Page 10 of Pucking Daddy

I let one hand slide between us, fumbling with the button of my jeans while my other hand stays firmly planted on her hip, holding her right where I want her.

I want to hear her say it.

"Touch me. Actually touch me."

That’s all the permission I need. I shove her dress the rest of the way up.

My fingers are frantic and clumsy, the need for her overriding every bit of logic I have left.

She shivers as my fingers hook into the edge of her lace underwear.

I slide my fingers beneath.

She’s slick, hot, and completely ready for me. When my thumb finds her clit, she bucks against my hand, a sharp gasp escaping her.

"That's it." I pull back just enough to see her face in the shadows. Her eyes are blown wide, dark and hazy. "Show me what you need."

"I want you inside of me."

Fuck yes. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.

I reach down, undoing my belt one-handed—the metallic clink echoing like a gunshot in the small room.

She reaches down to help, her fingers fumbling with my zipper, and then her palm is wrapping around me.

I hiss a breath through my teeth, my eyes slamming shut. "Zara—"

"I know what I want," she whispers.

She strokes me once, a firm, possessive move that nearly sends me over the edge right then. I’m thick and aching in her grip.

I fumble for my wallet, shaking a condom out with practiced efficiency.

Once I’m set, I hook my hands under her thighs, hoisting her higher against the equipment.

I don't even bother taking her underwear off; I just shove the lace aside.

I push into her in one long, heavy stroke.

She gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her whole body tensing around me. I freeze, my forehead resting against her temple, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Maybe this is too much for her? She’s tight. Very tight. And I know I’m big.

"Okay?" I grit out, my muscles jumping with the effort of staying still.

"Move. Move."

I obey.

I start slow, testing the depth, finding the perfect angle that makes her head knock back against the metal.

She doesn't seem to care; she’s chasing the friction, her heels digging into my back.

"Harder," she demands, her voice a low command.

I snap my hips forward, the pace turning primal.

The sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, drowned out only by her moans and my own ragged breath.