She definitely wanted more orgasms.
“Six years. Well, six years and four days, but who’s counting?” The words tumbled out in a breathless rush.
His fingers froze inside her. It took all she could do not to rock against his hand.
He frowned. “You haven’t been with anyone since Lonzo?”
Her husband had been her first and her last partner. She’d been a virgin when she married. And since she hadn’t been comfortable making love in Lonzo’s parents’ house, she only made love twice in her life. How pathetic was that?
His finger began stroking her again, derailing her train of thought. Thank god.
Trace dragged his fingers through her with maddening, languid strokes, savoring every clench and shiver. “Poor neglected babygirl… starving for her Daddy’s touch all this time, weren’t you?”
She had. God, she had, for far too long. Which was why a raw, desperate “No!” tore from her lips the instant his hand slipped away, leaving her empty and aching for more.
Her thought of violent revenge stalled when he started removing his clothes. At the sight of him, words failed her. He was… he was so beautiful, the way a mountain was beautiful—rugged, dangerous, and wild. Although long, hard, and thick would work, too.
His palm flattened high between her breasts and shoved, toppling her back to the sheets with a gasp. The gasp soon melted into a helpless moan when he hooked her thighs over his shoulders and sealed his hot mouth over her core. One slow, possessive lick and she shattered. The orgasm crashed through her in powerful, blinding pulses. She barely registered the thick stretch of two fingers sliding deep inside her, pinning her to the bed as he devoured every tremor, until she was nothing but a slick, trembling mess.
Pulling away, he grinned. “Foxy, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”
If she’d had the breath or the brain power, she’d have scolded his arrogance. As it was, she sighed, “Amen.”
He barked out a laugh, but then his mouth was on her still throbbing pussy again with the same blissful results.
If he kept going like this, she’d pass out before she was able to return the gift he’d given her. She tapped his shoulder. When that didn’t get his attention, she grabbed his ears and tugged.
“Hands off, babygirl. We are taking our time with this. I want you to be wet, relaxed, and ready for me. I’ll tell you when it’s time.” He brushed his lips across her inner thighs, his breath tickling her as he spoke. Then he ran his tongue back up slick folds, straight into her clit.
She ran her hands across his shoulders and back, doing her best not to rake him with her nails. He was all muscle. He proved as much when he grabbed her hips and pushed her further up the bed.
He dragged his mouth up the trembling length of her, lingering at her breasts with slow, worshipful licks and hungry pulls that drew broken whimpers from her throat. She arched, silently begging him higher, desperate for the thick heat of his cock to brush her lips so she could finally taste him.
Instead, he stretched toward the nightstand. The promise of crinkling foil cut the air, causing her pussy to clench. In one smooth motion, he rolled the condom down his rigid length, the sight of him sheathed and ready making her clench with raw, aching need.
Her hands slid up to grip his broad shoulders, fingers clenching his tight muscle as the solid weight of him braced above her, both claiming but shielding her in a fierce possessiveness she’d never once known.
He stilled, eyes locked on hers, and she let her thighs fall open in shameless invitation.
“Trace,” she whispered, voice raw with truth that stripped her bare, “Daddy, I need you inside me. Now.”
Nothing she’d ever said had been more honest.
“I’ll go slow, babygirl. Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”
Not a chance in hell.
He eased into her inch by slow inch, the relentless heat of him stretching her past comfort into a bright, exquisite ache. Her breath caught. It was as if his every muscle locked. He froze, buried only halfway. He waited for her body to soften and yield. Then he pressed deeper.
“God, you’re huge,” she gasped, willing her channel to relax. She wanted all of him, even as the delicious burn threatened to unravel her completely.
Her hands glided over the corded steel of his arms, down and up again, worshiping the raw power coiled beneath his skin. Then her palms drifted lower, tracing the sculpted ridges of his back, fingertips lingering on every raised scar, memorizing them to ask about later.
All the while, he sank into her with deliberate, merciless patience, stretching her open. He claimed every trembling inch of her until he was buried to the hilt. Her whole body shuddered around the thick, perfect invasion of him.
A wildfire of sharp-edged pleasure and aching fullness roared through her, as the hunger inside her only grew fiercer. He drew back slowly, almost all the way out, letting her feel the loss of him. Then glided back in with one smooth, claiming thrust that seated him deep again.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he ground out, voice ragged. She could feel every muscle in his arms locked taut as he fought for control.
