She doesn’t hold back her laugh at how drunk off his ass Jack is. Nisha isn’t so considerate, and gives his brown locks a sharp tug. She knows how much he enjoys it, if his low moan isn’t hint enough. The gunslinger decides to indulge him a little. This is supposed to be a break, after all.
“Tell ya’ what. You buy me some gold lipstick and I’ll wear it. Maybe.” She trails her fingers down the sides of his head and down to his exposed neck, petting the skin under his jaw. She smirks, sweet as poison, when he leans in harder, brows furrowed. Jack’s weakness is in the palms of her hands, quite literally, and there’s nothing that gives her a greater thrill.
“Uhh, really? Cause I might–” He unconsciously moves his hips, soft and rhythmic, matching the time of her stroking fingers. “I might have some around–” He gasps hard when her fingers tighten. He’s fuzzy headed, moonshine bogging down his mind and the blood-flow to his nether-regions. But goddamned if it wasn’t trying. He covers her hands with his own, fingers sliding warm together as he sighs something that sounds suspiciously like the cowgirl’s name.