Page 100 of Calling the Shots

“Tell me what you want, gorgeous,” I murmur into the tender skin of her neck, teeth grazing the flesh.

“I want you to fuck me, Daddy.”

That’s all I can take. I line my dick up with her entrance and push in. Not slow and gentle, but with one hard upward thrust. I impale her with my cock and she gasps in surprise, her muscles clenching around me.

“That’s it, baby girl. Take all of Daddy’s big, hard cock.” I pull out, then thrust into her again. She pushes back against me, shimmying her ass against my pelvis. “Fuck, yes.”

I pull out and drive into her again and again, our bodies slapping together, wet and warm and slippery. Pressure builds low in my gut, the familiar tingling sensation at the base of my spine growing and building. She keeps her grip on the wall, her face pressed against the tile as I pound into her.

One hand gripping her hip, the other circling her wrist, I drive into her tight channel. Her muscles tense and clench, milking my cock as she spasms. Crying out, she crashes over the edge and I follow her lead, exploding. I spurt my seed into her, over and over again until my dick’s limp.

Pulling out, I kiss all the way down her neck, the straight line of her spine, to her tailbone then back up again. I spin her around and drop my lips to hers. She wraps her arms around my neck, water spilling down around us.

“You are so fucking perfect, baby. All of you.”

“I love you,” she murmurs.

“I love you, too, baby.”

I hold onto her like that for a long, long time, enjoying the feel of her soft curves against me, the warmth of the water and steam wrapping around us. I wish we could stay like this forever, just the two of us in our little cocoon, where we’re safe and happy.

Everything about this moment—about us—feels right.

But things are never that simple, especially with the McIntire family involved.

CHAPTER33

GRACELYN

Thanksgiving day’s bright and sunny, a picture-perfect crisp autumn day. The air’s brisk with a slight wind, leaves blazing orange and red, and the smell of a wood-burning fire hangs in the air.

“We have cocktails outside around the fire before dinner. Family tradition.” Mack laces his fingers with mine as we walk up to the main house.

I spent the last hour selecting the perfect holiday outfit—black dress number six wins. A cute wrap dress with a ruffle hemline, I accessorize with diamond studs, a delicate pave drop necklace, and booties, topping the entire ensemble with a soft gray cashmere wrap. Mack assures me the outfit’s suitable, but butterflies still zoom around my tummy. They seem to have taken up permanent residence there. I suck in a quick breath, trying to get a hold of my nerves.

Even after two full days here, I’m still not comfortable. Tinsley has a lot to do with that, but it’s difficult to unravel the situation. Emma Kate hasn’t exactly been welcoming, and I doubt I’ve left an amazing impression on either of Mack’s parents.

I have a lot of work to do to win over the McIntire family.

Maybe today will be the day. A cozy holiday celebrating food and family.

“Gracie, Ulysses. Happy Thanksgiving!” Mack’s dad bellows across the lawn as we approach the back of the main house.

Just like Mack said, the family plus Tinsley stand around a crackling fire in the freestanding brick fireplace. A sofa and chairs flank a teak coffee table, set with a fancy spread of hors d’oeuvres. Piles of meat and cheeses, olives, and nuts, tiny finger sandwiches, and caprese skewers fill the table, along with crystal glasses and an open bottle of champagne.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Dad.” Mack hugs his father, then his mother, and I follow suit. I try to act natural, even though the gesture’s stiff, considering we’re practically strangers.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Brother.” Emma Kate squeezes her brother, then gives me a light hug. “Gracelyn.”

I hug her back, patting her awkwardly on the back while sucking in my stomach. No need to give her more ammunition.

Tinsley murmurs her greeting, but doesn’t attempt to hug or touch either of us.

Fine by me.

As far as I’m concerned, she needs to keep her grubby little debutante paws off my man.

One of the staff presses champagne flutes into our hands, and Mack’s dad raises his glass to the sky for a toast.

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