Page 32 of Inked Daddies

I lean back against the counter, watching Marie as she glances between me and Sam, her cheeks still pink.

“Don’t worry, Marie,” I say, smirking. “I fuck longer than I kiss.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can see the smile she’s trying to hide. That’s worth every glare Sam’s about to throw my way.

Hugo’s smile has faded. He’s not pissed, though. He’s intrigued. I know that look well. “I think she is tensing again. Look at her. All stiff. Help her relax more.”

“You know what? I think you might be right about that, Hugo.” Leaning over her, I breathe her in. Sweet. So fucking sweet. Her caramel-brown eyes dip to my lips in anticipation. Now that she knows what’s coming, she’s less apprehensive. “Feeling tense, Marie?”

Her breaths come in short pants, from the pain, from me, I don’t know. But her nipples press against the thin fabric of her dress, and all I want is to find out what she tastes like—there and everywhere else.

“I am.”

“Let’s fix that.” I brush my fingertips along her jaw, then her neck, and underneath her hair to angle her for the kiss. The first one was brief because it was a test to make sure I wasn’t getting my signals crossed.

This one isn’t brief.

I take my time with her on this kiss, letting her open up to me and melt into it. When my tongue slips between her lips, she moans into my mouth.

This woman is fucking perfect.

She reaches up for my forearm, hooking her hand over me like she needs another point of connection between us. She kisses back like she’s been starved for affection her whole life.

We can fix that too.

14

HUGO

Some small voicein the back of my head—a voice that sounds an awful lot like Sam—says we should not be doing this. These kinds of games are dangerous and will only lead to trouble down the road. No good will come of this.

But I’ve always heard you shouldn’t pay too much attention to the voices in your head. The voices might be crazy.

Still, though, she’s good. Pure. Sweet in a way that makes you want to pull her close and ruin her, just to see if you can. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Because she’s not just some woman we picked up in a bar or met at a party.

She’s Marie. Preacher’s daughter.

I’ve been circling her like a moth to a flame ever since she came back to town, but ever since I had a sample earlier today, I am obsessed. The taste of her is in my mouth, my brain. I need more. I wanted her before that forbidden taste of her tiny earlobe in the library earlier.

But now? Now, I must have her.

It started innocently enough. A few excuses to stop by the library—“research” for tattoos, hunting for books on this or that. She always looked surprised to see me, her eyes widening just slightly before her lips curved into that polite little smile she always gives when she’s trying not to show too much. Her mask.

At first, I told myself it was nothing. I just liked the way she blushed when I teased her, the way her voice got soft and breathy when she answered my questions. But then it became a bad habit, and I am a man who is made of bad habits.

I’d catch myself timing my days around her shifts, finding excuses to swing by the library just to see her, even if it was only for a few minutes. I’d sit in my truck, watching her through the window as she shelved books or helped some old lady with her reading glasses, and I’d tell myself it wasn’t a big deal. Sometimes, I’d go to the library just to catch the scent of her shampoo, no book needed.

It wasn’t like I was doing anything nefarious. Just…looking. And sniffing. But that turned into thinking. And thinking turned into wanting. And now, sitting here in the shop, watching her squirm under Trick’s relentless kisses and teasing, I know I can’t just sit on the sidelines this time.

This isn’t like the other times. This isn’t some girl we’re going to share for a few nights before moving on. This is Marie. And I want her in ways I haven’t wanted anyone before.

She’s the kind of girl you marry, not the kind you kick out of bed. While I’m not the marrying kind, I could be persuaded by someone like her. Her round, pert ass is the best argument for marriage I have ever seen, and those tits? I could be persuaded to do damn near anything for a taste of them.

Trick pulls back from their kiss, and I swear her eyes are glazed over with need. Her lips are pinker now, her breaths more pronounced. She is utterly at his mercy. She would do anything he wants—I’ve seen that countenance on dozens of women, all of them yearning for more.

“Relax, Marie,” Trick says, leaning against the counter with that cocky grin of his. “Sam’s got steady hands. You’re in good company.”

“Jealous she didn’t pick you to be her first?” I tease Trick.

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