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Whiskey Sour

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Even panting with frustration, her lips full of his taste, full of him and wanting more, Charlie didn’t let go of the rifle.

Nor did he.

No matter how hard she pulled it was like trying to move one of his ‘I’m the fucking President’ statues. ‘Let go, damn it.’

He laughed, low in his chest, his lips next to her ear. ‘Not gonna happen, Charlie.’ His free hand was sliding up her back, under her tank then working back down, fingertips slipping under the snug waistband of her jeans. He frowned, frustrated, his hand searching her waist for a way in. ‘Shit, that’s tight, how do you move in these?’

‘Practice.’ She smirked up at him while she wrestled one handed with the buttons of Monroe’s pants, increasingly frantic until her fingers finally slipped between the seams of the worn denim to find the thick, velvety hard column of his dick. She wrapped her hand around him, exploring, sliding the soft skin up and down, the springy hair over his balls brushing her palm and making him shiver. She looked up at him, eyes bright, full lipped smile triumphant. ‘You’re right, it’s not a gun in your pocket.’

He looked down at her and chuckled, the sound hoarse and a little breathless, ‘no, it isn’t,’ He sucked in a shuddering breath. ‘Shit… don’t stop… but talking about guns, how about we put the real one down before something goes off?’

She gripped him a little tighter, her hand moving faster, her grin getting wider. ‘Ok, but you let go first.’

He groaned, legs braced, hips thrusting towards her, the hand not holding onto the rifle along with hers rubbing and squeezing her ass, pulling her harder against him. ‘Damn it all, Charlie, don’t be so fucking… stubborn.’ He gasped, eyes flickering and glazed as her thumb teased the sensitive ridged helmet of his painfully hard cock, sliding over the pre-cum slippery skin. ‘Shiiit.’

Her tongue flicking out over her lips she reached up, rubbing her cheek on his scruff, licking the corner of his mouth, her teeth catching his lower lip and biting, just a little, then letting go. ‘All you have to do is let go of the gun.’ She leaned harder against him, her breasts mashing against his chest, her voice a low, suggestive whisper. ‘A little show of faith?’

He laughed out loud, although there was a growling tension in it and his fingers were gripping the springy flesh of her ass so hard she’d have bruises, his voice hoarse. ‘All you have to do is say you’ll follow my lead, then you can have the fucking gun and we can both use two hands to finish this.’

The sound of a shotgun being cocked somewhere behind them was very loud and very close.

Charlie froze, all the blood in her face going south and not in a good way and all she could see was Monroe’s eyes as they changed from laughter to warning and cold readiness in a split second. He was in a better position to fire, and it was only due to that fact that she let go of the rifle, her fingers sliding off his cock at the same moment as she shifted her weight back a fraction to give him room, feeling the shift in his grip as he got ready to move.

‘Now you two pretty lovebirds are gonna turn around real slow with yo’ hands up, but don’t be trying anythin’ stupid or I’ll drop you right where you stand.’ The voice held the creak and rust of an older man, but it was steady.

Charlie turned slowly, her hands up, using her body to hide both the fact that Monroe had the gun and that he was still hard as a rock, in fact his dick felt like a steel rod digging into her ass. Her cheeks burned, body pounding with a mix of adrenalin, frustration and arousal, her fury at the interruption almost, almost overriding any fear of maybe getting shot… or worse.

Shit. They couldn’t catch a break.

The old man was huge, grey and grizzled like a bear, a blue eyed, tattered and slightly singed bear, a sawn off shotgun held steady against his left shoulder and the black hole of the barrel pointed straight at them. The corners of his mouth were twitching a little as he looked them up and down, but the gun didn’t move an inch. ‘In normal circumstances I’d’a bin polite and just pretended I didn’t see you till you were finished and knockin’ at the door, but as you can see I’ve got myself a bit of a problem.’ He tipped his head towards the burning barn, ‘There’s twenty barrels still inside, the good stuff. So if Duncan or one of the other warlords sent you here to buy some you’re gonna have to help me save it first.’