Page 4 of Slap Shot Daddies

His hands glide across the top of my dress, gripping my breasts through the thin fabric. I gasp against his mouth, arching into his touch.

His lips trail down my neck. "God, you're beautiful," he murmurs against my skin.

I roll my hips against him, feeling him hard beneath me. A low groan rumbles in his chest, his hands gripping my thighs tighter.

"Wait," he pants, pulling back slightly. His eyes search mine, a hint of uncertainty in their hazel depths. "Are you sure about this?"

The question catches me off guard. I blink, my foggy brain trying to process his words through the haze of desire.

"I mean," I start, my voice husky. "Yeah. I want this. Don't you?"

His thumb traces circles on my hip, sending little sparks of electricity through me. "Of course I do," he says. “I just wanted to make sure you were good.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m good.”

His lips pull me in again as I feel him peeling away my dress, I let out a soft gasp. His hands are everywhere, tracing the curves of my body with a reverence that makes my heart race.

His lips trail down my neck, across my collarbone, igniting every nerve ending.

"You're sure?" he murmurs against my skin one more time.

In response, I grab the hem of his hoodie and tug it over his head, tossing it aside. My hands roam over the planes of his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath warm skin.

"Absolutely sure," I breathe.

His eyes darken with desire as he pulls me closer, claiming my mouth in a searing kiss. I melt into him, losing myself in the heat of his touch and the taste of his lips.

The world narrows to just this: the feel of skin on skin, quiet gasps and low moans mingling with the muffled sounds of the party outside.

His hands glide down my back, cupping my ass and pulling me flush against him. I grind my hips, eliciting a deep groan from his throat.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice rough with need.

I fumble with his belt buckle, desperate to feel more of him. He helps me, lifting his hips as I tug his jeans down.

My fingers trace the hard length of him through his boxers, and he hisses in pleasure.

"Condom?" I manage to ask between heated kisses.

He nods, reaching for his discarded jeans. He pulls out his wallet, retrieving a foil packet. I take it from him, tearing it open with shaking hands.

As I roll the condom on, I take in the feeling of his hard, thick cock in my hand. It twitches at my touch, and I feel excitement course through me as I climb on top of him, centering myself as I feel his hands fall to my bare hips.

Gently, he pushes himself inside of me, and I moan loudly, feeling him fill me up entirely.

I brace myself with a hand on the seats beside me, tipping my head back, allowing pleasure to race along my veins.

It feels good to be reckless, to have fun like other people my age. It feels good to let go of the staid, boring vet school graduate, who always does the right things at the right times.

Besides, as he fills me to the brim, making sparks of pleasure sing and dance outward from my core, I can’t find it in me to think that thisisn’tthe right thing. In fact, it feels dangerously like the only right thing I have ever done in my life.

“God, you’re tight,” he growls, lifting his hips to meet my movements, helping me get into a cadence.

“You’re welcome,” I shoot back and then slap a hand over my mouth in shock. I’m not usually sassy like this. Where has this other side of me been hiding?

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm, and it adds a secondary note of pleasure to his thrusting within me.

The intimacy of the moment feels greater than just a hookup, confusing my senses, and compelling me to rock harder against him, chasing my release.

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