Page 52 of High Frequency

I guess there’s worse things.

“I heard you singing to her,” I share when I hear him come out of the bedroom.

“Me? Singing? You’re hallucinating.”

He plops down on the couch beside where I’m sitting with my legs folded under me, and twists the top off the beer I left for him on the coffee table. He puts the bottle to his mouth, but I can see a smile crinkle the corners of his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure,” I insist. “I could swear I heard you sing,Ain’t No Sunshine,in there.”

He puts his bottle down and rolls his head to the side so he’s looking at me, a grin on his lips.

“Cowboys don’t sing.”

It could be those dark eyes, dancing with humor and a hint of heat, or maybe it’s sheer gratitude that has me climb right on his lap. Straddling him, I slide a hand on either side of his face and tilt his head back.

“I’ll have you know I have excellent hearing,” I whisper, my nose touching his.

“Yeah?”

His voice is growly as his fingers dig into my hip. Then he hooks me around the neck with his other hand and pulls me down to his lips.

I may have made the first move this time, but there’s absolutely no question who’s kissing who. It’s all I can do to keep up with the sensations his mouth and tongue are stirring up.

My body—aside from childbirth, mostly dormant this past year—wakes up under his touch. It’s like the pins and needles of fingers and toes defrosting, except it’s every single nerve ending coming alive. Pain and pleasure are only a hairbreadth apart.

His hand slides down the back of my pants, squeezing one of my generous ass cheeks before slipping between my legs. He finds me already wet and without preamble fills me with his fingers. My entire body convulses around the intrusion. I let my head fall back as my hands curl into the longer hair at his collar.

“Okay?” he rumbles, his lips sliding down my neck.

“Mmmm,” is the best I can manage as I rock myself on his fingers.

“Fuck, Sloane, I want inside you so bad, but I don’t wanna?—”

So, I grab his face with both hands, kiss him hard, and look him in the eyes.

“Yes. I want that too.”

I’m not sure if I’m going to regret this tomorrow, but there’s no way I want to stop now.

Apparently, I’m not the only one who feels that way because suddenly Dan surges to his feet, his hands under my ass. I wrap my legs around him as he carries me into the spare bedroom where he tosses me onto the bed. For a second, I watch as he kicks off his boots, but when he starts stripping off his shirt, my hands get busy getting naked as well, tackling my own top.

My heart is bouncing around my chest wildly, and I’m almost hyperventilating when Dan shoves his jeans down his legs and kicks them off. I’d seen and admired his chest, but the rest of him is equally impressive. He doesn’t give me much of a chance to ogle him, when he puts a knee on the mattress.

“You’re running behind,” he grumbles, grabbing the waistband of the pants I was about to remove, and stripping them right off me, underwear and all.

Then he sits back on his knees between my legs, his hands loosely around each of my ankles. He looks his fill, to the point I get a little uneasy and automatically cover my mommy-pouch. My body changed a lot during my pregnancy with Aspen. It never bothered me, but I find myself suddenly aware.

Until he mumbles, “Jesus, you’re so gorgeous I don’t even know where to start.”

“Inside me,” I suggest, dropping my legs open.

“Fuck me. Hold that thought.”

He reaches over the edge of the bed and comes up with a wallet he likely fished from his jeans. From it, he produces a foil packet.

“Aren’t you the Boy Scout,” I tease him, mostly to keep from whimpering at the sight of him rolling on the condom.

He puts his hands back on my ankles and slides them all the way up my body, mapping my curves. Then he braces himself on either side of me and leans down, closing his mouth on a nipple. I can feel the pull of his hot mouth all the way down to my pussy.

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