Page 31 of Detention with Daddies

A small noise escapes the back of my throat, and he groans into our kiss.

“I want to touch you.” His stern voice has gone husky, his short beard tickling my cheek.

I nod distractedly and gasp as his hands cup my waist, slide down to my hips and squeeze. His hands are big like Nick’s, confident but not quite as gentle. The soft growl at the back of his throat makes me hot, and his mouth is back on mine, demanding.

I finally break from my paralysis, sinking a hand into his hair. The move has him pressing us together harder, and I can feel his arousal.

Never in a million years did I think this would be a reality. Sure, I found him attractive on day one. Serious. A hard ass. His age making him more distinguished and handsome.

But this?

When his hands grope my ass, there’s no way of denying he’s turned on. The hard outline of his cock presses into my belly, and I don’t want him to stop touching me. Not any time soon.

He murmurs, “So fucking soft.”

And his mouth descends down my neck and shoulder, kissing, licking, biting.

My head tilts to the side to give him better access, my grip in his hair tightening enough that he gives me a sharp nip.

A soft moan escapes me, and my back arches, pressing my breasts against his chest.

Dr. Wright grinds us together harder.

Is it weird that I still think of him as Dr. Wright? As much as the physical connection is clear—very clear, we don’t have the emotional intimacy for me to think of him as Waylen.

That should deter me from letting this continue, but I can’t stop it. Iwantit.

I feel so un-fucking-believably powerful right now. It’s like I’ve broken his control. Bewitched him. And I don’t want to let go of that.

Especially since I know that I’m not his type.

The petty part of me wants to laugh in those nurses’ faces.

Wright’s mouth trails along the low cut of my shirt, and he tugs the loose opening down to unleash my breasts, grabbing, massaging, kissing, licking them…until he sucks one fully into his mouth.

My soft cry pierces the quiet room.

Tongue and teeth concentrate on my nipple until my thighs rub together from the barrage of heat pummeling me.

I’m so fucking wet.

He gives my other breast the same attention, and my knees weaken.

When he returns to my mouth, his kiss is hot, almost sloppy with need. Wright’s voice is so rough that it shakes me. “I want to fuck you.”

I shouldn’t let this happen, but I grapple with my own need. The way he’s touching my body is reverent.

He lifts my leg around his hip and rubs us together like he can feel the heat off me. His hand slips between us to touch and stroke me until I’m built up so high I’m squirming.

God, he’s skilled with his hands and mouth.

His kisses tease me as he waits for me to come to a decision. No pressure other than the groping nature of his hands on my body, the desire to please me. And himself, I’m sure.

But the focus he has on me is what makes me cave.

I nod, a near-silentyeshas him lowering my leg, pulling back an inch.

“Turn around.” He meets my eyes, his a soft blue but so, so intense. This is how I imagined Dr. Wright when my fleeting lonely thoughts imagined someone in my bed. It may have happened once or twice.

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