Pushing myself up, I rake my fingers through his hair, feeling his heavy breathing against my damp skin as I cup my hands around the base of his skull and pull his head up to mine. I link my eyes with his, staring hard into them as my thumbs stroke through the stubble along his chiseled cheeks.

“Thank you,” I say simply.

And then I kiss him. I can taste myself on him, but I don’t care. All I care about is that he knows I appreciate him. Our tongues tangle and his calloused palms dance over my ribs, somehow making me shiver and my core stir, even though I just finished.

Correction: even though he just finished me.

“That was the best orgasm of my life,” I murmur against his wet lips, drawing a chuckle from his chest. “Now lose the pants and lie back on the bed. I want to repay the favor.”

His lips trail against my cheek. “You think you’re in charge now, Willa? That’s adorable.”

“Lose the pants, mister.” I use a fake authoritative voice and return his kisses all the way over his stubbled cheek to his ear, where I nip playfully at the lobe.

He huffs out a breath but pushes to stand, fingers working expertly at his jeans, corded forearms rippling. I absently wonder why I was so hung up on his grumpy face when he has a body like this and a sweet, authoritative, doting personality. What the hell was I even on about? I can’t remember.

“What are you thinking about right now?” he asks as he shucks his jeans down, impressive cock tenting his underwear. I almost forgot how big it is and that I choked like an amateur when he thrusted hard into my mouth.

“How hot you are. How insane your body is. How sweet you are.” When I rip my eyes away from his cock, his eyebrow arches at me as I add, “I think the words you’re searching for are, Thank you, baby.”

He pulls his boxers down with a smirk, clearly not self-conscious about his body. “You like it when I call you baby?”

I roll my lips together as I regard him. I fucking love it. It sounds so lame and cheesy to me most of the time, but when he growls it and tacks something filthy on to it? “Yes. I love it.”

He moves around me, and I turn to check out his round muscled ass—Wranglers hold nothing to the real thing. Every part of his body is bound with strength, and not the type you get from too many hours in the gym. His muscles are real, thick and hard but not overly defined.

His body, his skin, the crinkles around his eyes . . . it’s all just proof of long hours spent hard at work. And I’m not sure I’ve ever found anything more attractive than a man who works hard.