Page 98 of Shootout Daddies
Landon’s rhythm doesn’t falter. Each thrust is sharp, merciless, claiming. “This is mine,” he growls against her neck. “This pussy, this body—mine.”
Her scream rips out, high and broken, as she squirts again, soaking him, soaking the sheets.
Hunter barks a laugh. “She just fucking squirted on you, man.”
Landon groans, hips jerking, cock buried to the hilt. He pulls out just in time, condom full as he curses low.
She’s trembling, boneless, gasping for breath as Hunter strokes her hair, kisses her temple. “You okay, baby?”
She nods weakly, eyes glazed. “I—I can’t… I can’t feel my legs.”
We laugh, soft, spent, but fuck if it isn’t the most perfect sound in the world.
I kiss her forehead, still shaking myself. “That’s because you gave them to us.”
Her laugh is breathless, broken, but real. And lying there, wrecked in our arms, she’s never looked more like ours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ivy
Two months.That’s how long it’s been since we started this wild arrangement.
Two months of breakfasts together, of Hunter’s terrible coffee experiments, of Rhett’s quiet steadiness, of Landon’s sharp edges softening just enough to surprise me.
Two months of waking up tangled in sheets that smell like them.
And now, less than two weeks before I’m supposed to go back to New York, my chest feels like it’s splitting in half just thinking about it.
“Storm, down,” I mutter as the Doberman bounds toward the front door, tail wagging like he’s got springs in his ass.
The bell rings again. Chloe shifts against my hip, making a little grunt.
I tug the door open.
Brooke stands there in a sleeveless sundress, sunglasses perched on her head, balancing Skye on her hip while Sage sleeps in a bassinet. Behind her is a young woman in neat black slacks and a crisp white blouse, hands folded politely in front of her.
“Bestie,” Brooke sings, already moving inside. She sets Skye down, who immediately crawls for the toy basket in the corner. Then she puts the other twin down. Sage follows, dragging a stuffed giraffe by the neck.
The nanny—early twenties, brown hair in a perfect bun—smiles nervously. Brooke waves a hand toward her.
“This is Claire. Professional lifesaver. She started this week.”
Claire nods. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for having me.”
“Of course,” I say, shifting Chloe in my arms. “Make yourself at home.”
Storm circles Claire like he’s conducting an inspection, then wanders off, unimpressed.
Brooke slides her sunglasses off and narrows her eyes at me instantly, no warm-up, no small talk. “You’ve had sex. Lots of it.”
Heat floods my face. “Brooke?—”
She waves me off. “Don’t even bother denying it. You’re glowing. That’s not skincare. That’s orgasms. A lot of them.”
I bite down on a smile, but it breaks free anyway. Because she’s right. And worse? The glow isn’t just from sex.
It’s from mornings like today, when I woke up to Rhett braced above me, his mouth on mine while Hunter teased at my nipples, and Landon—damn, Landon—fisting my hair while he fucked me slow enough I cried out until my throat was raw.
