Page 4 of Cross Check Daddies
Inside the bathroom, I pull my phone out with shaking fingers. I tap Ivy’s name. Straight to voicemail. I stare at the mirror like it might offer some divine intervention, then splash cold water over my wrists and face, trying to clear the fog clinging to my skin.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper, palms pressed to the counter. “You have a kid. A life. You didn’t even go to the high school reunion just to avoid this exact scenario.”
And yet, here I am.
I haven’t kept tabs on him. Haven’t searched him on social media in years. I heard about the injury and that he stopped playing. I know his younger brother is with the Miami Icemen now. But Cam? I couldn't bear to look for him.
I pace, trying to burn off the static crawling through my blood. I don’t trust myself in an enclosed space with him. I don’t trust what I’ll do with the smell of that cologne, the sound of his voice curling around old nicknames like they still belong to me.
I wipe my hands on a paper towel, and when I push open the door, he’s there again. Leaning against the wall, arms folded like a man who’s used to getting exactly what he wants just by standing still.
“You were gone ten minutes, sugar. I thought maybe you’d climbed out the window.”
“What are we doing, Cam?” I ask, barely looking up.
He tilts his head, gaze heavy on mine. “Talking.”
He steps forward, close enough to cage me in. His palm presses lightly against the small of my back, and before I can process the motion, he’s guiding me backward, past the threshold again. The bathroom door clicks shut behind me, followed by the soft metallic slide of the lock.
“Finally,” he says, voice low and rough, “some peace and quiet.”
I lean against the counter, tension winding around my spine. “I shouldn’t be here.”
He shakes his head slowly, coming closer, the air between us collapsing. “That makes two of us.”
The silence charges. His eyes drop to my lips, and something in my gut clenches tight.
He steps into my space like he owns it, one hand sliding into my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to anchor me. The kiss hits fast and deep, his mouth opening mine with a precision that sends heat cascading down my thighs.
His body presses mine against the counter, the sharp edge biting into the backs of my legs as he devours me like he’s starving.
“Fuck,” he mutters into my mouth. “You taste the same.”
I drag his shirt up, desperate for skin, and he works the buttons open like muscle memory, like he’s done it a hundred times for me. Well, he has—a lifetime ago. But the muscle is harder now. Broader. A man’s body. Mine arches to meet him,hands gliding from his stomach to the soft trail of hair leading down.
His hands are already under my dress, tugging my thong down my thighs. The delicate strip of lace snaps in his grip like it’s nothing. “That little thing was in my way,” he says, dropping the ruined fabric to the floor. My breath catches, shame and lust colliding in my chest as he sinks to his knees, mouth hot against the inside of my thigh. “Still so fucking sweet.”
His tongue licks a stripe over me, and I bite my hand to keep from crying out. My legs threaten to give. He wraps an arm around one thigh, the other hand sliding between my folds, fingers sinking in like he already knows the rhythm I need.
My head falls back. His tongue works in tandem with his fingers, fast and relentless. My body bows, waves breaking through me, and before I can stop myself, I say, “King.” It rips out of me like a confession.
He rises, mouth wet, eyes wild. “Say it again.”
I shake my head, dizzy, wrecked, legs still shaking from the aftershocks. “This is a mistake.”
“Then let’s make it count.”
He unbuckles his belt, eyes locked on mine. I glance toward the door. Locked. No time. No space. Just him. His cock springs free, thick and hard, and I don’t remember moving, but suddenly I’m the one on my knees. I take him in, tongue swirling around the tip before sliding him down my throat.
“Fuck, Brooke,” he hisses, one hand buried in my hair. “I’ve thought about this. Every fucking time I couldn’t sleep.”
I moan around him, taking him deeper. His hips jerk. He pulls back before he loses it, yanks me up, and turns me toward the mirror, pressing me against the cool countertop. His hand wraps around the back of my neck. I watch his reflection, his eyes darkening as he tears open his wallet and pulls out a condom.
He rolls it on and positions himself behind me, his tip nudging against my entrance. My breath catches again as he pushes in, thick and deep.
“You take me so well,” he says, voice right at my ear.
The stretch burns in the best way. He starts to move, hips snapping into me with a rhythm that steals my thoughts. His hand slides under my dress to pinch my nipple, the other gripping my hip so hard it’ll bruise.
