I knew when I said it that mentioning his daddy would piss him off, but deep down, I know there’s a part of him that loves it. I mean, let’s be honest. What man wants to wife a bitch nobody else wants? That his daddy wanted to fuck me is even more of an ego boost, because more than their mother, their brothers, or even their homeboys, all little boys want their daddy’s approval.
“Pussy so fuckin’ wet,” he groans.
Yep. Hate it or love it, Jackson Taylor put a big assAPPROVEDstamp right across my forehead, and although he’d never admit it, I know it makes Ace’s dick hard. I bet he sees it every time he looks at me. And, well, sometimes, noteverytime, but sometimes, I see it, too. I see myself fucking Jackson. I see him fucking me. I see him watching Ace fuck me. I see myself sandwiched between them, the helpless victim and scapegoat for all of their pent up resentment and aggression.
Ace pistons his hips, driving into me, working out a little of that aggression, and I’m happy to take it from him.
Two taps on his forearm makes him loosen his grip. He insisted on it after I refused to give him a safe word. For some reason, knowing I’m willing to lose consciousness if he wants me to makes him uncomfortable.
He’s so soft sometimes when it comes to me.
I gasp for air, opening my eyes to gaze at his handsome face.
“What am I thinking about?” I tease.
His hands are rough on my hips, digging into my flesh like he wants to burn his fingerprints onto my skin.
“Better not be my fuckin’ daddy.”
I shiver, but not from fear. I actually love this, how easily I can wind him up, and, ultimately, send him spiraling. It feels so good when he’s unhinged.
That’s why I don’t answer him. I part my lips, narrow my eyes, and give him that look that drives him insane, the one that’s half innocent, halfI dare you.
His grip tightens just before his mouth crashes into mine. His tongue thrusts past my lips, and it's pretty damn aggressive. I feel like he's reminding me who I belong to. And when he bites my lower lip, I cry out, agreeing that I’m his no matter what he does.
That’s all it takes.
I throw my head back, moaning uncontrollably as he pounds into me from the bottom, his hands steady at my hips, forcing me to take him. Nothing else matters but this…not that game, not my problems, not even my bullshit or the fact that he handles it so well.
All that matters is us.
“Fuck,” he rasps, sweat beading across his forehead. “Tell me.”
“Yoooooouuuuu,” I moan. “I always think about you.”
He groans into my neck.
“How fine you are. How smart you are. That you’re the only real man in my fucking life.” My eyes roll back. “That I need you. I’d die without you, baby. You’re my everything.”
He cums with a roar, which sends me right over the edge with him. Together, we fall into an abyss of mindblowing, body-shaking pleasure, but as much as I'm enjoying it, I'm still lowkey irritated that I had to manipulate him to get it.
That's gonna go in my grievance book.
2
Ace
Raya can never find out about Veronica.
I don’t like her—all five feet six, one-hundred eighty drop-dead gorgeous pounds of her. She's the lead on the closeout team, a project manager, for all intents and purposes. Good at her job, too. I'll admit, in another life, she’d probably be my work wife. But inthislifetime?
I can’t stand the woman.
But I ain’t stupid. There’s not one single scenario where my wife wouldn’t see this woman and go off. Raya would either be pissed off that I’m working so closely with this stallion of a woman, or she’d be filled with rage by how badly this woman treats me.
Either way, it’s best for all involved that I pretend like Veronica Whitlock doesn’t exist.
Man, I used to love being out here by the bridge listening to the sounds of my vision coming to life. The hum of the machinery. Metal groaning. Drills whining. Air thick withconcrete dust and oil. When I close my eyes and stand out here in the thick of it all, I smile involuntarily.
