Page 69 of S.O.S. Billboard

With a roar, he let go of all control, pounding to an astonishing completion, and O’Shea, thank God, was right there with him. He felt the womb-shaking pulsations within her, all the way to his balls. And once again, Billboard knew that O’Shea was not only cresting, but riding the high of several perfect waves until she once again, beached safely back onto solid ground.

Had his dick ever been this happy?

But then…

O’Shea immediately snuggled.

Billboard was not a snuggler.

However… This was a different kind of snuggle altogether. It felt like coming home. It felt…right. For the first time since Billboard left the Marines, there was no skirmish laying wait in his brain; there was nothing but satisfaction filling his head.

Billboard truly never wanted to let O’Shea go, but…he stifled a groan. There was the protection to take care of.

He moved to get off the bed.

“Don’t go,” she mumbled, already half asleep.

“I’m just getting rid of the condom,” he assured her gently. “I’ll be right back.”

“Good,” she slurred, waving a hand at him. “I’ll be ready for round two by the time you get back.”

Billboard chuckled.

He doubted it.

His little spitfire looked like she’d finally been worn out.

CHAPTER TWENTY

O’Shea stretched.

And blinked.

Her nose twitched, smelling something good, and…

Hell, yes. It was Billboard.

The man was stretched out beside her on his bed, snoring slightly.

O’Shea went up on one elbow, gazing at him. So freaking handsome. And that body… She could look at him all day. He was more relaxed now than she’d ever seen him, and she wondered if it was how he normally slept—all tension leaving him—or if it had something to do with the absolutely amazing sex they’d had last night.

O’Shea pouted.

Only one round of it, though.

Thatwas her fault. She’d been so worn out and blown away by what Billboard had rung out of her, she couldn’t even remember him coming back to bed after she’d waved him off to the bathroom.

Billboard’s breathing changed, and she was immediately aware that he was awake.

“Having a good look?” he asked her raspily, his dark eyes still closed.

“Uh, huh. You’re cute when you snore,” she told him impishly.

“I don’t snore,” he rebutted, then cracked one eyelid to give her a skeptical stare.

“Do too,” she countered. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

He snorted. “Nobody would care.”

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