands on her knees and starting tracing her kneecap with one finger, a chill running up Kirsten’s body.
“What now?” she asked, stretching her legs out. Her skirt rode up a little, now maybe six inches above her knee, and she didn’t fix it.
“I’d offer more drinks, but I’m sort of comfortable here,” Houston said. He brushed the hair off of her neck, his fingers skimming along her skin, and Kirsten closed her eyes, sighing.
“Is that room service champagne still on offer?” she asked, wiggling her toes in her shoes.
Jack and Houston looked at each other.
“She thinks we’re easy,” said Houston.
Jack drummed his fingers on her thigh, leaning back in the booth, nudging her legs closer to his torso, his metal belt buckle cool on her calf.
“You made it pretty clear that we weren’t doing that tonight,” Jack said. “Maybe we don’t feel like it now.”
“You’re impossible,” she teased. “Both of you.”
“We’re respectable,” said Houston.
“What if we stop by Elvis first,” Kirsten joked. “Will that make you feel less taken advantage of?”
She was kidding, but when she said it, Jack looked straight at her, his face totally serious for a moment, a glimmer of something deep in his green eyes. Kirsten couldn’t see Houston’s face, but he kissed the top of her head.
We seriously could , thought Kirsten. I know I’m drunk, but why the fuck not? Either it works out or it’s a funny story I get to tell to my grandkids someday.
“We’d all be showering the glitter off for days,” said
I want to lick it , she thought.
Instead, she reached out one hand and ran her forefinger along the scar. She started at the circle on his chest, and let her finger trail down, until the scar ended, almost on his hip bone.
“This was all one steer?” she asked, letting her hand linger over him, running her finger up and down the end of the scar, through the light line of hair that ran down his belly and into the waistband of his jeans.
Jack nodded.
“It took about two seconds, maybe less,” he said. “It threw me, I got up, and bam . Unzipped me, then stuck a horn right through.”
He twisted in the booth, moving his shirt out of the way so she could see the round scar on his back, this one only the size of a quarter. Kirsten touched that one too, her fingers exploring the smooth surface, the edges.
At another table, Kirsten noticed a couple of women staring at Jack and not even being subtle about it.
Ha! she thought. He’s with me!
“Now I run a glorified bed and breakfast,” Jack said.
“Well, you partly run it,” said Houston. “I don’t remember the last time you opened a spreadsheet.”
He had his arm around Kirsten now, and she relaxed into him, even as her hand trailed along Jack’s torso. Jack cast a glance around the bar, then started buttoning his shirt again.
“Oh, come on,” said Kirsten. She hooked one finger under the waistband of his jeans and tugged, even though he could hardly move closer to her. “Don’t do that.”
Jack looked over Kirsten’s head at Houston.
“I swear she wants us naked in public,” he said.
“We already put on a show that she personally requested,” rumbled Houston. Kirsten could feel his voice vibrate through her as he spoke. “I don’t know how much raunchier we can get without getting kicked out.”
Jack put one arm under Kirsten’s feet and hoisted them onto his lap, so she was leaning against Houston on one side and Jack on the other. Her skirt had ridden up so that it was now mid-thigh, and out of habit, Kirsten tried to pull it down.
Both of them laughed at once.
“So I can be naked, but you can’t show a little thigh,” Jack said. “I get it.”
“I can show a little ,” said Kirsten.
“But you’re not that kind of girl?” asked Houston.
Kirsten was less sure of that with every passing second.
“I don’t want to flash the whole bar,” she said, trying to sound reasonable.
Jack put his hands on her knees and starting tracing her kneecap with one finger, a chill running up Kirsten’s body.
“What now?” she asked, stretching her legs out. Her skirt rode up a little, now maybe six inches above her knee, and she didn’t fix it.
“I’d offer more drinks, but I’m sort of comfortable here,” Houston said. He brushed the hair off of her neck, his fingers skimming along her skin, and Kirsten closed her eyes, sighing.
“Is that room service champagne still on offer?” she asked, wiggling her toes in her shoes.
Jack and Houston looked at each other.
“She thinks we’re easy,” said Houston.
Jack drummed his fingers on her thigh, leaning back in the booth, nudging her legs closer to his torso, his metal belt buckle cool on her calf.
“You made it pretty clear that we weren’t doing that tonight,” Jack said. “Maybe we don’t feel like it now.”
“You’re impossible,” she teased. “Both of you.”
“We’re respectable,” said Houston.
“What if we stop by Elvis first,” Kirsten joked. “Will that make you feel less taken advantage of?”
She was kidding, but when she said it, Jack looked straight at her, his face totally serious for a moment, a glimmer of something deep in his green eyes. Kirsten couldn’t see Houston’s face, but he kissed the top of her head.
We seriously could , thought Kirsten. I know I’m drunk, but why the fuck not? Either it works out or it’s a funny story I get to tell to my grandkids someday.
“We’d all be showering the glitter off for days,” said
Similar Books
