Page 11 of Shootout Daddies
She blushes.
I reach for her drink and hand it to her. “Sip this.”
She obeys, tipping the bottle to her lips. Her throat moves as she swallows. I watch it, hard as a rock. That mouth could ruin me.
Hunter touches her chin, tilting her face. Her lips part. Their tongues meet.
I step back, letting them have that moment—but my gaze drops.
She’s still sitting on the bed. Her knees fall slightly apart, and I catch a glimpse of lace. Pink. Tiny.
Holy shit.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Hunter breaks the kiss. “What?”
I nod toward her thighs. “Can I see?”
She flushes, then meets my gaze and nods.
Hunter steps aside.
I drop to my knees. Slide her legs open. The lace is see-through, barely covering anything. My mouth waters.
Then she does the unthinkable.
She sets the drink down and glances between us. Lifting her hips slightly, she reaches under her dress and slides the panties down her legs.
She lays them on the bed beside her like a silent offering.
“Holy shit,” Hunter murmurs.
My mouth waters.
I step forward, wedge myself between her knees, and lower myself until my face is level with her bare thighs.
“Wait,” I say, voice rough. “If we start now, we won’t stop.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to stop.”
I growl and press my mouth to her inner thigh. Her skin tastes like salt and heat and want. I lick a path up, savoring the soft catch of her breath, the tremble in her legs.
When I finally reach her, I don’t tease. Idevourher.
I reach up, pushing the dress higher. Her hand grabs Hunter’s shirt. She pulls him in for a kiss.
My tongue parts her slowly, then deeper, finding every pulse, every moan. She’s wet and trembling and perfect. Her fingers clutch the bedspread, her hips grinding against my mouth as she comes apart.
Her thighs lock around my head. Her hips buck. She cries out into Hunter’s mouth, and I keep licking until I’ve wrung every aftershock from her body.
Then I stand, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and help her up.
She’s dazed. Breathless. Glowing.
Hunter’s hands slide behind her, unzipping her dress. It falls like water to the floor. She’s not wearing a bra. Her breasts are soft, high. Her nipples pebble instantly.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I mutter, pulling my shirt over my head.
