Hold Me, Cowboy. Maisey Yates

legs thrown over his shoulders, that place where she was warm and wet for him right there, ready for him to taste her.

      “Sam!” Maddy squeaked.

      “There is no way you’re a prude, Maddy,” he said. “I’ve had too many conversations with you to believe that.”

      “I’ve never... No one has ever...”

      “Then it’s time somebody did.”

      He lowered his head, tasting her in long, slow passes, like she was an ice-cream cone that he just had to take the time to savor. Like she was a delicacy he couldn’t get enough of.

      Because she was.

      She was all warmth and sweet female, better than he had ever remembered a woman being. Or maybe she was just better. It was hard to say. He didn’t really care which. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was this.

      If he could lose himself in any moment, in any time, it would be this one.

      It sure as hell wouldn’t be pounding iron, trying to hammer the guilt out of his body. Certainly wouldn’t be in his damn sculptures, trying to figure out what to make next, trying to figure out how to satisfy the customer. This deeply personal thing that had started being given to the rest of the world, when he wasn’t sure he wanted the rest of the world to see what was inside him.

      Hell, he didn’t want to see what was inside him.

      He made a hell of a lot of money, carving himself out, making it into a product people could buy. And he sure as hell liked the money, but that didn’t make it a pleasant experience.

      No, none of that mattered. Not now. Not when there was Maddy. And that sweet sugar-whiskey taste.

      He tasted her until she screamed, and then he thrust his fingers inside her, fast and rough, until he felt her pulse around him, until her orgasm swept through them both.

      Then he moved up, his lips almost touching hers. “Now,” he said, his voice husky, “now you’re ready.”