Page 109 of Sin Bin Daddies
I sit on the edge of the bed and brush my fingers through her hair.
“You didn’t sound like you were okay.”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” she whispers.
I lean in, press a kiss to her temple. “Too late.”
Her body relaxes against mine like she’s been waiting for something to hold her up. She nuzzles into the side of my neck, her nose brushing my skin before she breathes me in like she’s been waiting all night for this.
“You smell nice,” she murmurs, her voice slightly hoarse and quiet.
I groan, hips twitching beneath her as my body wakes up fully to her softness, her weight, the way she fits so easily against me. My fingers drift into her hair, silky and warm, and I stroke it gently.
“You should have told us you weren’t feeling okay,” I murmur into her hair. “You didn’t have to deal with it alone.”
Her body stiffens.
I pull back a fraction, trying to catch her face, but she’s already tilting her mouth up to kiss the edge of my jaw. It’s calculated, not desperate—she’s distracting me.
I should stop her. I know it. But she tastes like mint and something sweeter and my restraint thins every second she touches me.
Her hands reach for my belt, sliding it free. She climbs on top of me in one smooth move, straddling my hips with those soft pajama shorts that are printed with tiny peaches. The hem rides high, exposing the dip of her thighs.
I tug at the drawstring, and the loosened waistband reveals the smallest sliver of cotton. Pale pink with lace.
My cock throbs as I thrust up against her instinctively. She gasps, her fingers tightening against my shirt, and her hips grind back down on me in answer. The pressure shoots through me like electricity.
Sunny huffs in annoyance and hops off the bed, curling up in the corner and promptly falling asleep like this is a regular Tuesday night.
“Madeline,” I rasp against her collarbone, dropping my head back. “You really shouldn’t be—your brother is at home. And you’re sick. You shouldn’t be having sex.”
“I want to feel better,” she whispers, hands moving to the hem of her tank top. “I’ll be quiet.”
She pulls the fabric up and over her head.
My throat goes dry.
Her nipples are flushed, tight, the kind of perfect that makes logic fall right off a cliff. I sit up, grabbing her waist, and lean in to take one into my mouth, rolling it over my tongue, then grazing it with my teeth.
Her hands slip into my hair as her back arches, and a sigh escapes her lips, barely controlled.
We lose the rest of our clothes in a blur of friction and heavy breathing. My pants are half off, her shorts kicked to the floor, and she shifts over me like her body was built to do this with mine.
When she sinks down on me, hot and slick, I press a hand over her mouth to stifle the cry that catches in her throat. Her eyes flutter closed, and her head tips back, completely undone.
My other hand stays clamped on her hip, guiding her pace, letting her move just how she wants. I thrust up, hard, and her entire body tenses, lashes fluttering as she leans forward.
Our chests press together, skin slick with sweat, her pulse fluttering against my mouth as I kiss down her throat.
Her hands claw at my shoulders as she clenches around me, legs trembling as she tries to keep riding me, but I grip her tighter, flipping us so she’s beneath me.
Her nails rake down my back. She’s biting her lip so hard I lean down and kiss her mouth, taking it from her, swallowing every sound.
She arches up as I slam into her again. Her eyes roll back.
She’s close.
I am too.
