“I like you, Cash Rivers,” she says, expression softening. I gather her wetness on my first two fingers. Stroke her clit one, two more times before I reach up and slather the moisture on her nipple. “You’re about to like me a lot more, Mollie Luck.” “Awful”—she yelps when I bend down to circle that nipple with my tongue—“full of yourself, aren’t you, cowboy?” “Naw, honey. Just honest.”
