Monty’s voice when he whispered, “Let go for us, baby.”
I press my eyes shut again.
I must’ve fallen asleep wrapped in that fog of them, because I don’t remember much after someone—Monty?—slipped a shirt over my head.I’m pretty sure these boxers aren’t mine.They’re loose and soft, riding low on my hips, and they still smell like detergent and Callaway.
I stretch—slowly—and that’s when I feel it.
Heat.Pressure.
I stay still for a minute.
Just to feel him.
The warmth of his chest at my back.The weight of his hand on my stomach.His cock—hard and thick and so close it’s like he’s already halfway inside me.
It shouldn’t make me feel this drunk.But here we are.
The shirt I’m wearing—it’s soft and worn, and when I breathe in, it still smells like Monty.And the body behind me?That’s definitely him.All restraint and quiet control and ...fuck, he’s hard.
And I want him.
Not like last night, all worship and patience.
Now I want to crawl into his lap and take.
I want him inside me again—slow at first, then rough when he can’t help himself.I want to know what it feels like when the man who’s always in control breaks because of me.
I press back a little, just enough that the curve of him drags against my ass.
He stirs.
Not all the way.But enough that his grip on my stomach tightens, and his cock kicks against my thigh like it heard me thinking about him.
I bite my lip, the ache between my legs blooming into something dangerous.
I shouldn’t.
He’s sleeping.
But then again ...
I close my eyes and let myself remember.Just for a second.
His cock in my mouth.The fullness of it against my tongue.The way he groaned when I sucked him deeper, like I’d reached something he hadn’t let anyone touch in years.
The heat.His hands in my hair.
He tasted like surrender.
Like a man who hadn’t been touched in too long and didn’t know what to do with someone loving every inch of him.
I loved it.
Loved watching his control unravel, loved how he didn’t say a word—just felt.Raw and silent and all mine.
And now?
Now I want that inside me.
