Page 56 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

“You going to let him fill you until you’re dripping with his release?"

Then, without warning, Cohen leans forward, his storm-blue eyes never leaving her pussy. His lips find her clit, and he sucks hard, pulling a gasp from between Skylar's parted lips. The sensation ripples through her, a shockwave that tightens her around me, squeezing so hard she nearly strangles my dick.

The sound that escapes me is part animal, part man—a grunt of pure, undiluted ecstasy. My fingers dig into Skylar's hip, tighten on her throat, anchoring her to me as Cohen devours her with his lips. Each movement of his mouth sends her grinding down harder onto me. Fuck, it’s so good.

Skylar's lost in the sensation, in the push and pull of flesh, and I'm swept along with her. My mind empties of everything but the feel of her, the taste of her skin under my lips, the sound of her pleasure mixing with ours.

I can't hold back anymore, not with Skylar's hips rolling and grinding down onto me in a desperate rhythm, not with Cohen's mouth latched onto her with an intensity that rivals my own craving. I start pounding into her from below, each thrust desperate and claiming.

Skylar's sounds are like music, high-pitched notes of ecstasy that rise above the low, guttural growls escaping my throat. And there's Cohen, unrelenting, his tongue working magic as it flicks and sucks at her clit, occasionally brushing against me. The sensation should be jarring, but there's no room for anything but pure, undiluted pleasure.

Cohen's movements become more frantic, he pulls one hand from her thigh, shoving his pajama pants down and gripping his cock. He begins to stroke himself at a frenzied pace, his eyes locked on Skylar's face, watching as she nears her peak.

I can feel my own pleasure nearing its peak, my balls tightening in anticipation of release. I know she's close. We're close.

"Such a good girl," I whisper against the smooth skin of Skylar's throat, my lips trailing fiery kisses along her pulse point. "Taking me so well." My words are both praise and plea, coaxing her toward release. "Come for us, Skylar."

The sensation is undeniable—a vice-like grip that threatens to unravel me completely as Skylar's body clenches around my own. Heat floods every vein, the pressure building to an unbearable crescendo until I'm spilling into her, a pulse of pleasure that feels fucking amazing.

"Fuck, Sky," I gasp, the words torn from my throat, raw and honest. The world narrows down to this single point of connection—the place where our bodies join.

Cohen gives Skylar's clit a final, lingering lick, a gesture that sends another shockwave through her—and by proxy, through me. He rises to his feet in one fluid motion and surrenders to his own climax, coming all over Skylar's flushed skin.

It's filthy. It's dirty. And it's beautiful in its rawness.

Breathing hard, I watch Cohen, seeing the echoes of my own lust etched across his features. In the aftermath, as breathscome in jagged pulls and heartbeats start to slow, I know I’m so fucked.

I love Skylar. God, how I love her. How I’ve never stopped. It's a ferocious thing that lingers in the marrow of my bones, an emotion that refuses to be tamed or quieted.

I wonder if she understands just how much I crave not just her body, but her soul, her very being.

I want this to work. I want us to find harmony in the chaos, to navigate the treacherous waters of jealousy and possession and come out on the other side stronger for it. I want them to stop being so stupid and just accept what I already know.

She. Is. Ours.

I allow myself to envision a future where we are not fragments but a whole. It's a dangerous dream, perhaps a foolish one. But it's mine, and I can’t help but cling to it with everything I have.

Chapter 18

Austin

Isnap awake, heart drumming a staccato rhythm against my chest. It's that unsettling prickling of skin, the sense that something isn't quite in its place—and it's not just the cold space beside me in the bed where no one now sleeps. Every morning feels like this now, ever since Skylar Deveraux decided to turn my carefully ordered world on its head.

Padding barefoot down the hallway, the faint aroma of coffee beckons me forward, a call I'm reluctant yet desperate to answer. I’d mainline the shit if I could. When I round the corner into the kitchen, there she is, commandeering the space as if she's always belonged here.

Skylar, in all her irritating glory, stands at the counter, her slender fingers wrapped around the handle of my French press. She’s in Theo’s fucking hoodie—the oversized garment swallowing her frame, the sleeves hanging past her hands, the hem brushing against the curve of her thighs.

Beneath it, barely peeking out from beneath the hem are the world's tiniest sleep shorts. My dick twitches in appreciation.

"Morning, Austin," she greets me, her voice a melody of smug satisfaction. "You look like you've been wrestling with your demons all night."

Her words strike, sharp and unerring, and I bristle at the casual observation. My grip tightens on the back of a chair, wood cool beneath my fingers. "Maybe I have," I retort, unable to keep the bite from my voice. "Some of us have real responsibilities to contend with."

Skylar chuckles, a low, throaty sound. She leans back against the counter, those hazel eyes glinting with a challenge I know all too well. "Is that so? Taking care ofyourchild isn’t a responsibility? Huh."

I loathe how she reads me, how she prods at the edges of my composure with the precision of a surgeon. Yet, I can't help but take the bait, the tension between us crackling. "What I can't stand," I say, stepping closer, "is someone who thinks they can waltz in and claim territory that isn't theirs."

"Is that what this is about?" She tilts her head, studying me, her expression unreadable behind the armor of her confidence. "Territory?"

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