Page 75 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

“Window,” I order, voice dark. “Hands on the glass.”

She staggers, flushed and shaking, but she obeys, pressing her palms against the cold pane. City lights halo her hair. I step behind her, press my chest to her back, and slide down to my knees. I lick her between her thighs, lapping up everything dripping down her legs. She shrieks softly, forehead hitting the window. The contrast of cold glass and hot tongue makes her shiver violently.

She whispers a plea, but I don’t stop until her legs threaten to buckle. Then I stand, grip her hips, and guide my cock into her from behind. Fucking her against the window is brutal and glorious. The angle is different; it hits deep, grinding her clit against the glass. Her reflection shows her flushed face, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth open. I lean forward, mouth at her ear.

“Look outside,” I murmur. “Imagine the whole city watching you take my cock.”

She whines, arousal dripping down her thighs. I slam faster, harder, the slap of our bodies rhythmic and obscene. She comes again, trembling against the window, palms squeaking on the glass. I hold her up, grip her throat gently, and ride every pulse.

I pull her away, spin her, and sit her on the windowsill. Her legs fall open, and I sink to my knees, eat her again until she’s sobbing, then stand and feed her my cock, her mouth hot and eager despite how wrecked she is. She sucks me with desperate focus, saliva dribbling down her chin, eyes locked on mine. I thrust shallowly, fucking her mouth, panting. My balls draw tight; I pull out before I lose it, dragging her back to the bed.

“Hands and knees,” I command. “Head down, ass up.”

She obeys. I kneel behind her and slide in again, this time reaching around to rub her clit while I piston. Her sounds are broken, animalistic. Her shoulders shake. I lean over her, bite the back of her neck, and grunt, “You feel that? That’s me taking what you kept from me. That’s me fixing what you broke.”

She sobs, “Daddy,” and that’s it—I hook my arm under her waist, lift her so her back is against my chest, and keep driving.

“I’m not done,” I snarl. “Get on top.”

She turns, panting, eyes wild, and straddles me. She sinks down on my cock, slow, agonizing, and we both groan. She plants her hands on my chest. I lace my fingers behind my head, let her control the rhythm. She starts slow, grinding, rolling her hips. Then she speeds up, bouncing, her breasts jiggling, sweat flying. She rides like she’s punishing me, a fierce expression twisting her face. I let her, watch her, adore her.

She stares down, eyes burning holes in my soul. “You’re never leaving again,” she snarls.

“No,” I say, voice raw. “Never.”

She slams down, harder, faster. My cock pulses inside her, but I hold the line. She’s breathing raggedly, spit on her lips, hair sticking to her neck. She’s in control now, fucking me, taking me, claiming me. And I look up at her—Artemis in human skin, the mother of my child, the love I will fight for until my last breath—and know there is no universe where I ever let her go again.

16

ATHENA

I plant my palms on his chest and ride him like I’m trying to erase six years in six minutes. Sweat beads at my temples, drips down the curve of my spine, and the muscles in my thighs burn, but I don’t stop. Each bounce, each grind, each punishing slam sends hot ripples through my whole body. He watches me with his head tipped back and his mouth slightly open, hands clutching my hips but not controlling them. His eyes are feral, a dark mix of reverence and hunger, and when I lean forward and kiss him, teeth clashing, I can taste his last ragged breath still hanging between us.

“Fuck—Athena,” he rasps.

“Shut up,” I pant against his mouth.

He laughs and bites my lower lip, and I cry out, slamming down on him so hard the headboard cracks against the wall. His hands fly up to cup my jaw, and he grinds upward into me, matching my pace, pushing me right into that merciless rhythm that pounds the reason out of my skull. I watch his face, every flicker of restraint, every ounce of control, and I drink it like a drug. Six years and this man still reacts to my body like it’s the one place he can never get enough of. The knowledge is a fuse in my blood.

He sits up suddenly, hands locking around my waist, and pulls me off without warning. I land on my back with a grunt, and he follows in the same motion, burying himself deep again before I can miss the stretch.

“Oh my god⁠—”

His fingers lace mine and press my hands over my head while he pounds with hard, ruthless thrusts. His mouth finds my throat. He licks, sucks, bites, leaving a mark I’ll see tomorrow in the mirror. I arch into him, thighs locking around his hips. Each thrust drives farther than the last. The whole bed rattles. I drag my fingers down his back, digging crescent moons into his skin, and he groans like the sound alone keeps him alive.

“Beg for it,” he orders, voice shredded.

I glare and wrap my legs tighter. “Make me.”

He pulls out almost entirely, holds there, torturing me with the emptiness. “Beg.”

“Asshole,” I hiss.

He slams back in, and the impact lights me up so hard I forget why I’m angry. “You want me again?” he growls against my ear. “Say it.”

“Fine—I want you,” I sob, because it’s the only thing that scrapes through my throat when he starts fucking me like that again.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, relentless. “I want you desperate. Now take it.”