Page 71 of Mountain Daddy

This hunger that never fucking dies.

I lean in and she stands taller. Tilts her chin. Lips brush against lips.

Soft. Barely there. Then again. And again.

Until softness isn't enough.

Until I’m gripping her waist, yanking her flush against me. She gasps. I take advantage—slide my tongue inside her mouth, war with hers.

She moans into me, hands clawing at my shoulders, anchoring herself. My hand finds the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, tugging just enough to make her sigh. To make her arch.

And that sound?—

Fuck.

That sound undoes me.

My hands find the hem of her sweater, start to lift.

"We can't," she gasps against my mouth. "Not here."

"Where?"

She looks toward the back of the bakery. Toward the storage room where we fucked against the prep table weeks ago.

I don’t wait for an answer.

I grab her ass and lift her clean off the floor.

She gasps. Her legs instinctively wrap around my waist. God. I feel her pussy through all these clothes. Know she feels my cock.

I carry her toward the storage room like I own her. Like I’m a caveman and she’s mine. All mine.

Her breath is hot against my neck. Her nails bite into my shoulders. I kick the door open.

"The lights—" she starts.

"Leave them on. I want to see everything."

I kick the storage room door closed behind us. Set her down beside the prep table.

She's breathing hard, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from my kisses.

Beautiful. So fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.

"Tell me you want this," I demand.

"I want this."

"Tell me you want me."

"I want you."

"Tell me you've thought about me every night since I left your bed."

Her eyes flash. "You first."

Fair enough.

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