Page 59 of Second Chance Daddy
“Yes,” I breathe, pushing back against him. “God, yes.”
His hands grip my hips, positioning me exactly where he wants me. The blunt head of his cock nudges against my entrance, teasing me right at the edge of losing my damn mind.
And then—slowly, torturously—he pushes in.
The stretch burns. Sweet, sinful, toe-curling pressure that has me gasping, my fingers tightening around the bed railing like I might actually float right off the mattress.
“Fuck, Cass,” he hisses. He bottoms out inside me, stilling for half a second, my body stretched around him, full in a way that’s got every nerve ending firing like fireworks under my skin.
My mouth drops open, but words? Gone. I can only feel—the ache, the stretch, the heat blooming everywhere.
He pulls back, slow and controlled, but it doesn’t last. His hips snap forward, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the dark room.
One hand tangles in my hair, twisting at the roots, pulling just enough to arch my spine, angling me deeper onto him. The other grips my hip.
I brace myself as he pounds into me—hard, relentless, the rhythm brutal and addictive.
“God, you feel so good,” he growls, voice low and wrecked, his hips slamming against me, each thrust chasing the edge of control.
A whimper slips from my lips, high-pitched and desperate. The pressure builds fast, my legs shaking, thighs quivering with every punishing snap of his hips.
His hand slides around, fingers finding my clit, circling with filthy precision that sends my body spiraling straight into overload.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he rasps, breath hot in my ear. “I can feel you shaking. You’re close.”
I gasp with the pleasure ripping through me, his cock driving deep, his fingers working me higher.
My body clenches, thighs trembling, every muscle locking tight as the orgasm crashes over me, hard and hot and overwhelming. I come with a shout, clenching around him, pleasure tearing through me like lightning. I can barely keep myself on my knees. That’s how hard I shake.
But Dante’s giving Rocco Siffredi a run for his money tonight.
Before I’ve even come down, he’s flipping me over onto my back.
His eyes drag over me, like me naked in front of him is his undoing. His body cages mine, heat pouring off him, tension coiled tight beneath his skin.
“Need to see your face,” Dante rasps. “Need to watch you come apart for me.”
The words slither down my spine, shooting straight to my pussy.
His eyes lock with mine as he pushes back in. His grip tightens at my thigh, hiking my leg higher around his waist, angling deeper, his hips snapping against mine with a bruising rhythm.
Each thrust sends shockwaves through me, pressure building like I’m teetering on the edge of something dangerous. His mouth brushes my jaw, my neck, dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses across my skin, and I’m unraveling all over again.
“Dante,” I whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please.”
“One more,” he demands, voice strained. “Give me one more, Cassie.”
His thumb finds my clit again, pressing, circling, and I’m lost. My vision whites out, my body bows and a scream catches in my throat as I come for the third time. This time, he follows, his rhythm faltering, a groan tearing from his chest as he pulses inside me.
He collapses beside me, both of us panting, slick with sweat. For a long moment, we just lay there, bodies humming with aftershocks.
Then, without a word, he pulls me to his chest. I go willingly, boneless, exhausted. My head finds the hollow of his shoulder, a perfect fit. His arms wrap around me, secure, safe.
And something in me breaks.
The tears come without warning, hot and silent, sliding down my cheeks to soak his skin. I don’t know why I’m crying—relief, fear, the weight of secrets, the reality of being held by him again after so long.
He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t try to fix it. Just holds me tighter, one hand stroking my hair, his lips pressed to my forehead. In time,he passes me my clothes, puts on his, only to gather me in his arms again.
