Page 64 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

With a languid motion, I wave toward the dresser across the room, still too dazed to articulate where the small foil packets are stashed. There's a brief flicker of annoyance in his piercing blue eyes before he strides over to the dresser, muscles rippling under his taut skin. A part of me, the part not lost in the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, admires the power coiled within him, the sheer maleness that he exudes without even trying.

Austin locates the foil packet, making quick work of tearing it open with his teeth. The sound of the wrapper giving way sends a new wave of anticipation coursing through me. He rolls the condom onto his impressive length, and I can't help butswallow hard. Fuck, he's thick. Thicker than Theo—a thought that triggers an involuntary shiver.

As he turns to stalk back toward the bed, my eyes are riveted on the primal intent etched in every line of his body. He's all controlled power and raw masculinity, and it commands my full attention.

But then, the image of Theo flashes in my mind—his gentle green eyes, the softness of his touch. And Cohen. A pang of guilt gnaws at my insides, murky and unsettling.

"Skylar," Austin's voice rumbles, slicing through my turmoil as he looms over me. His piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, heavy with desire and something darker, something possessive.

I should be thinking about the complications, about the promises unspoken and the tangled web of relationships. But all thoughts scatter as Austin aligns himself with my body, the tip of him pressing insistently at my entrance.

His gaze never wavers from mine as he settles over me, and for a breathless moment, we're suspended in the charged space between action and consequence.

Then he thrusts into me, to the root, in one swift, brutal motion that tears a scream from my throat. Every inch of him stretches me, filling me in a way that obliterates reason and memory. There's only here, only now, only the searing connection as he claims me with a fierceness that resonates deep within my bones.

Austin's hand is pressed firmly over my mouth. There’s a warning heavy in his gaze as he pins me with a look that could scorch the earth. "Quiet, Skylar," he growls, his voice a low rumble of command. "We wouldn't want one of them to come check on you, would we?"

I can only shake my head, breaths coming in ragged gasps, as he leans back. The withdrawal is an agonizing tease, everymuscle in my body tensing in anticipation. And then he slams back inside, so deep, so full, it borders on pain and pleasure.

My eyes roll back, a strangled cry clawing at my throat, muffled by the strength of his hand. I'm at the mercy of his rhythm, the brutal pace he sets as he ruts into me. Every impact of his hips against mine is a symphony of raw, primal need.

"Look at you, trouble," he snarls, his voice thick with lust. "So fucking tight for me. You like that, don't you? Taking all of me."

I can't speak, can't think, reduced to nothing but sensation and need. The bed creaks under the force of our coupling, his dominance unyielding and absolute. There's no gentleness—only the potent mix of power and desire as he claims me.

"Can you feel how hard you make me?" he taunts, fingers digging into my thigh, leaving marks that will remind me of this moment long after he's done. "This is what you do to me, Skylar. No one else...just you."

His words feed the fire inside me. There's no room for anything else, not guilt, not questions—just the relentless pursuit of climax that builds with every thrust of his hips, every stroke of his cock inside me.

The tempo of Austin's hips against mine is relentless, a symphony of flesh that drowns out every thought.

"Come on, baby," he grunts, the filthy encouragement spurring me on. "I want to feel you come around my cock. Do it. Come for me, Skylar."

And I'm close, teetering on the edge, spiraling towards oblivion under the weight of his body.

"Come, Skylar," he orders, his thumb finding that tender nub between us, circling with a precision that borders on torture. "Now." The command in his voice is absolute.

My body obeys before my mind can process the command. The climax hits like a meteor strike, incinerating all sense of self as the pleasure sears through me. I'm scattered to the winds, eachpiece of me alight with ecstasy, and for a fleeting second, I swear my spirit detaches, hovering above this tangled web of limbs and sweat-drenched sheets.

Austin's groan rumbles through his chest, a primal sound that vibrates against my skin. He follows me over the edge. His release is a thing of raw beauty, etched into my mind. I watch, fascinated as tension lines his face, the normally controlled CEO surrendering.

It's an image I want to capture, to replay over and over, memorizing the way he looks at the pinnacle of vulnerability.

But then it's over—the intensity fades, and he pulls away, stepping back from the bed as if shedding the intimacy with the condom he discards. The sight of him, retreating from me, sends a fresh jolt through my system, one that has nothing to do with desire or satisfaction.

"Wait..." My voice is a hoarse whisper, but he doesn't hear, or maybe he chooses not to. He strides away, leaving me sprawled and bare, the echoes of our passion lingering in the air like a ghost.

The bathroom door clicks shut, then swings open again. His movements are efficient, the silence heavy between us. He approaches with a warm washcloth, and I can't muster the strength to do anything but watch him. There's a tenderness in his touch that belies the fervor of moments ago, as he cleans me up with careful hands. He doesn't speak, and neither do I.

There’s an intimacy to this. At least…I thought there was. But now he’s grabbing his clothes and slipping them on. He’s not even looking at me. I should say something—anything—but my voice is trapped behind the lump in my throat. With each button he fastens, it's as if he's sealing away the heat of our encounter, leaving nothing but cool distance in its wake.

He's at the door now, turning the handle, and still, I lie there—a rag doll discarded after playtime. The click of thelatch punctuates the end of whatever this was, and he's gone, footsteps fading down the hall.

Alone, I stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of what's just happened. What does this mean? My mind races to Cohen. And Theo. Guilt gnaws at me, an unwelcome intruder in the aftermath of ecstasy. I've crossed lines I can't uncross, and now I'm adrift in the consequences.

Breathing in deeply, I try to settle the turmoil churning inside me. The raw intensity of being with Austin—it's unlike anything I've ever felt, but at what cost? I've opened a Pandora's box of emotion, and I'm not sure I'm ready for what's about to spill out.

I drag myself upright, the room tilting on its axis. My chest feels tight, my heart an erratic drumbeat echoing the chaos in my head. What do I even want?

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