Page 56 of On The Rocks

Our kisses exploded into a chaotic meeting when our teeth clicked together and the quick pain unleashed a laugh so deep inside of me, I was shocked.

He tugged my hair until my neck was exposed to him. He nibbled his way down to my shoulder, his chuckles light against the intensity brewing between us.

Turning the extreme overwhelm into blissful laughter, I hooked my arm around his shoulder and rose onto my knees toslide him an inch away from free before I teased my way down his shaft, enjoying the delicious glide.

His jaw firmed and the pleasure was wreathed in a grin that stole my breath for a whole new reason.

He slowed my progression on the next stroke, tipping me forward so that he hit something so deep inside of me that a flashpoint of orgasm ripped through me before I was ready for it.

“That’s it, darlin’.” His voice was little more than a growl as the easy became a punishing thrust that kicked the orgasm into a freefall of the divine.

I had no choice but to hold on.

My name was an oath as he stilled inside of me, jerking against me as he moved his grip to my thighs and opened my legs wider until he was deeper still as if he wanted no space. The growl as he came was guttural and the relief shimmered between us.

My body and pussy would burn for hours after this—reminding me of him endlessly.

As if I could forget.

I sagged against him, dropping my forehead to his shoulder as we both dragged in gasping breaths against the car crash that was our first time together.

It should be the only.

Leave it as the perfect and wild. Something I could take with me to Miami.

But I knew once wouldn’t be enough. Not with this aftermath.

His palm coasted up my back to grip my shoulder as he held me tight against him.

The urge to detach was ingrained in me.

I even attempted to pull away, but he just shushed me quietly.

Once my heart rate returned to a steady rhythm, the familiar tones of City and Colour—one of my favorite bands—filtered through the static in my brain.

“I’ve never met anyone else who knew this band,” I said quietly.

He just continued to hold me close for a few moments before he finally spoke. “I got this crate of albums in…” he trailed off. “Hell, I can’t remember. Whenever we were on tour, I would go find a local record store. This one place, somewhere in the Midwest, was closing up.”

The rumble of his voice and warmth of his skin pulled at me. “If only they held out for the record boom.”

He huffed out a soft laugh. “One nice thing about the vintage revolution happening these days. There’s nothing quite like the hiss of a needle on vinyl.”

“We can agree there.”

“Good to know. Anyway, this album was in a crate of albums I got for ten freaking bucks. I found a few gems in there—but this album was definitely a highlight. I also found a guy named Matthew Mayfield.”

“Oh, I like him too.”

He rubbed his bearded chin against my hair. “Got one of mine in that stash of yours?”

“Maybe.”

He chuckled. “It’s okay if you don’t. I won’t hold it against you.”

I shifted, still very aware that we were living in a precarious moment. “I actually likedMorning Pages.”

He laughed. “Pretty sure you were the only one.”

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