Page 63 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

Then, without warning, he grips my thighs and lifts me. My back arches reflexively, seeking out his heat, his strength. He carries me effortlessly, each step he takes resonating through me. But as we approach my bedroom door, panic flares within the haze of desire.

"Wait—shit, the door," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

His stride doesn't falter. "I know."

"Elodie..." The name tumbles from my lips, laced with concern.

"Focus on me. Just me." He commands, yet there's an undertone of reassurance that stills the fear in my veins.

"Please," I breathe out, my plea hanging between us.

My back hits the wall with a thud that reverberates through my bones. Before the shock can simmer into fear, Austin's body is against mine, an unyielding barricade between me and everything else. His hand snakes behind me, and the door slams shut with a finality that echoes in the suddenly enclosed space.

"Right now, you'remine," he growls, each word a brand searing through the fog of my consciousness.

His lips crash against mine, an all-consuming force that leaves no room for protest. Not that I want to protest. The world narrows down to the taste of him, the heat of his mouth pressingwith a desperate hunger that resonates deep within me. There’s no room for doubt or guilt, only the need for him, for this, for us.

Fingers fumbling, I reach for his shirt, hating the barrier of fabric between us. He seems to understand, catching the urgency in my touch. With a fluid motion, his hands grip the collar at the back of his neck, and the cloth rips away, pulled over his head in one smooth motion.

The coarse texture of stubble grazes my fingertips as they trail along Austin's jawline, down the column of his neck. His skin is a map of heat and desire beneath my touch. A low groan vibrates in my throat as I explore the hard planes of his chest. My nails scrape lightly, marking him with my need. Each inch I cover leaves a craving for more—more contact, more of him.

"Sky," Austin murmurs, his voice rough like gravel, as if it is being pulled from the depths of a primal hunger. His hand finds my breast; fingers splaying wide before he cups me, his palm warm and possessive. He thumbs over my nipple, and it tightens instantly, aching for more attention.

I can't help but arch into his touch, craving the pressure, the pleasure. His hips roll against mine in a rhythm dictated by pure instinct. Every push of his erection against me jolts lightning through my veins.

His mouth descends to my nipple, tongue tracing circles that leave me gasping and clawing at his back.

"More," I find myself whispering again, the word torn from the chaos of my thoughts. More friction, more of his touch, more of this intoxicating loss of control.

He obliges without hesitation, switching to my other breast with an open-mouthed kiss that draws a whimper from my lips. He gives me exactly what I need without hesitation. Two fingers thrust inside me, stretching, filling, while his thumb seeks out my clit.

"Fuck my fingers. Make yourself come." His command is laced with authority and an edge of raw need that mirrors my own.

I obey, moving against him with abandon, riding the waves of pleasure he offers. My hands grasp at his shoulders, seeking leverage, desperate. Each stroke of his fingers pushes me closer to oblivion, each circle of his thumb fans the flames higher.

"Ah, Austin..." My hips move on pure instinct, each roll and thrust a desperate chase after the pleasure that coils tighter within me. The world fades until there's nothing but the raw sensation, the heat of his body against mine, and the insistent pressure where I need it most.

"Please," escapes my lips in a breathless whisper, though I can't articulate what I'm pleading for—more, less, harder, never stop. His digits curl and uncurl inside me, an exquisite torture, drawing moans from deep within my throat that quickly turn into desperate cries. I'm so close, teetering on the brink of release.

But Austin, damn him, knows the power he wields. Just as the world begins to shatter, he withdraws his fingers, leaving me gasping and bereft. "No, don't—"

The protest dies as he maneuvers me effortlessly, my back hitting the mattress with a soft thud. Before I can catch my breath or voice another complaint, he's there, his mouth replacing where his fingers had been.

"Ah, fuck," I hiss, tangling my fingers in his hair, holding him to the pulsing heat between my legs.

He groans against me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine. His tongue is relentless, and I'm lost again.

"Please, Austin, don't stop," I beg, my walls clenching in anticipation, my body yearning for the release he's more than capable of granting.

The world narrows to the sensation of Austin's mouth on me—the insistent tug of his lips, the skillful dance of his tongue. I'ma livewire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure as he devours me with a hunger that echoes my own. My fingers tighten in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as I guide him deeper into my madness.

"Ah—Austin!" The cry rips from my throat, unbidden, raw. My hips buck against his face, seeking more, always more. He obliges, the pressure of his mouth increasing, his tongue a relentless force that sends me spiraling. My body clenches around nothing, desperate for release, and when it comes, it's cataclysmic.

I shatter, stars exploding behind my closed eyelids, my lungs seizing in a breathless climax.

For a moment, there's only silence and the loud drumming of my heart in my ears. Then the absence of warmth between my thighs registers, and I peel open my eyes to find Austin rummaging through my nightstand. His movements are hurried, purposeful, but when he turns to me, frustration etches his handsome features.

"Condoms," he growls, the word a command more than a question, his voice laced with that same authoritative edge that makes every fiber of my being stand at attention.

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