Page 8 of Pucking Daddy

She smiles easily. Talks easily.

Feels like sunlight in a room I’ve kept dark for too long.

And when she looks at me…God, I can’t help myself.

I want her. Now.

It’s been too long since I’ve had someone under me. Usually, I’m taking care of myself in the dark or under a spray of hot water.

It’s a cheap substitute, and my body knows it. My cock pulses, a hard, rhythmic reminder of exactly how long it’s been.

My gaze flicks past her, toward the hallway near the bathrooms.

And I make my decision.

At my obvious proposition, she doesn’t even blink.

She doesn’t seem to have a problem following a random stranger into a dim hallway. “Lead the way, Jax-just-Jax.”

I can’t resist placing a hand at the small of her back as we move through the crowd.

Her warmth seeps through the thin fabric of her shirt, and I have to fight the instinct to pull her closer, to keep her right there.

Instead, I guide her through the bodies, through the noise, into the hallway.

She looks up at me with those big green eyes, and I’m barely able to follow our conversation because I’m too busy taking her in.

She’s beautiful. There’s a strength to her, something toned beneath the softness. Her smile is devastating, all bright teeth and easy confidence.

I have to touch her. Now.

My knuckles brush along her jaw, soft, deliberate, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Her skin is soft. The kind of soft you don’t expect until you feel it.

All the while, I watch her. Track every reaction.

She’s turned on. I know she is. I see it in the way she looks up at me, the quick flick of her tongue over her lips, the hitch in her breath.

Fuck.

“Breathe, Zara,” I murmur, my voice rough.

She pulls in a long, shaky breath at my reminder, and I like it—watching her come undone like this.

A crooked grin tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.

“Good girl.” The words slip out, low and instinctive.

Heat flashes across her face at that, her body reacting fast, sharp, immediate. Her hand slides up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer.

Whatever restraint I had left snaps clean in half. My grin fades.

My hand moves from her jaw to the back of her neck, firmer now, my fingers threading slightly into her hair.

Her pulse jumps beneath my touch.

“Last chance,” I murmur.