Page 90 of Thaw My Heart

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasps. “Taking me in your tight, perfect pussy like you were made for me. Do you realize how fucking good you feel?”

A wave of orgasm floods through me at his words.

His balls slap against me, heightening the sensation. Every moment is euphoric, and every thrust is ruining. His hands are focused on maximizing my pleasure, squeezing and exploring every inch of my curves. His tongue dives into my mouth and then drifts to my neck, sucking my skin like he needs the taste. All of his movements feel so damn good. Surely destroying sex for me forever with anyone but my dirty-mouthed cowboy.

“Kit,” I moan breathlessly. Core clamping around him, ready to combust.

“That’s right. Choke me out, Tequila. I want you to come all over my dick. Squeeze me and suck me dry.”

The scream he pulls out of me as I reach orgasm sends me to another level, another place where bright stars glitter in my vision. He was right about giving me an orgasm that would make me see stars. I feel as if I’ve entered into another dimension. My nails run down his back, strong and honed from hard work. Probably leaving marks on his skin as he comes just as hard, bursting inside me.

His eyes stay on mine, smiling with sweat beading on his forehead. I swear his eyes are at least two shades brighter. He kisses me before rolling over, running a hand through his hair. Cursing softly under his ragged breaths.

I wonder if he saw stars, too.

His toned, muscular body glistens with sweat, pooling around his abs. Just the sight of how strong he is fills my body with heat. I allow him a brief moment of rest before straddling my legs around him. Settling in for another go. His eyes light up with surprise, quickly shifting to desire.

Damn, he looks good when I’m on top.

“Okay, Cowboy. Round four.”

“This would be three,” he replies.

My brows furrow in confusion. The loft, the shower, then world-shattering sex in his bed… that’s three, making this next round number four.

“It’s only considered a round if I make you come. Sadly, I didn’t have enough time in the loft to properly get you there,” he grins, tapping my chin.

Goosebumps trail along my spine, igniting a fire in my core. “You’re a surprising man, Kit Harlow.”

Sex with Sadie is something else entirely. Mind-blowing. Fucking incredible, and better than any experience I’ve ever had.

After the third round—and probably my favorite as she rode my dick to completion—I finished cooking dinner. By the time we ate, I was still rock solid. Which Sadie took as a challenge. After that, I passed out cold.

Perfectly acceptable considering the last two years of just me and my hand.

Morning light drifts in through the sliding glass doors as faint music floats in the air. My arms reach over for Sadie, but she’s not there. Neither is Bandit or Foxie.

I slip on a pair of sweatpants and follow the music to my record player in the living room. Finding her sitting on the fur rug in front of the fireplace, wearing one of my flannels with dozens of records sprawled out around her. Bandit approaches me, eager for his morning pats.

I lean against the wall, watching her with curious eyes. “Already causing trouble, I see, Tequila.”

She flinches, caught red-handed.

She quickly shakes it off, grabbing an album. “This is my favorite band, Cowboy.”

The Chicks, and I’m not one bit surprised. It was one of my mom’s favorites as well. Most of those records fanned out around her were hers. Old, vintage things were always my mom’s style. She would have loved Sadie.

“And you have like…” her eyes dart around, “All of their albums,” she rummages through, like a kid on Christmas.

Her excitement brings a smile to my face.

She grabs an album with a familiar blonde woman on the cover, holding it up in the air like an Oscar. “Averie’s first album! And it’s signed! Oh my God, how did you get this?”

Averie’s first album came out when she was eighteen. A rare album she recorded at the local TV studio. “It’s my favorite one. Had her sign it last year.”

Her eyes narrow with a hint of misplaced jealousy. “You don’t have some kind of crush on Averie, do you?”

I snort. “Not my type. Just supporting her dream.” My type is a vintage-loving woman with caramel hair.