Page 69 of Cross Check Daddies
Brooke walks me to the door, then down the hallway, hoodie zipped to the chin and still managing to look like sex incarnate.
I stop and tug her toward me. My palms settle at her waist. I lean in, kissing her slowly, my mouth brushing hers until she lifts on her toes to deepen it. Her tongue slides against mine, soft and lazy, and I sink into the kiss. Her fingers curl in my shirt, pulling me in closer, like she wants to draw me inside her chest.
She pulls back, barely. “Thanks for being such a good sport tonight.”
I kiss the corner of her mouth, then lower. “It was my pleasure.”
She gasps softly when I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, then moans when I bite down just a little. My hands slip under her hoodie, finding warm skin, and her nails graze the back of my neck.
“You taste fucking fantastic,” I mutter against her throat.
She leans her head back, smiling, breath shaky. “Walk you to your apartment?”
I nod, heart kicking in that slow, heavy way it does when I’m with her. I reach for her hand, and she laces her fingers through mine without hesitation.
We head up the stairs, quiet and comfortable.
This feels right. Every goddamn step of it.
By the time we reach my door, she’s already tugging at the hem of her hoodie like it’s suddenly too warm. Her hair’s slightly messy, lips still kiss-swollen, and I’m dangerously close to cancelling any plans for sleep tonight.
I fish out my keys, turn the lock, and let us in. She lingers in the doorway, eyes flicking around the space like she’s still considering whether she should stay.
I pull her close and kiss her again. Her hands slide into my back pockets, dragging me against her. She nips my lower lip hard enough to make me groan.
“Fuck,” I mutter, breath catching.
She grins. “I could spare a few more minutes.”
That’s all I need.
I back away just long enough to point toward the living room. “I’m getting condoms. If I don’t find you naked when I come back out, I’m carrying you to the bedroom and doing it there.”
She raises a brow, unbothered. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
I grin. “You’ll find out.”
I jog down the hall, tearing into the dresser. When I return, packet in hand, the sight in front of me knocks every thought out of my head.
She’s bent over the arm of my sofa, hoodie discarded, shorts on the floor, nothing but that ridiculous confidence and bare skin staring back at me. Her legs are spread just enough to make my cock twitch painfully, and she glances over her shoulder like she’s not doing anything extraordinary.
I curse under my breath. “You’re trying to kill me.”
She arches her back slightly. “I’m waiting.”
I drop to my knees behind her before she can get another word out. My hands grip her thighs as I lean in, tongue dragging slowly along her slick folds. She gasps, fingers digging into the cushion.
I lick her again, deeper, firmer this time, my hands tightening around her waist as I bury my mouth between her legs. She moans, hips pushing back against my face, her breathgrowing ragged. I suck her clit, flicking my tongue in circles until she’s panting, legs starting to shake.
Just before she tips over, I pull back. She groans in frustration, but it’s cut off by the sound of the condom tearing open.
I slide it on, line myself up, and push into her in one smooth stroke.
She gasps—sharp and desperate—and I freeze for a moment, savoring the tight heat around me. Then I start moving, hips snapping against her ass, hands gripping her waist like I need to keep myself from breaking apart. She braces herself on the couch, taking every thrust, her cries muffled in the cushions.
It’s filthy. Raw. The kind of sex that lives in your skin for days after. I reach around to rub her clit, and the moment I do, she clenches hard around me, body pulsing as she comes. I follow seconds later, spilling into the condom with a low growl, forehead dropping against her spine.
We stay like that for a moment. Breathing. Shaking. Wrapped in heat and the scent of sex.
