Page 62 of Pucking the Single Dad
Chapter 21: Serena
Once home, we relieved Theo of babysitting duty. Finn was fast asleep in his room.
Brad led me to the bedroom and kicked the door shut, spun me against the wall, and claimed my mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and fire—deep, devouring, his tongue plunging in like he owned me. I moaned into him, the sound swallowed by the scrape of his teeth on my lower lip, sharp enough to sting and send a jolt straight to my core. My hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer.
I pulled back just enough to gasp against his jaw, my voice slurring soft and hazy. "Brad, we're drunk from wine..."
His eyes locked on mine, dark and feral, a smirk curling his lips as he ground his hips forward, letting me feel the thick ridge of his cock straining against his jeans. "I don't care," he growled, low and filthy, before crashing his mouth back to mine, stealing my breath and any half-assed protest with it.
His hands found the buttons of my dress—practiced, efficient, popping them free one by one until the fabric gaped open, cool air kissing my flushed skin. His palms slid inside, cupping my breasts through the lace of my bra, thumbs circling my nipples until they ached, hard and begging.
"Fuck, I've missed this," he murmured against my mouth, voice rough as gravel, his erection grinding against my belly through his jeans. I could feel how hard he was, thick and insistent, and it made my mouth water, my pussy clench with need. But tonight, I wanted to unravel him first.
With a wicked smile I hoped he could see in the low lamplight, I planted my hands on his chest and shoved—hard enough to catch him off guard, send him stumbling back onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, pillows fluffing around his shoulders as he landed with a surprised grunt that melted into a grin, all predator turned prey.
I kicked off my heels, letting them clatter to the floor, and climbed after him, straddling his hips in one fluid motion. The dress pooled around my waist like a dark petal, my thighs bracketing his, the heat of him seeping through denim to my bare skin.
"My turn to lead," I whispered, leaning down to nip his earlobe, teeth grazing the soft lobe before soothing with my tongue. He shivered beneath me, hands gripping my hips, but I caught his wrists and pinned them to the mattress on either side of his head. "You just lie back and take it."
His eyes flashed—dark, amused, aroused—as I released him and sat up, fingers hooking into the hem of his shirt. I yanked it up slowly this time, savoring the reveal: the broad expanse of his chest, dusted with that trail of dark hair that arrowed down to his navel, the ridges of his abs flexing under my gaze. He lifted his arms to help, and I peeled the fabric off, tossing it aside before raking my fingers down his torso.
"Christ, Serena," he groaned, hips bucking up instinctively, his cock straining against the fly of his jeans like it was trying to escape. I ground down against it, rolling my hips in a slow, deliberate circle that dragged my soaked panties over the rough denim, the friction sparking heat low in my belly. He was huge, even trapped like that, and the thought of freeing him, of feeling him stretch me open, made my breath hitch.
But not yet. I slid down his body like liquid sin, knees bracketing his thighs as I worked his belt free—the leather whispering through the loops before I popped the button and tugged the zipper down. His jeans parted, and there he was: his cock springing out, thick and veined, curving slightly toward his stomach, the flushed head already glistening with pre-cum. No underwear tonight—bold, like he'd planned this.
I wrapped my fingers around the base, skin hot and velvet-smooth over steel-hard muscle, giving a lazy stroke that made him twitch in my grip. Leaning down, I let my breath ghost over the tip first, watching it bob in anticipation, then flicked my tongue out to lap at the slit—salty, musky, all him. He cursed low, fingers clenching the sheets, and I smiled against him before wrapping my lips around the head, suckling softly, tongue swirling lazy circles to draw out more of that bead.
The taste of him flooded my mouth—bitter-sweet, addictive—and I took him deeper, inch by inch, relaxing my throat until he hit the back, my nose brushing the coarse hair at his base. I held there for a beat, humming low so the vibration thrummed through him, then pulled back with a slow twist of my fist at the root, saliva slicking the way.
My head bobbed in a steady rhythm now, wet and obscene, cheeks hollowing on the downstroke for that tight suction that made his thighs tense under me. On the up, I grazed him lightly with my teeth—just enough edge to tease, to make him gasp—then soothed with the flat of my tongue along the underside, tracing that thick vein pulsing with his heartbeat. My free hand cupped his balls, heavy and drawn tight, rolling them gently before tugging just a fraction, the pull drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.
