Page 66 of Her Possessive Daddies

"More time for us to enjoy ourselves." Seth winks at me, popping a stuffed olive in his mouth.

The conversation flows easily between them - old stories and inside jokes that have me giggling despite myself. My wine glass never seems to empty, with one of them always ready to top it off.

"Did you tell her about Cabo?" Donovan's deep laugh sends shivers straight to my core. He's settled on the couch closest to my chair, close enough that I catch whiffs of his intoxicating scent.

"We don't talk about Cabo," Corey warns, but he's grinning.

"Now I have to know." I’m genuinely curious.

"Let's just say it involved a stolen golf cart, three angry security guards, and Seth wearing nothing but a sombrero."

"Hey, I looked damn good in that sombrero." Seth protests from his spot by the window.

The mental image sets me off laughing again. These men, so powerful and put-together in their everyday lives, sharing stories of their wild younger days. It makes them seem more real somehow, more approachable.

Corey's phone chimes again. "Another delay. Traffic, apparently." He shoots me an apologetic look. "I swear he does this on purpose sometimes."

"More appetizers for us." I pop a stuffed mushroom in my mouth, trying not to moan at how good it tastes. When I look up, I find all three men watching me with heated expressions that make my cheeks flush.

"Corey, you've outdone yourself. You sure you didn't have this brought in tonight?"

Corey smiles, takin another sip of his bourbon. "I like to take care of the people in my life….with good food, good wine, and good company." His heated gaze tells me everything I need to know about where this conversation might lead tonight.

My gaze shifts around the room. Every time I glance up, Donovan's dark eyes are on me. The intensity of his stare makes my skin prickle with awareness. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, a gesture that shouldn't be so damn distracting. How are Corey and Seth not picking up on this crackling tension?

Donovan shifts on the couch, his knee brushing against mine as he reaches for his drink. The brief contact sends electricity shooting through me. I cross and uncross my legs, trying to get comfortable.

"Anyone need a refill?" Seth asks, standing.

"I'm good." My voice comes out slightly strained. The wine is going straight to my head, making everything feel warm and hazy. "Actually, I need to freshen up. Where's the bathroom?"

"I'll show you." Donovan rises smoothly. "It's upstairs."

I follow him up the curved staircase, hyperaware of his broad shoulders and the way his jeans hug his ass. The hallway stretches ahead, all dark wood and plush carpet.

"Second door on the right," he says, but instead of heading back downstairs, he follows me.

My heartrate quickens as I grab the door handle. His hand closes over mine, spinning me around to face him. My back hits the door and suddenly he's there, crowding me with his heat and masculine scent.

"Tell me to stop," he growls.

I should. I absolutely should. Instead, I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him closer.

His mouth crashes down on mine, hot and demanding. I gasp and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss until I'm dizzy with want. His hands grip my hips, pressing me harder against the wall as his tongue strokes against mine.

What the hell is happening here, and why do I love it so damn much?

32

DONOVAN

Abbie's lips part under mine, soft and yielding, and I swallow the little moan that escapes her throat. My hands grip her waist, pulling her hard against me, feeling every curve that’s been driving me insane since the first time I saw her. The bathroom door rattles behind her as I press her into it, my body pinning hers in place.

“You are so fucking hot,” I mutter against her mouth, my voice a rough whisper. I can’t help it. She’s been a goddamn temptation from the second she walked into that restaurant. “From the moment I saw you, I knew I’d had to have you.”

She shivers, her hands sliding up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. “This is crazy,” she whispers, her breath ragged as I bite at her lower lip.

“I’m used to getting what I want,” I growl, one hand sliding down to grip the back of her thigh, hiking her leg up around my hip. Her skirt rides up, and I don’t miss the way her cheeks flush, the way her eyes dart down the hallway like she’s still worried someone might walk in. “You like that, don’t you? That I don’t ask; I just take.”

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