Page 124 of Mountain Daddy

Leaves me panting.

He towers over me. Lowers his face. Without breaking eye contact, he bites down the strap of my bra.

Rips.

The sound is obscene. So is the way his teeth scrape against my skin as the lace gives. Then he does the same to the other side, tearing it apart like he’s claiming the fucking ruins.

The bra hits the floor.

I’m bare.

Exposed.

His.

“Did you just destroy my favorite bra?” I ask, voice ragged, pulse racing like I’ve already come.

He grins up at me, cocky and wild. His hands are already on me, rough palms cupping my breasts, thumbs circling slow over my nipples until they tighten painfully. “I’ll buy you a hundred. All lace. All disposable.”

I arch into his touch, greedy for it. “You better. Or I’ll make you pay by tying you to my bed.”

He groans. “God, I fucking love your mouth.”

I no longer feel his hands. Lips hot and wet around my nipple. He sucks, bites, tongues me like he’s starving, and every nerve in my body lights up. My knees buckle.

His other hand slides down my stomach, fingers dragging slow like he’s testing every inch of me with touch. He dips beneath the waistband of my panties, growling against my breast.

“These…” he mutters, voice gravel and heat, “…are in my fucking way.”

His fingers hook into the sides of my panties and drag them down slow—too slow. Like he’s dragging the tension out just to watch me squirm.

I step out of them, completely naked. Nothing between us now but his self-control.

Because fuck, mine’s hanging by a thread.

I should feel vulnerable. Naked and trembling in the middle of the room while he’s still dressed like a goddamn Bratva King.

But instead?

I feel powerful. Dripping with it. Wanted in a way that makes my skin buzz and my core clench.

He’s devouring me with his eyes like I’m his last meal—and he’s starving.

“Your turn,” I say, my voice a dare, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt.

He doesn’t wait. Rips it off. His belt hits the floor with a snap that shoots straight between my legs. His shoes are gone before I can blink. But just when I think he’ll strip the rest off?—

He sinks to his knees.

Right in front of my wet, aching pussy.

Like he’s meant to be there.

I lean back against the wall, legs already trembling.

His hands grip my thighs, thumbs brushing so close to where I need him that my knees almost give out. His mouth is hot against my skin, breath ragged.

“I need to taste you,” he rasps. “Need to bury my tongue in this sweet fucking pussy and drink every drop.”

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