Page 24 of Dad Bod's Daring December

“More. And more.

He nips my shoulder. “Take me, Ember. Ah, God. Take all of me.”

I’m willing, but he feels so much bigger in this position.

He grasps my thighs and pulls them wider. It helps, but I grunt at the force as he thrusts deeper. The dual sensations of pressure and pleasure meld and become one.

At last, he sinks all the way in. Making me quiver. My inner muscles squeeze him tight, pulsing around his root. My arms tremble as I fight to remain still and let him take me, just like I asked. Like I need.

“Do you feel me, Firefly?”

“God, yes. So much. So deep.”

Edward’s chest heaves against my back. “Good. Now I’ll give you what you want. What we both want.”

He slides out by inches. Returns with a hard thrust. Again. Again. Soon, his withdrawals are longer, his thrusts harder. I savor his length. His heat. His cock battering inside me. Dragging against hidden nerves. Pleasuring me in a way I never thought possible.

But I’m not sure if I can climax this way. The pressure is hard and growing harder with every hammering thrust.

“Look at us,” he growls. “Look.”

I do. I lift my eyes to the mirror, seeing his big body over mine, his cock moving in and out of me, and my body is seized by lightning. It comes so suddenly that I scream through gritted teeth. My back arches. I flex around him as I come. He keeps thrusting. I seize again, sobbing his name. Clawing the hand on the floor beside mine.

The pleasure is too much. He’s too much. I turn my head and press my mouth against the muscles of his uninjured arm, tasting salt and Edward. I clench again, the ripples of pleasure jagged now as his rhythm quickens. Pounding. Pushing. Rutting.

I’m pleading now as I come again, squeezing him hard. Then I feel it, the warmth of his release inside me. Hear his hoarse shout. Hear my name spilling from his lips.

“Ember. Ember. I love you. Love you.”

As the shivering pulses slow and ease, I kiss his arm. Lace my fingers on top of his. Meet his beautiful gray eyes in the mirror. “And I love you.”

Chapter 12

Edward

One Year Later—Christmas Eve

The winter sun feels warm for late December, casting a golden glow over the farmhouse. The air smells of pine and woodsmoke, mingling with the faint scent of cinnamon cider from the refreshment table near the barn. Festive wreaths line the pathway, their berries catching the light like tiny sparks, and I can’t help the little smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

A year ago, this place was chaos. Gunfire, shouting, broken glass—it was a war zone, thanks to Razor and Rebecca. The wreckage of that night took weeks to clean up, but the emotional scars took even longer to fade.

The aftermath of that night was like stepping out of a storm: everything felt quieter, more fragile, and irreversibly changed. Razor and Rebecca disappeared into the night, leaving behind scars on our lives that needed to heal—and justice that needed to be served.

When Razor fled with Rebecca, I didn’t let the weight of exhaustion or relief stop me. Within days, the sheriff’sdepartment, working with state authorities, tracked Razor and the rest of his crew to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the county.

I received a detailed report of how things went down, thanks to Sheriff Garland, who knew I needed proof it was over.

Razor, the self-proclaimed leader of his crumbling empire, went down swinging—literally. When the law came knocking, he fired shots at the officers, escalating the situation from an arrest to a standoff. It lasted for hours, Razor barking orders at his lackeys, Rebecca pacing behind him like a caged animal. She wasn’t innocent in any of it, though. Her sharp tongue and constant manipulation helped fuel Razor’s vendetta against me.

But the law doesn’t play games. Tear gas brought them out, coughing and stumbling, their bravado stripped away. Razor was tackled to the ground, his hands cuffed behind him while he cursed and spat, promising revenge even as they hauled him to his feet. Rebecca was quieter, her face pale, her eyes wide with fury and fear. She might have been Razor’s queen, but she was nothing more than a pawn caught in a losing game without her king.

The trial that followed was swift and merciless. Razor, already wanted on multiple charges in neighboring states, received a litany of sentences that ensured he wouldn’t see the outside of a cell for decades. Attempted murder, illegal possession of firearms, and a laundry list of other offenses sealed his fate. His crew—what was left of it—followed suit, each receiving varying sentences depending on their level of involvement.

Rebecca, though? Her story played out differently.

She cut a deal.

It wasn’t surprising. Rebecca was always a survivor first, loyal to no one but herself. She spilled everything she knew about Razor’s operations, his connections, the money laundering and petty crime that funded his so-called empire. In exchange, she avoided jail time, but her reputation was shredded. The townsfolk she once charmed with her polished smile and well-timed laughs saw her for what she truly was: selfish, ruthless, and desperate.

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