Page 71 of Twisted Tate

I bury my face between her legs.

She cries out when my tongue finds her clit. I can taste both of us, her wetness and my precum, and I eat her pussy like I haven’t done this every day for months. My fingers dig into her thighs, holding her open, keeping her pinned while I make her take it.

“Tate, I can’t—” Her hands are in my hair, pulling, pushing, not sure if she wants more or less. “It’s too much.”

I suck her clit into my mouth and slide two fingers inside her. She’s so wet I can hear it, and the sound makes my cock throb.

“You can.” I curl my fingers and find the spot that makes her back arch off the bed. “You will. Come on my face, baby girl. Give me another one.”

I don’t stop until she’s sobbing, her thighs clamped around my head, her pussy dripping against my tongue. When she finally goes limp, I kiss my way up her body and position myself at her entrance.

“One more.” I push inside her slowly, letting her feel every inch. “And then I’m going to fill you up and make you sit through my father’s birthday breakfast with my cum dripping out of you.”

“Yes.” She wraps her legs around me. “Please.”

I fuck her slow this time. Deep, grinding thrusts that make her moan with every stroke. Her nails rake down my back. Her teeth find my shoulder, right where my tattoos of her bite marks are, and she adds another mark to my shoulder.

The sharp pain sends me over the edge.

I bury myself deep and come inside her, groaning against her neck, filling her up while she clenches around me. She follows a few seconds later, her fourth orgasm, and this one is quiet. Just a full-body shudder and a soft cry against my shoulder.

I stay inside her while we both come down.

“I need to get this one tattooed.” I trace my fingers over the fresh bite mark. The skin is broken, blood welling up in the shape of her teeth. “That makes four.”

“You’re running out of room on that shoulder.”

“Then start biting me other places, baby girl.” I pull out and watch my cum leak out of her. “I might let you shower before breakfast.” I kiss her again, unable to get enough of her. “But I’ll fill your pussy again in the shower.”

Later that morning, we all gather downstairs. My father hates his birthday, which makes forcing him to celebrate it one of our favorite traditions.

The whole family is here. Fox and Ivy are already at the table when Reese and I come downstairs. Thorne is slouched in his chair, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. My father is scowling at the spread of food Whitney insisted on having. Whitney is ignoring his complaints and pouring herself coffee.

Reese squeezes my hand once before she takes her seat beside Ivy. I watch her settle into the chair, and I know from the small shift of her hips that my cum from this morning is soaking her panties right now.

Good.

“Nice of you to show up.” Thorne doesn’t look up from his phone. “Thought you might have had fucked enough already.”

“Thought maybe you’d be less of an asshole, little brother. But there you are needing your ass kicked.”

Fox snorts. Ivy hides a smile behind her coffee cup.

Whitney slides a plate in front of my father. “Eat your eggs, Dane. You can be a dick about it later.”

“You are pushing it, kitten. And I don’t know why my family insists on making a production out of something as meaningless as my birthday.”

“I think you secretly love that it brings all the children back to the house.” Whitney pats his arm. “You aren’t fooling anyone.”

My father grumbles but a smile appears. My dad is completely fucking whipped when it comes to Whitney, regardless of how controlling and possessive he may be. And based on the way he looks at her when she turns away, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

I get it now. I didn’t before, but now I fucking do.

Movement at the doorway catches my attention. Sloane is standing there, hesitating like she’s not sure she belongs. She’s Whitney’s daughter, well, my stepsister, technically. She’s back from college for the weekend, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in days.

Thorne’s head snaps up.

I watch him watch her. The way his jaw goes tight. Then he goes back to typing something on his phone.