“Hey,” Cass’s voice travels ahead of her. I’ve been so wrapped up in cooking, I didn’t notice her headlights beaming down the driveway. A few seconds later, she turns the corner, wearing a low-cut, flowy red dress I’ve never seen before, but I’m hoping I get to seeveryoften from now on. Her hair’s braided loosely, resting on her shoulder.
“You look…fuck.” No words.
She smiles, wrapping her arms around my waist and rising onto the balls of her feet to kiss me. Her lips taste like cinnamon gum, and she melts into me for a moment. “Thought I should get dressed up, since this is technically our first date.”
“Every dinner has been a date to me.” I tuck a few strands of loose hair behind her ear, even though they don’t seem to be bothering her; I’m constantly overwhelmed with the need to touch her in any way I can. And now that we’re officially together, I’m allowed to. Which issomething I will never take for granted. “You’re sexy as hell, no matter what you’re wearing… or not wearing.”
“We’ll get to the ‘not wearing’ portion of the evening later.” Her teeth tug on my bottom lip, pulling me into a slow kiss.
I can’t help myself. I run my hands down her waist and—just like that—I’m under the short hem of her dress. Fingertips tracing the smooth skin of her upper thigh. “Cass, do you always skip underwear on first dates?”
“Never know when my date might need easy access.” She shrugs with a sultry smile.
My tongue follows the path of her jawline to her ear, and I whisper, “Such a fucking slut.”
The sweetest, softest whimper slips from her lips and brings me to my knees.Fuck dinner, I’ll eat her. I lift her dress, smiling to myself at the way she instinctively spreads her legs for me.
“Chase,” she moans when my tongue makes contact, dampening the skin and making her thighs quiver on either side of my face. “What if somebody comes in?”
“Guess they’ll get a show.” I kiss her bare pussy, letting go of the balled up dress fabric in my hands so I can push her legs further apart. “Spread wider, sweetheart.”
She obeys—of course she does. She only protested a tiny amount because she probably felt like she should. But our flirty text messages all day prove she wants this. I bury myself deeper, spreading her with my finger and thumb, running my tongue across her warm, wet entrance. The dress fabric around my head muffles her moans, and she buckles, struggling to stay upright as I slide two fingers deep inside her.
“I can’t,” she pants, knees caving in.
Pulling back to check on her, I find her hands clutching the slick quartz counter edge, knuckles white to stay steady. It’s not going to be enough to keep her from collapsing when an orgasm shatters her.
I stand up with a low growl and swipe my forearm across the kitchen island, shoving the dinner prep out of the way. The clang of metal mixingbowls hitting the wood floor echoes through the room, followed by the dull thuds of a dozen or more potatoes falling to the ground one by one. A glass measuring cup shatters, and I slap my hand on the cold counter. “Get the fuck up here.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have. But my hands grab her ass, and she doesn’t fight me as I boost her onto the edge.
“Lean back and let me taste you, baby. Get comfortable.”
She leans back on her elbows, keenly watching me lift the skirt of her dress. I duck my head under, running my flattened tongue up the inside of her soft thigh until I reach her wet heat.
Maybe it’s because I’m intoxicated by her, but Cassidy Bowman tastes like she was made for me. Like her last name might not stay Bowman if I have any say in it. She’s more addictive than any alcohol and, instead of making bad decisions when I drink her, I’m wanting to do so fucking good.
Arching her back, she must flail an arm because something flies off the counter with a loud crash. She moans, thighs battling against the weight of my forearms as she tries to press them together. Still I hold steady, keeping her in place so I can fuck her pussy with my tongue and fingers. Circling her clit and drawing my fingertips against her inner wall, begging her to orgasm. The vibrations from her shaky legs radiate through me and she rocks her hips, forcing my fingers deeper.
“You want it so bad, don’t you? Fucking my hand to make yourself come?” I nip the delicate skin of her inner thigh, and her muscles contract underneath me.
Clenching my fingers with her tight pussy, she breathes out an irritated moan. “Somebody has to make it happen.”
“You’re such a shit.” I grip her thick thighs, pulling her off the counter and spinning her around. She reaches for the counter edge, and I draw her hips toward me until she’s bent in half. With the weight of the baby pulling on her spine, this position might not be comfortable for long. Good thing I know how to make her come quickly. “Think I can’t makeyou come? You’re such a slut for my cock, I bet your cum is running down your legs within seconds. Hold on to the counter—I’ll show you.”
“Okay, Daddy.” She smirks over her shoulder at me.
Fucking hell, I love her.
I can feel her racing heartbeat against the palm I have pressed to her lower back as I scramble to unbuckle my belt one-handed. The head of my cock’s pressing into her before my jeans have even puddled around my ankles. She’s soaking wet, glistening and perfect with my cock notched at her entrance. Cass moans when I drive into her, letting her head fall forward until it’s touching the shiny island.
I finally do the thing I’ve thought about every damn time I see her hair in a braid. I grab it, gripping the soft, golden mane in my closed fist like a bronc rein, and give a little tug. Nothing too hard. Not at first. She moans, sinking back onto her heels so my cock drives deeper. And I pull again, harder this time.
“You love being used, don’t you, Cass?”
“Only by you.” She whimpers, palms pressed against the island to support herself. “You can do anything you want to me. I’m yours.”
Mine. Somehow Cass is mine.
