Page 159 of Pucking Daddy

I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. Dark. Hungry. But waiting.

“What are you waiting for?” I whisper, a smile threading through my voice.

That's all he needs.

The sweater comes over my head in one smooth motion, and then his hands are everywhere.

Skimming up my ribs. Tracing the edge of my bra. His calloused palms catch slightly on the lace, and the friction sends heat pooling low in my belly.

I arch into his touch, and he groans—a low, rough sound that I feel more than hear.

"You have no idea," he says, his voice thick as his mouth trails down my neck, "what you do to me."

"Tell me." I'm working at the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers. "Tell me what I do to you."

“Since the first fucking day.” He nips at my collarbone, and I gasp. “I’ve wanted you. I still do.”

He presses his hard length against me. “This is what you do to me. All. The. Fucking. Time.”

I get the last button undone and push the shirt off his shoulders.

Once again I marvel over his broad shoulders.

There’s a dusting of light hair that trails down his stomach, disappearing beneath the denim.

My hands map him—over his shoulders, across his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm.

“I love you, Jaxon,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I love you so much.”

He turns us then, walking me backward until my knees hit the edge of the mattress.

I sit down hard, looking up at him through my lashes, and his expression shifts—something darker taking over. He cups my face in both hands, tilting my head back.

“I love you too, Zara,” he says, low and intense.

Then he kisses me again, following me down onto the bed, his weight settling over me as I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer.

The hard ridge of his cock presses against my core through too many layers of fabric, and I rock against him instinctively.

"Fuck, Zara." His voice breaks on my name.

His hand slides between us, working at the button of my jeans. I lift my hips to help him, and he peels them down my thighs, taking my underwear with them.

The cool air hits my heated skin, and then his fingers are there—sliding through my wetness, exploring.

"God, Zara." He growls my name, his mouth hot against my neck. "You have such a perfect little pussy. Always so wet and ready for me."

"Only for you," I manage, the confession coming out breathless.

He finds my clit with his thumb, circling with just the right pressure, and I cry out.

My hands fist in the comforter, twisting the fabric as pleasure builds in waves. One finger slides inside me, then two, curling to find that spot that makes my vision blur.

"Jaxon—"

"I've got you." His mouth replaces his thumb, his tongue dragging over my clit while his fingers continue their steady rhythm.

My back arches off the bed.