Page 43 of Cross Check Daddies
“You have someone waiting,” she says, eyes flicking toward the glass-walled corridor that leads to my office. “Didn’t have an appointment, said it was urgent.”
The words barely land before my pulse skips. A name forms before she says it, but she doesn’t need to. I already know.
I step into my office and stop short.
Cam stands near the window, looking like he’s been dragged through hell. His cheek is bruised, fresh and ugly against his sharp jaw. There’s a split on his bottom lip, and one eye is a little swollen. Still, he stands like he owns the room. Shoulders set,hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, gaze locked on mine like he’s daring me to look away first.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, locking the door behind me without thinking.
He doesn’t move. Just watches me. “I need to ask you something.”
“You show up looking like you lost a fight with a steel door and think this is a good idea?”
His voice drops, low and thick. “Do you have feelings for my brother?”
My spine tightens. “This isn’t the place for this.”
He doesn’t blink. “Answer me, sugar.”
I hate that word. Hate that it still coils inside me. My heels suddenly feel too high, the room too quiet, the glass walls too transparent even with the blinds down. I walk past him, around my desk, like I might gain back some control if I have a barrier between us. My voice is calm, but inside it’s anything but.
“It’s complicated.”
He huffs and drags a hand through his hair, pacing once in a short arc. “Every damn conversation I’ve had lately starts with that word. Complicated. I’m fucking tired of it.”
I press my palm flat to the desk, knuckles whitening. “Cam?—”
He cuts me off by moving. His hand slams onto the desk, next to mine, body caging me in without touching. His eyes are wild but clear. “Let me make it simpler. Choose me.”
Before I can process what he said, he kisses me. Not tentative, not asking, but decisive and deep and hot enough to fry my thoughts. My mouth opens under his, and the rest of me follows, clutching his shirt, dragging him closer, pulling him into a kiss that tastes like guilt and longing and something I thought I buried years ago.
His hand finds my neck, thumb sweeping the curve of my jaw as his tongue slides against mine. He’s rough with it.Unapologetic. My brain starts melting somewhere around the second time he bites my bottom lip.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I breathe, even as I hook a leg around his thigh. My back hits the edge of the desk. Papers scatter to the floor.
“And yet,” he mutters, mouth on my throat, “I am.”
His hands yank open the buttons of my blouse with zero finesse. Fabric parts, my bra dragged down. His mouth latches onto my nipple like he’s been thinking about it for days. Maybe he has. I moan, gripping his shoulders, nails digging into muscle.
He drops to his knees without warning, hands dragging my skirt up, tugging my underwear down in a move so fast I barely register the air on my thighs before his mouth is already there.
Tongue sliding over me, slow and firm. One hand gripping my ass, the other parting me with practiced precision. I jerk forward, catching the desk with both hands, my forehead nearly smacking the surface. His mouth works in circles that make my knees go soft. Then he sucks, and my body jerks.
“Fuck, Cam—” I gasp, trying not to scream. His hand pins me in place.
“You’re dripping,” he mutters, licking another tight circle. “Knew you would be.”
His fingers slide inside me while his tongue keeps working. The pace is devastating. I bite down on my wrist to keep quiet. I grind against his face, chasing something wicked that’s already flooding my thighs and blurring the room.
It crashes through me. I bend over the desk and ride it out, legs shaking, teeth clenched to keep from crying out his name. He stands behind me, grabbing my hips as he fumbles with his zipper.
The sound of the foil packet tearing fills the room. Then he’s inside me—deep and hard and furious. My hands claw atthe desk for leverage as he fucks me from behind, every thrust pushing me further over the edge of coherence.
“You think he could do this?” Cam growls, gripping my hips, snapping into me with enough force to rock the furniture. “Think my brother could pull sounds like that out of you?”
I can’t answer. I’m gone. Moaning into the desk, legs barely working. He slams into me again, deeper now, pace building to something punishing. His fingers dig into my waist. The drag and pull of him inside me is brutal, addictive, right on the edge of pain and pleasure.
“You were always mine,” he mutters in my ear, one hand tangling in my hair. “Even when I was gone.”
