Page 7 of Mountain Daddy

He laughs wickedly. “Only the ones who throw drinks at me.”

“That wasn’t a throw. It was more of a tragic fumble.”

“Felt intentional.”

“Please. If I wanted to throw something, I’d have nailed your face. Not your…crotch.”

His eyes darken, and I instantly regret saying crotch.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Warm.

Then, he swims closer, eyes on me like he’s already imagining how I’ll taste.

“You getting in or what?” he breaks into a devilish grin. “You scared of some water?”

Now I feel challenged. I fire back. "Is all this for real? What the hell is going on here? Who has a penthouse like this?"

The smile on his face goes serious. "There's one rule in my world. Don't ask stupid questions."

How can a man go from smiling to murderer in five seconds?

Then the look is gone. Just a reminder who the lion is in this game.

I plan to strip naked and give in to what we both want, but the good girl in me is trying not to do what I really want to do right now: take this man on that outside sofa and ride him like his wet dream.

Plus, shouldn’t he have to wait before the inevitable happens? So, I drag time out a little bit more and decide to let down my darkish brown hair.

Big mistake. His eyes go from lion to cheetah. Before I know it, he’s out of the pool and standing next to me, massive cock fully erect and suckable.

And with him staring at me like that, like I’m the main course of the night, I’m done for. Game over. I drag the zipper of my tiny skirt down, slow and in control for now.

His eyes never leave me as the skirt hits the floor. The muscles in his jaw clench. I whimper under that gaze.

His face hovers an inch from my neck, breath a ghost on my skin.

“You’re braver than you look,” he whispers.

I feel anything but brave, trembling inside like a leaf in the wind, aching for him to relieve the sexual tension in my body.

His fingers tease me, trailing lightly across my collarbone, pushing the fabric of my shirt out of the way, not touching so much as tracing air. I arch into him. The next thing I know, his hands are sliding down my sides, around to cup my ass. He groans.

He towers over me leaning in, head dipping low. “If I touch you now, you’re not walking away with just a drink.”

My breath catches. “Maybe I don’t want to walk away.”

His eyes storm over, darken. And then, his hands are on me.

Strong. Possessive. One at the back of my neck, pulling me closer. The other, squeezing the softness of my ass.

And then, he kisses me.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not sweet.

It’s hungry. Dominant. A kiss that says this isn’t a game, and I’m not walking out of here unchanged.

His lips press against mine, taking. I feel his hand cupping my face then slides lower until he’s gripping my hip and pulling me flush against him. I can feel every inch of his length, and I moan into his mouth.

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