Page 62 of Ridin' Free

“Let go, baby. Come for daddy.”

As if all I needed was his encouragement, I let go, and my orgasm washed over me like a tidal wave. It didn’t happen all at once. It slammed into me even as he kept at it; then it smacked me again as it began to spread; another thrust elicited a ripple of pleasure to course through me until my scalp tingled and my toes curled.

“Yes—oh—shit,” I moaned as my sex clenched around his length, my body trembling from the immensity of it all.

It wasn’t long before he toppled over right along with me. He freed a grunt, burying himself as deep as he could go, and then his lips were on mine. His tongue swept through my mouth, and he groaned as he pulled out and jerked his hips once more before he stilled and ravaged me with a deep, wet, fuckingperfectkiss.

I felt drunk on him when he finally pulled away. He let go of my hair but grabbed hold of the front of my neck, his thumb and his forefinger applying pressure at the back of my jaw, preventing me from looking anywhere but straight into his eyes.

Not that I would dare look anywhere else.

A little breathless, he muttered, “I gotta go.”

I nodded as much as his hold would allow.

“Stay as long as you want.”

I nodded again.

“You get off work, you come straight here.”

I didn’t know if it was the dissipating fog of my orgasm, the feel of his cock still inside of me, the possessive but gentle way he held me, or the manner in which those brown eyes seemed to be admiring me with warmth I was beginning to understand resided inside this man—but one or maybe all of the above made me more docile than I thought possible.

I didn’t fight it. I didn’t want to.

I merely replied, “Okay.”

One word, two syllables, and he was smiling.

Damn, but it made me want to smile, too.

We were doing this. It was real and it was happening.

“Twister?” I breathed, moving my hands to grab two fistfuls of his shirt.

“Sparky?”

I glared at him, but my heart wasn’t in it, and I knew he could tell.

“You and me.” I paused, not sure how else to label us; not sure we needed anything more—except for one thing. “No one else, right?”

His expression suddenly void of any humor, he nodded and semi-echoed, “You and me. No one else.”

“When’s the last time you got yourself checked,” I asked matter-of-factly.

He didn’t even flinch before he replied, “Go every six months like clockwork. I’m due for a check-up in a couple of weeks. You want me to handle that sooner, consider it done.”

I stared at him for a moment, unable to deny the awe I felt. He made it seem so effortless. All of it.

“Make it quick, brown-eyes.”

He smirked at me, pressed a quick kiss against my mouth, then trailed his hand down my neck and over my collarbone, until he had a palm-full of my breast. He squeezed, then let me go and pulled away. I watched as he worked his jeans over his backside before he strutted off and disappeared into the bathroom. Still recovering from what we’d just done, I was right where he left me when he came back—his dick stowed, his fly zipped, and his kutte donned.

He winked at me, jerked his chin, then headed for the garage.

When I was all alone, I covered my face with my hands, hiding my wild grin from no one but myself.

He was morethanan hour late for work. Twister didn’t make a habit of taking advantage of his crew, but in this case—it was so damn worth it. The look on Ali’s face when she saw that coffee machine had him wondering what else he could do to surprise his little spitfire who smelled like wildflowers.