I shook my head, set my hands at the hem of his shirt, and started to push it up his body.

“No way. I want that there to remember the moment when we got back together.”

“You want that, all you have to do is sit on my face,” he countered.

We didn’t say anything else after that, just stripped each other’s clothes off and fell into bed together. I was beneath him, and I savored the hard press of his body. The way the hair on his chest tickled my nipples. His hand slipped between my thighs, parted me, and found me wet.

“Baby girl.”

“Don’t make me wait,” I said, lifting my hips for him.

This was going to be a quickie. We both needed it, the connection.

He shifted, set the head of his dick at my entrance, then held himself still.

I looked up at him.

“This is it, Sarah O’Banyon soon-to-be Manning. Time to make that baby.”

“Yes,” I said, lifting my hips to take an inch of him into me.

He pushed the rest of the way in. “Fuck, baby girl. I’m home.”

He filled me completely, and my walls rippled around him, adjusting to being filled with something so big.

He was home. Wherever he was, I belonged.

“I’m going to fuck you now, but you can’t make any noises.”

I giggled, my inner muscles clenching as I did so, and he groaned.

He couldn’t hold back any longer and began to move. I met each thrust with my hips until we couldn’t hold back our moans and groans, gasps and begging.

I came as he reached between us and pinched my clit. He plunged deep, growled. Filled me with his cum.

There was no going back now. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ready for more? Read Hand Me The Reins next!

Bought in an auction by a shy baker? No problem.

Pretending to be her boyfriend for her sister's wedding? On it.

I can pretend all day long because I'm Thatcher Manning, the guy who doesn't do relationships.

I'll give a woman a wild romp. Hell, I'll give her anything. Anything but my heart.

I decided a long time ago I'd never get serious with a woman.

The fact that I'm leaving town in a few months only cements that decision.

But then Astrid has to get under my skin. She hands over the reins in bed—and out—and now I'm catching feelings.

The kind you can't fake.

Trouble is—I wasn't playing for keeps. Now, that's a problem. A big one.

Read Hand Me The Reins!

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