Lyric and Lingerie (Fort Worth Wranglers 1)

She came again, her body convulsing anew before the first contractions had even stopped, and she cried out then, her back bowing and her body arching off the bed as her hips moved against his hand.

She was so beautiful like this. So fucking beautiful with her swollen lips and flushed pink skin and wild hair spread out around her like a halo.

He was hard to the point of pain, his body desperate for relief. But he wasn’t ready to give up the view quite yet. Not when she was spread out before him like a feast. Which was why, when she finally stilled, he spread her legs a little wider, then simply looked at her. Trailed a finger over the warm, slick folds of her, reveling in the feel of her desire for him.

“Heath.” It was a plea, and they both knew it. “I want you.”

“You have me,” he murmured, for the first time in his life meaning more than just for the moment. But then he was sliding first one finger and then another inside of her once more, nearly losing it at the unbelievable perfection of her body. She

was tight, hot, her muscles clenching his finger in a rhythm that resonated all the way to his erection.

Suddenly, he knew he couldn’t take any more. Rolling onto his back, he grabbed his jeans off the floor and pulled out the emergency condom he always kept in the back pocket. Then, after rolling it quickly down his cock—and batting Lyric’s hands away as she tried, unsuccessfully, to help—he pulled her over him and, with his hands on her hips, gently guided her over him.

She cried out as he sank into her, arching her back and clutching at his hands until he twined his fingers with hers. Something about that connection, that joining of Lyric’s hands with his as she rode him, sent him right to the edge of his control.

Fighting to hang on, never wanting the feeling to end—never wanting the closeness between them to dissipate—he clung to sanity even as her breath grew quicker and her movements more frantic. He reveled in the feel of her around him, rejoiced in the slight pressure of her warm weight on his stomach as she slowly moved herself up and down his cock.

“Heath,” she moaned breathlessly, and he knew it was time, knew she was close to shattering again. And he loved it. Loved even more that he was the one who had brought her to this state.

She gasped, arched, and he whispered, “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

And she did, her back arching as the waves exploded through her. Her sex clenched on him again and again, pulling him deeper. Taking him home.

At the last moment, she leaned down and brushed her lips over his as her crazy-blue eyes looked deep into his own. That was all it took, those moments of connection, to have him hurtling over the edge himself. With a groan, he let himself go, gave her everything inside of him. Gave her everything he had to give.

And when it was over, when their heartbeats had returned to normal, she lay on the bed next to him and cuddled into his arm.

“Did you notice that I tried Cosmo’s number one trick for the best blow jobs?” Lyric made scissors out of her left hand and the Hook ’em Horns with her right.

“That’s what that was? I thought you were making shadow puppets.” He kissed her temple. “We might need to rescue that Cosmo from the hospital’s recycle bin so we can try all … how many tricks were there?”

He wasn’t much for cuddling, but he had to admit, this felt good and right and honest.

“Thirty-one.” She laid her head on his chest.

“In the name of research, I feel like you should try them all out.” He held up a hand. “I volunteer to be the test subject. It’s a tough job, but I’m willing to give my time to the cause.”

“You’re such a humanitarian.” She traced each one of his abs.

“What can I say, I’m a people person.” He liked the feel of her next to him. He could stand to do this for a couple more hours or possibly forever. “In the spirit of fair play, I’m willing to devote as much time as is needed, if not more, to returning the favor. Although, I don’t have a handy-dandy guide with thirty-one different ways to go about it.” He thought about it for a second. “Why is that?”

“Because Sports Illustrated doesn’t give a crap about women’s orgasms.” She continued to trace his abs. She seemed to really like them. He liked that she liked them.

“You’re right. Later today, I intend on sending them a strongly worded e-mail. I might just add Men’s Health and Maxim to the list.”

“I think you may need to go broader, like Playboy and Penthouse.” Lyric was in analytical mode.

“I know Playboy and Penthouse are supposed to have articles, but I swear, I’ve never seen any words in them.” He held one finger up. “No, wait, the title is prominently displayed on the front. That counts.”

“I guess men learn about sex by watching porn.” She laced her fingers through his.

“Some, but mostly it’s on-the-job training.” He didn’t remember any woman who fit next to him so perfectly. Not that he was a hit-it-and-quit-it kinda guy—well, not always. When he did stick around, women always wanted to talk about their feelings. Lyric didn’t appear to care about hers, much less his. It was odd, he kinda wanted to know what she was feeling. They were engaged … sort of.

“How many jobsites have you trained on?” She wasn’t coming from a place of jealousy—it was strictly research.

“Too many to count.” A fact that hadn’t bothered him before. “But they were all practice for you.”

“Really?” She arched an eyebrow. “You can put the lines away … we’ve already had sex. It was good, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to do it again.”