Lyric and Lingerie (Fort Worth Wranglers 1)

Loving his reaction, loving the way he needed her—even if it was just for this—she slid her hands up the backs of his thighs. Cupped his ass. Then pulled

him deeper into her mouth, sucking and stroking, licking and laving, until he was pleading with every breath he took. Until her name was the only sound he could make.

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“I can’t take any more,” he told her hoarsely. “Please, darlin’. I’m losing my mind here.” He tugged on her hair, pulled her off slowly, when all he really wanted to do was fuck her mouth until he came.

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” She reached for him again, and she looked so sexy doing it that he nearly blew his wad right there. Normally he had more control than this—a lot more. But it was Lyric on her knees in front of him. Lyric whose wild blonde hair his fingers were currently tugging on. Lyric whose beautiful breasts and raspberry-colored nipples were brushing against his overheated skin.

And that wasn’t the point, or wasn’t just the point. Not with her. It felt so good to have her in his arms, so right and familiar, even though they’d never done this before. Maybe it was because she had been his best friend for so long, maybe it was because there was no artifice between the two of them, or maybe it was because what was going on between them was so, so real. Or maybe it was because this was Lyric, and she was special, so fucking special, and he wanted to savor every minute—every second that he had with her.

Whatever it was, he knew that he wanted a lot more than to just get off. He wanted to come deep inside of her, wanted to feel her clench around him when her own orgasm hit. Wanted to look deep into her royal blues as ecstasy swept them both away.

Leaning forward, he took her mouth with his own, used his lips and tongue to arouse her—to care for her—in a way he’d never done with another woman. He wanted her, God did he want her, but even more than the desire blasting through him was the tenderness he felt for Lyric.

Sinking to his knees beside her, he nipped at her mouth. reveling in the sexy moan that followed as he sucked her lip between his teeth. Then he nipped again, and she went wild, her body bucking and twisting and pumping against his.

Then she wrenched her mouth from his, skimmed her lips down his neck and over his shoulder, and he shuddered with the effort it took to restrain himself, when he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in her for as long as she would have him.

He pulled back then, cupped her face in his hands, and looked at her. Just looked at her. From the little laugh lines starting to form at the corner of her glorious eyes to the small scar that ran along the edge of her jaw to the random mess of freckles that decorated her nose, he saw her. More, he memorized her. Pulled her face—pulled her—deep inside himself so that no matter what happened, she would always be inside him. She would always be his.

Lyric had always been a little excitable, a little wary of being seen too clearly, and he was afraid that she would pull away. She didn’t, though. Instead, she sat back on her heels and stayed very still as she let him look his fill. And, he realized with a little jolt of surprise, she watched him as intently as he was watching her.

When his need to be inside her overwhelmed everything else, he picked her up and laid her on the bed. Then moved over her so that every part of her long, lithe body was covered up by every part of his. He wanted to feel her everywhere, needed to know that she was feeling him the same way.

Leaning forward, he kissed the softness of her lips, the corners of her mouth. She was like the richest, smoothest velvet mixed with the darkest chocolate.

He wanted to be gentle, wanted to give her the tenderness he knew she deserved. But the moment her tongue tangled with his, he was lost.

Lust rose, sharp and terrible and all-consuming. He ignored it, beat it down, kissed her some more. And some more. And some more after that.

Her mouth was the sexiest thing he’d ever tasted in his life, and he didn’t want to give it up. Didn’t want to give her up and break the connection between them when everything inside of him clamored to be a part of her. To make her a part of him. To prove that this one moment in time with her was special and different from any encounter he’d ever had before.

She whimpered, a high-pitched, wild sound that shot from the top of his head to the tip of his dick in a streak of blazing white heat. And still he didn’t lift his mouth from hers until they were both literally gasping for air.

Knowing that if he didn’t do it now, he would never do it, Heath climbed awkwardly to his feet and fumbled with his jeans before he could finally get them off. He tripped on the right leg, nearly went down, and as Lyric laughed softly, he couldn’t help joining her.

He was never this clumsy—not on the field and definitely not in the bedroom. But something about being with Lyric, something about holding her and kissing her and loving her, made him clumsy.

Was it because she mattered, he wondered, as he laid down on the bed next to her. Then she was moving against him, and he forget everything but what it felt like to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her.

Wrapping his hand around her wrists, he pulled her arms above her head and pinned them there as he looked his fill at her beautiful, beautiful body.

Her legs were long, her waist small, her pussy freshly shaved. He wanted to bend his head and lick her, wanted to thrust his tongue inside of her and listen to her scream as fireworks went off inside of her. But first he wanted to look at her breasts. Her beautiful, beautiful breasts.

Large and full, with gorgeous dark-pink nipples, they were the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Amazing, glorious, so much more woman than he generally deserved. Not that he wasn’t going to take advantage of this moment, because he was. He was.

Leaning down, he pressed kisses to the delicate underside of her breast. Then skimmed his lips up a little so he could trace his tongue around her areola before sucking her nipple into his mouth.

She cried out then, her fingers tugging on his hair just hard enough to sting. He loved it, loved the little bites of pain that came from being the one kissing her, and loved even more the fact that she was so responsive to everything he did.

She called his name, and it was the last straw. His control snapped, and he forget everything but the ecstasy of being with her as he licked and kissed his way over every inch of her body. He explored the curve of her shoulder, the bend in her elbow, the back of her knee. Then tickled her ribs with his tongue before moving between her legs and tasting her. Claiming her.

Fuck, she felt good, tasted good. He slid his tongue over her sex, once, twice, loving the spicy scent and taste of her. Slipped inside and stroked her as her hands clutched at his hair, his shoulders. As her suddenly hoarse voice cried out his name.

He savored the sound as he ran his tongue over the hard button of her clit, savored even more the way she sighed and moaned. And then, with a quick flick of his tongue and a stroke of his fingers deep inside her, he brought her to climax.

He was desperate now, desperate to be inside her, desperate to see her face as the pleasure took her. So he pulled back and focused on her face even as he worked his thumb over her, building the pleasure higher and higher and higher.