Page 95 of Caught from Behind

Only when he releases me, allows me to gasp in air, do I realize I’ve plastered myself against him, that my legs are around his waist and he’s come over the top of me, pressing me back into granite.

Cold beneath me.

Hot on top of me.

Hard between my legs.

He smiles and it contains no little amount of wicked. “I think I have a better idea.”

“Better than hot, straight-out-the-oven delicious apple cinnamon muffins?”

“Those taste good.” He drops to his knees, presses a kiss to a bruise at the top of my thigh then rucks my T-shirt up to my waist. “But you’ll taste better.”

He pushes my legs wide, reaches for the gusset of my underwear?—

And the doorbell rings.

“Ignore it,” he says, slipping his finger under the elastic, brushing it over the slick heat of my pussy.

I shiver, propping my elbows under me, and the sight of him, mussed from sleep, burning need in his eyes, and positioned between my thighs is enough to nearly send me tipping into orgasm.

“Fuck yes,” he rasps, clearly feeling the flood of my desire the sight of him there creates. He leans in and trails his tongue over me, licking from bottom to top in one sure stroke.

“God!” I cry when he sucks my clit without warning, making my hips buck and my elbows slip out from beneath me.

“Look at me, chérie,” he murmurs, and I manage to lift up enough to see him smiling wolfishly at me, his beard coated with the evidence of my need for him. He presses a finger inside me, the blunt intrusion not nearly enough, especially when he leans in again and licks me, suckling at my clit, fucking me with his fingers.

I’m already hovering on the edge of completion, so close I can almost taste it, and when he slips another finger inside me, I moan loudly.

“This fucking cunt,” he growls, nipping at my clit, sucking hard at a spot on my labia that is excruciatingly pleasurable. “I just want to spend the entirety of my life fucking it.” He sucks again, shoves another finger in, and I start to shake. “With my fingers.” A thrust of his hand. “With my tongue.” He flicks it against that sensitive bundle of nerves. “With my cock.”

“Riggs!” I moan, needing more, needing him inside me.

“I want to be in you too, chérie,” he murmurs against me. “But I haven’t gotten my fill of this pretty pink cunt yet.”

“Oh fuck,” I say as the peak of my orgasm hits, pleasure exploding through me. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh?—”

“For fuck’s sake!”

I freeze, body quivering, thighs around Riggs’s head, underwear askew and his fingers and tongue fucking me.

I freeze not because of the mind-blowing orgasm he just laid on me, nor the pleasure still shivering through my body…

But because the voice isn’t his.

And I know the moment that Riggs recognizes the same thing.

He launches to his feet, spinning around, his big body blocking me from view of whoever has come into the kitchen—not from the front door, but…

From the hallway that Riggs carried me through last night. The one that leads to the mudroom and…to the garage.

“What the actual fuck?” he snaps.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, son.”

My eyes go wide, so fucking wide I’m sort of surprised they aren’t popping right out of my head.

Son?

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