Page 111 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

“Damn, so good,” he groaned, his pace rough.

Asher’s lips brushed my ear.

“She needed this. Needed us.”

Garrett’s hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing just enough to make me dizzy with need. “You’re ours, Riley.”

Beckett’s thrusts turned brutal, his fingers bruising on my hips as he drove me higher, harder.

I shattered again, crying out, my whole body clenching around him as I came undone.

Beckett cursed, pulling out to finish over my stomach, eyes dark with satisfaction.

Asher was next, pressing his cock to my lips. “I’m not done with you yet.”

I took him deep, tasting him, needing more, as Garrett’s hands kept working me open, his voice a low promise.

“You really are everything, Riley. This is going to be alongnight.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Garrett

I didn’t geta damn minute of sleep.

Paced the floor most of the night, the boards creaking under my weight while the wind whistled through the trees outside, whispering the kind of shit I didn’t want to hear.

All I could think about was what Riley had said. The way her voice had gone soft but steady, as if she’d already made peace with being left behind. Like she expected it.

And that made something crack open in my chest.

By the time morning rolled around, I was strung out on adrenaline and rage—I didn’t know where to aim. My jaw hurt from clenching it. My hands were twitchy. I needed to build something or break something, just to feel like I was doing more than standing still.

Then I walked into the kitchen.

And there she was.

Riley.

Standing at the counter in one of my old flannels, buttoned all the way up like that’d make a difference. Bare legs underneath, socks on, messy bun stabbed through with a pencil as if she’d just woken up in the middle of writing a grocery list.

She was humming, back turned, fiddling with the coffee maker like it was just another day.

And for a second everything stopped. Everything in me went still.

Then she turned, and chaos struck like lightning.

Her elbow clipped the handle of the coffee pot. It wobbled as if it were something out of a cartoon. She lunged to catch it, missed, and the damn thing did a full swan dive off the counter.

Coffee flew.

Hit the cabinets, the floor, her sock.

The smell of it hit me next, all burnt and bitter.

“Oh my god,” she yelped, stumbling back like the coffee had teeth.

I was already moving.

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