Page 82 of Knocked Up By the Silver Foxes

“Early.” I bite her lower lip, drag my teeth just hard enough to make her shudder. “Couldn’t fucking wait.”

She whimpers when I kiss her again, deeper this time, my tongue sliding against hers, and I don’t give her a second to breathe. Two weeks without her—two weeks of video calls where I could see her but not touch, could hear her but not taste—and now she’s here, warm and real and arching into me like she’s been starving for it too.

I pull back just enough to see her face. “You missed me.”

Her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from my mouth. “You have no idea.”

I grin. “Show me.”

Her hands shove at my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders, and I let it drop to the ground behind us. The second it’s gone, she’s on me again, kissing me like she’s trying to crawl inside my skin. I walk her backward, hands gripping her hips, until her back hits the hedge wall. She makes this sound—half moan, half sigh—and I swallow it, pinning her there with my body while my fingers find the tie of her dress.

One tug and it loosens.

Another and the fabric falls open.

I don’t wait. I push the dress up her thighs, my hands rough, impatient, and she arches into my touch like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Fuck,” I mutter against her mouth. “You’re not wearing anything under this.”

Her breath hitches. “I was hoping you’d come back.”

Christ.

I drop to my knees right there in the grass, hands sliding up her bare thighs, and she makes this broken noise when my mouth finds her.

She tastes even better than I remember.

Her fingers fist in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting, and I groan against her, dragging my tongue through her wet heat like I’ve been dreaming about for days.

“Maddox—” Her voice cracks. “Please⁠—”

I don’t let her finish. I suck her clit into my mouth, flicking it with my tongue, and she jerks against me with a cry.

I could stay here forever, drowning in her, but I want more. I want her riding me, desperate and wild, the way she gets when she’s been without me too long.

I stand in one smooth motion, catching her wrist and pulling her away from the hedge. She stumbles into me, her dress still pushed up around her waist, and I spin her, guiding her down onto the grass.

She goes willingly, her back hitting the soft earth, and I follow her down, bracing myself over her.

“Tell me,” I murmur, dragging my lips along her jaw. “Did they fuck you while I was gone?”

She shivers. “Yes.”

“Did you come?”

“Yes.”

I bite her throat, just hard enough to make her gasp. “Good. But this—” I slide my hand between her legs, fingers slick with her arousal—“this is mine.”

She whimpers, hips lifting into my touch.

I don’t tease her. I push two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and she arches off the ground with a cry.

“Fuck,” she pants. “Maddox⁠—”

I kiss her again, swallowing her moans, and she claws at my shirt, trying to get it off me. I help her, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside, and then her hands are everywhere—my chest, my shoulders, my stomach—like she can’t get enough.

I unbuckle my belt with one hand, shoving my jeans down just enough to free my cock.