Page 44 of Single Dad's Fake Bride
“Living room,” I said, my hand finding the curve of her waist.
“Mmm,” she agreed, the sound vibrating between us. “Lead the way.”
We moved through the archway, our mouths molding together in slow, heated pulls. My palm spread over her lower back, easing her toward the couch.
“You’re in a hurry,” she teased, lips brushing mine with every syllable.
“Not fast enough,” I answered, kissing her deeper until she clung to me.
Her laugh melted into a sigh as we stopped at the couch, my hands anchoring her close, the kiss still unbroken and growing hotter with every heartbeat.
She sank onto the couch beneath me, pulling me down with her, our mouths still fused in that same relentless kiss. My hands framed her face, then slid to her neck, tracing the flutter of her pulse before gliding down to the delicate curve of her shoulder.She felt so young under my touch—full of unspent years and possibilities.
Did she notice the difference between us? The silver creeping in at my temples, the years of responsibility etched into my hands? I’d lived more life than she’d even had time to imagine, and yet here she was, holding me like she wanted every bit of it.
Her breath hitched against my mouth. “You kiss like you’ve done this a hundred times,” she murmured, voice warm and teasing.
“A hundred?” My lips brushed hers in the barest pause. “Try a thousand.”
She smiled into the next kiss, her fingers sliding up my chest. “Good. I like experienced.”
The words went straight through me. My hand found her thigh, easing the fabric higher as her body shifted closer. Her mouth never left mine, and neither of us bothered pretending we wanted to slow down.
Her dress bunched under my palm, the smooth fabric giving way to softer heat beneath. She shifted, one knee drawing up against my hip, and the motion pulled me deeper into her. Her fingers were in my hair now, holding me there, as if breaking the kiss wasn’t an option either of us would consider.
I traced the inside of her thigh, feeling the faint tremor that answered my touch. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought about how reckless this was—how I should be thinking about tomorrow, about what this would mean. But with her pressed beneath me, her heartbeat matching mine, I couldn’t make myself care.
Her mouth brushed my ear. “I want you to touch me.”
“You already have me touching you,” I murmured, my hand sliding higher until she gasped.
“More,” she said, her voice catching. “All of you.”
The words lit something primal in me. I pushed the hem of her dress higher, exposing the length of her thighs, then guided her hips against mine. She arched into me, her breath breaking against my neck as I moved between her knees. My shirt was next. Her hands were already pushing it up, hungry to feel more skin.
I let her take it off me, my shirt falling somewhere behind the couch as her palms skimmed my chest. Her touch was tentative for half a second, then bolder, mapping the lines of muscle and the trail of hair leading lower. I caught her mouth again, tasting the heat she’d built between us, and my hand slid up her thigh until I could feel the damp heat waiting for me through the thin barrier of lace.
She trembled under my fingers, and I pressed my palm against her, teasing the shape of her until she made a sound that went straight to my spine. I shifted my weight, one knee braced on the couch, the other foot planted so I could fit against her better.
“Take it off,” she whispered, tugging at my belt.
My pulse kicked hard. I reached beneath her, my hands curling under the small of her back to lift her just enough to slide her dress over her hips and up. She helped me, tossing it free, leaving her in a bra and those black lace panties that were already doing nothing to hide how badly she wanted this.
I shoved my pants and briefs down in one motion, freeing myself, and her eyes dropped, widening slightly before they came back to mine. I caught her by the waist and pulled her toward me, her thighs opening to take me in.
I didn’t waste time—didn’t want to. Hooking a finger in her panties, I dragged them aside and pressed into her in one long stroke. Her head fell back against the couch, lips parting in a gasp that I swallowed with my next kiss.
“God,” she breathed, nails digging into my shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
I pressed deeper, holding there, letting her feel every inch before drawing back slowly. Her thighs tightened around me, and I felt her breath hitch against my mouth.
“You feel that?” I murmured.
Her nails traced down my ribs, catching on my waistband. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I like it.”
“Good,” I said, thrusting again—slow at first, just enough to make her hips lift to meet me. “Because I’m not stopping until you can’t remember your own name.”
She gave a shaky laugh that turned into a gasp when my thumb found her clit, rubbing in slow circles. Her head tipped back, eyes closing, and I kissed along her jaw to her throat, feeling the pulse jump under my mouth.
