“Cade,” I whimper, as wet slapping noises fill the room, followed by his animalistic grunts. My tits are bouncing. His eyes are glassy. “I think I’m going to . . .” I trail off, hot and breathless and totally out of control. Utterly consumed. But he knows what I’m trying to say. He knows what I need. What I want.

One hand splays over my stomach, and his fingers swipe over my bud. “Come for me, baby,” he pants.

“Yes,” I hiss. “Please don’t stop.”

“Never,” is his response. And it sets me off, the surety of it striking something in me that causes an eruption.

“Cade!” I scream his name this time. I don’t just call it. I let loose, and god, it feels incredible.

We’re a tangle of moans and taut muscles. His fingers keep moving, but his hand lands on my shoulder and clamps me onto his body as his cock surges, twitching and throbbing.

He spills himself inside me as he whispers my name against my lips, and there’s something intensely personal about it. I’m trying to catch my breath. I told him I’d say thank you, and I want to keep all my promises to him. He’s seen too many broken ones in his life.

He crushes me to him in the wake of our orgasms. It feels like he wraps his entire body around me. I nuzzle in closer, with him still inside me, damp chest against my cheek, steely arms clutching me around my back.

I open my lips to say the words he wanted.

But it’s him who drops his cheek against my head and rasps, “Thank you.”

24

Cade

I wake up hot and hard.

And smiling.

Willa’s hair is in my face, and her breath is making my neck feel damp and sweaty. She’s sprawled her long limbs over mine and pressed her body so close that all I’d have to do is shift her a few inches and she’d be lying right on top of me.

I’m not especially comfortable. And I fucking love it.

I always kind of chalked up my dry streak to aging, to being past it at thirty-eight. I know I’m not old but I feel old some days. Worn out and lacking the energy it takes to start a new relationship. Too tired to deal with the highs and the lows and the inevitable drama.

But Willa Grant invigorates me.

After having the best sex of my life, I dragged her to the kitchen and fed her. I made us pancakes. We talked. We laughed. But when she smudged a bit of syrup on her lips, I couldn’t resist licking it off. And that turned into me getting her on all fours, right on the hardwood floor in the kitchen. Which turned into a shower. Which turned into slamming her into the tile wall until we both came again.