Page 61 of Cocky Jerk

Mine.

I don’t know what happens from here, but so long as she’s game, we can take it one step at a time and see where it goes. With any luck, we will go the distance and I can spend every morning just like this.

Winding the ends of her hair around my finger, I kiss the top of her head. She stirs slightly, hooking her leg over mine as she nestles closer to me.

Yeah, I can definitely get used to this.

“What time is it?” she groans.

With my free hand, I reach for my phone. My hand is still fucked up from the beating I threw Hound, but I’ll live. Unfortunately, so will he. I glance at the time on the screen before tossing the thing back on the nightstand.

“A little after ten,” I say, wrapping both arms around her. Sliding them down her back, I reach the hem of the t-shirt she’s wearing—an old NYPD shirt I got when I played in a charity softball game. Finding her bare ass, I grab both cheeks and pull her on top of me. Why she bothered with a t-shirt at all when she opted for no panties remains a mystery. I prefer her naked on all counts…and while we’re at it, on all fours.

Her head juts from my chest, and she stares at me with groggy eyes. Lifting the shirt, I drag it up her body, over her perky tits. Unable to help myself, I lean forward and take one perfectly pert nipple into my mouth. After a moment, I release it with a smack of my lips and pull the shirt over her head. Her mass of curls hangs wildly, framing her face. The ends kiss the tops of her breasts and the vision of her is like a punch to the gut.

There’s nothing more perfect.

Nothing more beautiful.

I lift my gaze back to hers.

“That’s better,” I say huskily, bringing her back to my chest. I kiss the top of her head and let my hands travel over the globes of her ass, to her back, pressing her closer.

“You’re dangerous, Pirelli.”

“No more than you, DeLuca,” I murmur.

She lifts her head from my chest, and our eyes meet. Touching a hand to her cheek, I wet my lips.

“You hungry?” I ask. “We can DoorDash breakfast.”

Cocking her head to the side, she eyes me curiously, a small smile playing on her full lips.

“What happened to the master chef who cooked me breakfast last week?”

“He’d much rather feast on you. If we order now, that gives us about twenty minutes or so before the dasher knocks on the door.”

“Hmm…” she murmurs.

Pushing up on my chest until she’s fully seated on top of me, she runs her hands up my body. My eyes drop between her legs and I growl at the sight of her bare pussy—already wet and begging for attention. It’s nice to know we’re on the same page, seeing as my dick has been ready for over an hour.

“Or we can just eat later. The party isn’t until eight, right?” she asks, lifting her hands to her tits. She rolls her nipples between her fingers, and I lose all train of thought.

“What was the question?”

“The party…it’s not until later, right?”

“Yeah, we got all day,” I croak as she releases her nipples. I reach out to tease them with my own fingers when she suddenly rolls off me.

“Shit!”

“What the hell just happened?” I ask, staring at my fully erect cock.

In an instant, she’s out of the bed, pacing in all her naked glory.

“My clothes.”

Why the fuck her clothes are a concern right now boggles my mind, but I play along.

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