Page 103 of Second Chance Daddy
“Then take every inch,” he snarls, lining himself up, the blunt head of his cock pressing to my entrance, teasing—just for a second—before he pushes in just enough to make me ache.
“Yes.” My hands grip the edge of the table, knuckles white. “God, yes.”
He thrusts forward, burying himself deep, stretching me wide, filling me completely, the delicious edge between pain and bliss making my vision blur.
“Christ,” he groans, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “So tight. So fucking perfect.”
He stills, letting me adjust, my body pulsing, stretched, full. Then he starts to move, slow, brutal, deep thrusts that have me gasping, legs trembling, my cheek pressed to the table as the storm outside matches our rhythm.
The table creaks beneath us, skin slapping, our moans filling the space.
I rise onto my elbows, changing the angle, nearly crying out when he hits that spot deep inside me that has my vision fracturing at the edges.
“There?” His voice is pure wreckage, slamming into me again, hitting that perfect place.
“God—yes,” I gasp, grinding back against him, chasing every punishing thrust. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
His pace turns savage, hips snapping, one hand gripping my hair, tugging just enough to arch my back, forcing my body open for him.
“Mine,” he snarls, the word jagged, raw, dangerous. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I cry, my walls clenching, my orgasm building fast, impossible to outrun. “Always yours.”
His hand snakes down, fingers finding my clit, circling in perfect rhythm as he fucks me harder, deeper, until the pressureexplodes, and I come apart—body locking down, stars bursting behind my eyelids, his name ripped from my throat.
I barely register him slamming into me one last time, groaning my name like a prayer, his release hot, deep, all inside me.
We stay like that, gasping, shaking, his chest pressed to my back, the storm easing outside, replaced by the sound of our ragged breathing.
Finally, he pulls out, helping me stand on shaky legs, scooping me into his arms, carrying me to the couch.
We collapse together, tangled up like threads. His lips press to my temple, his body wrapped around mine.
“I love you,” he whispers against my skin, the words rough, ruined, completely real. “I’d die for you.”
The air leaves my lungs. The storm’s gone, but the mark he leaves behind on my soul? Permanent.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
32
DANTE
The wind slices off Lake Michigan like a blade. An empty parking lot stretches ahead, the concrete still wet from last night’s rain, and the grey Chicago sky stretches overhead.
There are no pedestrians. No cars. Just us.
It’s the perfect backdrop for a meeting like this.
I lean against the black SUV, watching the horizon while my sister paces beside me, boots tapping against the asphalt like a metronome of nerves.
Tina tugs her jacket tighter. “Last chance to bail,” she mutters. “You step back in; there’s no halfway.”
“Already made my choice.”
Truth is? I never really stepped out. Blood this deep, you don’t wash off. You either drown in it… or learn how to swim better than everyone else.
Engines hum in the distance.