"Serena—fuck, your mouth is heaven." His groans were fuel, deep and ragged, spurring me on. I sped up, hand pumpingin tandem with my sucks, the wet glides echoing in the room alongside his babbling—my name tangled with curses, pleas for more.
His hips thrust shallowly now, fucking into my willing mouth, and I let him, gagging just enough to make it filthy, tears pricking my eyes from the stretch. Saliva dripped down his shaft, pooling at the base, and I used it to slick my strokes, twisting tighter, faster, until his body coiled like a spring beneath me. But I wasn't done. Not even close.
Pulling off with a lewd pop, I licked my lips, tasting him still, and stood just long enough to shed the rest of my clothes—the dress whispering to the floor, bra and panties following in a careless heap. Naked now, skin prickling in the warm air, I climbed back astride him, knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips. His cock stood proud, slick from my mouth, and I gripped it at the base, positioning the head at my dripping entrance.
God, I was soaked—arousal slicking my thighs, my pussy aching to be filled. I sank down slowly, savoring every inch: the blunt stretch as he parted my folds, the burn of his girth forcing me open, walls fluttering around him until I was seated flush, his balls pressed to my ass. We both groaned at the fullness, the perfect fit, and I paused there, rolling my hips in tiny circles to adjust, grinding my clit against his pubic bone with each rotation. Sparks ignited low in my belly, pleasure blooming hot and insistent.
Then I rode him—hard, unapologetic, lifting up until just the head remained inside before slamming back down, the wet slap of skin on skin obscene. My breasts bounced with the motion, heavy and free, slapping against my chest as I set a punishing rhythm, chasing the drag of him deep inside. Sweat beaded on my skin, trickling down my spine, and I leanedforward, bracing my hands on his chest—fingers digging into the muscle there.
I clenched around him deliberately on each descent, milking his cock with my inner walls, and he swore, head thrown back, Adam's apple bobbing as he fought for control. "Fuck, ride me just like that. You're so goddamn tight."
The angle was perfect, his thickness hitting my G-spot with every bounce, pressure building like a storm in my core. I threw my head back, moaning loud and unrestrained, hair cascading down my back as I lost myself in the sensations—the coil tightening, breaths coming in pants.
Sweat slicked us both, our bodies sliding together, the room filled with the creak of the bed and our mingled gasps. But Brad wasn't one to stay passive forever. His hands gripped my hips, and with a rumble that vibrated through his chest—"My turn now"—he flipped us in one fluid surge of muscle.
I landed on my back with a yelp that turned to a moan as he hooked my legs over his shoulders, folding me nearly in half, my knees brushing my chest. The position opened me wide, vulnerable, and he thrust back in—deep, powerful, bottoming out in one stroke.
His balls slapped against my ass, the sound lewd and rhythmic as he set a fast pace, hips snapping forward with relentless force. Each plunge ground his pubic bone against my clit, the friction building that fire anew, coiling tighter even as aftershocks from my building tension rippled through me.
"Yes—harder, Brad, fuck me like you mean it," I gasped, hands clawing at his arms, nails scraping down to his elbows.
He shifted then, lowering my legs to switch to missionary proper, but instead of spreading me wide, he hooked one of my ankles behind his back for leverage—pulling me into each thrustwith possessive yanks that drove him impossibly deeper. His free hand found my clit, thumb circling the swollen nub in firm, precise strokes that made my vision blur. I was lost, arching off the bed, clawing at his back as red lines bloomed under my nails, the sensations crashing over me in waves.
But he wasn't finished playing. With a wicked grin, he rolled us sideways, spooning me tight from behind—his chest to my back, one arm banding across my waist to hold me flush. His cock slipped out just long enough for him to reposition, then drove back in at a new angle, shallow and teasing at first before deepening, hitting spots inside that made me sob with need.
His hand roamed up, tweaking my nipple—pinching and rolling the hard peak until it throbbed—while the other dove between my thighs, fingers rubbing my clit furiously, slick with my arousal. The dual assault was devastating: his hips snapping forward in a steady grind, cock dragging over that spongy bundle with every pass, his breaths hot on my neck as he nipped the skin there.
