Page 89 of Thaw My Heart

Exactly what he said. It feels too good. But when he begins to thrust, setting the pace, I’m a goner.

“How does it feel?”

“So, good,” I pant. Better than any fantasy I’ve ever had.

He thrusts deeper this time, and I bite his shoulder to keep from screaming. He groans, thrusting harder, or as much as he can manage in the space. “This is not as easy as they make it look in the movies.”

I laugh, half-moaning as my head falls back against the wall. But he’s right, his movements are limited, and the only thing I’m holding onto is him. If he falls, we’re fucked, or more so.

This was all a great idea, until it wasn’t. “Bedroom?” I ask breathlessly.

He smiles, setting me down.

After drying off, I wait for him on his bed. Kit finishes his shower, which makes no sense as he’s about to get filthy, but I think he’s trying to be nice. To be a gentleman. Fox comes in briefly to check on me, but I shoo her back to the living room with Bandit, closing the door.

He enters, stopping at the sight of me sprawled out on his bed. “I found another picture I’d like to frame,” he grins. My eyes drop to his dick, falling farther. Distracted by a long, thick scar on his left knee. Stark white against his tan skin. “It’s from the car accident I mentioned,” he murmurs.

He doesn’t owe me any of this. To be so open and bare. Lord knows I haven’t been honest with him.

“Come finish this, Cowboy,” I say before the consuming guilt overrules my thought. Before I can convince myself I don’t deserve this. That I don’t deserve someone as good as Kit Harlow.

After a few strides, he’s positioning himself on top of me. My body feels so small as he hovers over me with a smile on his face. “And where should I start, Tequila?”

My hand brushes his scruff, memorizing his strong-cut jawline and the feel of his skin. “Kiss me.”

He kisses me, starting with a brush of lips. “Like this?”

“Yes,” I reply against his lips, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His tongue dips into my mouth, and I whimper.

“Tell me what you want,” his breath caresses me.

So, he’s a talker. The man who hates basic social interaction is a talker when it comes to sex. “I’m not—I’m not really good at this.”

His dark brows furrow with confusion. “What part?”

“Talking during sex.” He laughs, catching me off guard. I playfully slap his chest. “It’s not funny.” Crimson burns in my cheeks.

“This mouth is a firecracker, Sadie.” His thumb strokes the freckle near my bottom lip. “I’m sure you’re better than you think.”

His faith in me fills me with warmth. Drowning out the past, at least for a moment. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re the most confident woman I’ve ever met.”

There’s no hesitation in his words. Blue eyes blaze into mine, and I swallow hard, throat closing. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he smiles. “Now, tell me what you want,” he repeats, softer. Running a finger between my breasts.

My lips collide with his. “I want this.” My hand slides down his abs, gripping his length, throbbing and ready. He roughly exhales as I squeeze. “And this.”

His glassy eyes meet mine with a grin. “And?”

“And I want you to get lost in it. Give me everything you have.”

“Done,” and then his lips are on mine. Kissing me and running his calloused hands along my body with desperation. Passionate and consuming before he thrusts into me.

He starts slow, building me up to a moaning mess with just the tip. But when I beg for more, crying out his name, he unleashes, burying himself deep inside me.