Page 100 of Legacy

The washer shakes beneath her as my hand trails up the inside of her bare thigh.

“Fuck me,” she begs.

“Later.” I slip my hand to her paradise and slide her panties aside, stroking her slick heat. “Right now, I’d rather just take care of you.”

Her head falls back as I drive two fingers in, and I clamp my free hand over her mouth to quiet her. I’m addicted to her sounds. Even more, I’m addicted to the fact that she can’t help but make them, even if they risk getting us in trouble.

Her legs wrap around my hips as she digs her heels into the back of my thighs.

I kiss the path down her throat as she rests her hands behind her and arches her body to meet my touch. I’m gentle, even if I love fucking her rough. Because all I want to do right now is make her feel good.

Worship her as she deserves.

She starts to ride my hand as I kiss the path down the center of her throat. The taste of her warm skin is addictive. I memorize every inch.

“You know what I want for my birthday, sweetheart?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes flutter because she’s on the brink.

“I want you to come for me. Show me how good you feel when I touch you.” I lick the line up the center of her throat.

Her body starts to shake. Her hands fly to my shoulders. She’s trying to hold on, but there’s no use.

I’d know—I’ve tried. I just keep falling.

My hand absorbs her screams as her pussy squeezes my fingers, and she comes with a gasp I’m going to play on repeat in my head for years.

When I pull my fingers out, she collapses against me, and a terrifying ache crawls through my chest. I never saw myself having a woman at my side or handing someone my trust. But if this is what it feels like, I want it.

I need it.

With Reagan.

She’s it for me.

28

Reagan

Bea holds up aneon-green tutu and grins. “What about this one?”

Jesse stands with one hand on the clothing rack and the other tucked in his pocket. “We’re here for school clothes.”

“I can wear this to school.”

“Not according to the dress code.” He narrows his eyes.

She returns it with a smile that is so big I sense Jesse’s defenses already faltering. “Please…”

He glances up at me when I laugh. I can’t help it. There’s something about Jesse arguing with his five-year-old daughter over tutus and cowgirl boots that is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

He might be a member of the most dangerous motorcycle club on the West Coast, but Beatrice King sure can bring her father to his knees.

“Fine. One tutu,” he concedes. “But only if you go look at school uniforms next.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She gives him a quick hug before darting to the uniforms.

I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. “Don’t even say it.”

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