Page 80 of Aim Assist

I wedge a thigh between her legs, rocking into her, feeling the heat of her through our clothes. She's already soaked through.

Fuck.

"Tell me what you want, angel." I punctuate the words with a roll of my hips. Grinding against her. Letting her feel how hard I am. How much I want her.

Always. Forever.

"You." She arches into me, nails digging crescents into my shoulders. "I want you."

Three words I'll never tire of hearing. I'd carve them into my skin if I could, a permanent reminder.

If only tattoos came with a recording of her voice.

It would be proof that she's mine. That this is real.

My lips find her throat, kissing, licking. Scraping her skin with my teeth. She tilts her head back, giving me access—offering herself up like a sacrifice to an ancient god.

I'm a greedy deity starving for the taste of her. The feel of her.

I suck at that soft spot where her pulse flutters, hard enough to leave a mark.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

"Bedroom," she pants, fingers tangling in my hair. Tugging. Desperate. "Now."

Far be it from me to deny her. I hoist her up, hands cupping her ass. Her legs wrap around my waist, those delicate little ankles locking at the small of my back.

If I had it my way, she'd never have to walk anywhere again.

I carry her down the hall. Lucky dances around our feet. I nudge her aside with my foot.

Not now, buddy. Daddy's busy.

The bedroom door slams shut behind us, leaving the little fluffball behind. Indignant barks don't faze either of us as I tumble her onto the bed. Amy lands with a bounce and a giggle, her gorgeous blonde curls fanning out across the pillow.

Cheeks flushed. Lips kiss-swollen.

Gorgeous. Breathtaking. Mine.

I kneel between her spread thighs, my hands smoothing up her legs and pushing her skirt up around her waist.

I love that she's always in a dress or skirt.

No pants to get in my way. Only black lace panties, completely soaked through.

Fuck, she's divine.

Hooking my fingers in the waistband, I drag them down her legs, punctuating every inch with a kiss. She lifts her hips to help.

Eager. Wanton.

Perfect.

I toss the scrap of lace aside and duck my head to nuzzle the inside of her thigh. Taking a moment, I breathe her in, dizzy with the scent of her arousal.

"Liam, please." Her voice cracks on the plea.

I look up the line of her body, past the soft mound of her stomach, the tantalizing swells of her breasts, lingering on her face.

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