Read Online Lyric and Lingerie (The Fort Worth Wranglers Book 1) by Tracy Wolff, Katie Graykowski - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tracy Wolff, Katie Graykowski
Ads: Link
inappropriate images, namely of Lyric and her double Ds above him as she followed the advice of T-shirts everywhere: Save a horse. Ride a Cowboy.
But he could tell things were getting critical, and he really didn’t want her to have an accident, so he ushered her to the large handicap stall at the back of the restroom. As he locked the door behind them, one of the women who’d been primping at the mirror called, “When’s my turn, Deuce?”
“One at a time, ma’am. The line forms to the right,” he called over the stall door.
He turned to Lyric. “All right,” he said, laying out his improvised tools on the ledge created by the toilet paper holder like a nurse preparing a tray of sterile implements. “Let’s get to work.”
Examining the duct tape like it was a medium-rare New York strip, Heath grabbed the spork in his left hand and took the knife in his right. Then he stepped back and spent a moment taking stock. Did he start at the top and work down or at the bottom and work up? Both had appeal.
Lyric danced from side to side, humming Beyoncé louder. “Do. Something.”
He hadn’t remembered her ever humming before.
He knelt in front of her—genuflecting to Mistress Duct Tape—and pain shot through his bad knee at the awkward position. Gritting his teeth, he ignored it and sawed lightly at the dress’s hem. The pathetic plastic knife bent and twisted under his hand with each slice, but he didn’t want to hurt her so he kept the pressure light.
“Hurry.” She clamped her thighs together.
Christ, the way she said that word—like he was inside her and she couldn’t come fast enough—turned him on. Great, now he had a bum knee and a hard-on from hell to deal with. Instead of focusing on the pain, he concentrated on freeing her bare bottom. Her round, lush, sexy-as-hell bare bottom. Sweat broke out on his upper lip, and he shifted, determined to concentrate on the problem at hand.
“Open your legs.” It came out a little short, but seriously, if he had a nickel for every time he’d said that, he’d have a shitload of nickels. “Sit on the toilet.”
Now that was a new one.
Lyric looked at him in horror, then leaned over and pulled several handfuls of toilet paper from the holder before she began arranging them as a seat cushion.
Heath scooted closer to her. “Jesus, I thought you were in a hurry.”
“I am, but there are rules. A lady squats but never sits on a public toilet. Did you know the average public toilet has two million bacteria per square inch?” She piled more toilet paper into what could only be called a wreath arrangement on the seat. Was it a centerpiece or a toilet? He was getting confused. Especially when his old pal Lyric referred to herself as a lady. He’d never thought of her like that before. Then again, now that he’d been this close to her luscious thighs, he’d probably never be able to think of her as anything but.
He rubbed his knee. “I’ll file that little tidbit under Lyric’s Fun Facts. Right up there with the one in twenty shot of a meteorite striking a plane.”
“Okay.” She half sat, half dropped onto the seat. “I’m ready.
Heath didn’t have the heart to tell her that most of her fluffy seat cushion had landed on the floor.
“Here,” she inched her legs apart, “whatever you’ve got planned—GO FASTER.”
“Usually when I’m going at a woman from this angle I like to take my time. But in your case, I’ll make an exception.” With all the force he could allow, he stabbed at the tape. The knife broke in half. “Damn.”
Lyric’s legs started to vibrate. “What’s taking so long? Prisoners with the intelligence of spider monkeys are able to dig out of Alcatraz with nothing but a spoon, but you can’t break me out of this dress?”
He shook his head. “There’s never a convict with a shiv around when you need one.” He had two Super Bowl rings, a Heisman Trophy, and more wins than he could count. There was no way in
But he could tell things were getting critical, and he really didn’t want her to have an accident, so he ushered her to the large handicap stall at the back of the restroom. As he locked the door behind them, one of the women who’d been primping at the mirror called, “When’s my turn, Deuce?”
“One at a time, ma’am. The line forms to the right,” he called over the stall door.
He turned to Lyric. “All right,” he said, laying out his improvised tools on the ledge created by the toilet paper holder like a nurse preparing a tray of sterile implements. “Let’s get to work.”
Examining the duct tape like it was a medium-rare New York strip, Heath grabbed the spork in his left hand and took the knife in his right. Then he stepped back and spent a moment taking stock. Did he start at the top and work down or at the bottom and work up? Both had appeal.
Lyric danced from side to side, humming Beyoncé louder. “Do. Something.”
He hadn’t remembered her ever humming before.
He knelt in front of her—genuflecting to Mistress Duct Tape—and pain shot through his bad knee at the awkward position. Gritting his teeth, he ignored it and sawed lightly at the dress’s hem. The pathetic plastic knife bent and twisted under his hand with each slice, but he didn’t want to hurt her so he kept the pressure light.
“Hurry.” She clamped her thighs together.
Christ, the way she said that word—like he was inside her and she couldn’t come fast enough—turned him on. Great, now he had a bum knee and a hard-on from hell to deal with. Instead of focusing on the pain, he concentrated on freeing her bare bottom. Her round, lush, sexy-as-hell bare bottom. Sweat broke out on his upper lip, and he shifted, determined to concentrate on the problem at hand.
“Open your legs.” It came out a little short, but seriously, if he had a nickel for every time he’d said that, he’d have a shitload of nickels. “Sit on the toilet.”
Now that was a new one.
Lyric looked at him in horror, then leaned over and pulled several handfuls of toilet paper from the holder before she began arranging them as a seat cushion.
Heath scooted closer to her. “Jesus, I thought you were in a hurry.”
“I am, but there are rules. A lady squats but never sits on a public toilet. Did you know the average public toilet has two million bacteria per square inch?” She piled more toilet paper into what could only be called a wreath arrangement on the seat. Was it a centerpiece or a toilet? He was getting confused. Especially when his old pal Lyric referred to herself as a lady. He’d never thought of her like that before. Then again, now that he’d been this close to her luscious thighs, he’d probably never be able to think of her as anything but.
He rubbed his knee. “I’ll file that little tidbit under Lyric’s Fun Facts. Right up there with the one in twenty shot of a meteorite striking a plane.”
“Okay.” She half sat, half dropped onto the seat. “I’m ready.
Heath didn’t have the heart to tell her that most of her fluffy seat cushion had landed on the floor.
“Here,” she inched her legs apart, “whatever you’ve got planned—GO FASTER.”
“Usually when I’m going at a woman from this angle I like to take my time. But in your case, I’ll make an exception.” With all the force he could allow, he stabbed at the tape. The knife broke in half. “Damn.”
Lyric’s legs started to vibrate. “What’s taking so long? Prisoners with the intelligence of spider monkeys are able to dig out of Alcatraz with nothing but a spoon, but you can’t break me out of this dress?”
He shook his head. “There’s never a convict with a shiv around when you need one.” He had two Super Bowl rings, a Heisman Trophy, and more wins than he could count. There was no way in
Similar Books
