Page 72 of Mountain Daddy

"Every night," I admit. "Every morning. Every time I close my eyes, I see you spread out beneath me. Feel you wrapped around me. Hear you screaming my name."

Her pupils dilate. "Nikolai..."

"Your turn."

She swallows hard. "I touch myself thinking about you."

The admission hits like lightning. My cock throbs against my zipper.

"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me how you touch yourself when you think about me."

Her hands shake as she reaches for the buttons of her blouse. One by one, they slip free, revealing the black lace bra underneath.

"Fuck," I breathe. "You wear that to work?"

She shrugs.

Her hands slide over her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples through the lace. They peak under her touch, and I have to grip the edge of the table to keep from grabbing her.

"Is this how you touch yourself?"

"Sometimes." Her voice is breathy. Wanting. "But mostly I think about your hands. Your mouth."

"What about my mouth?"

"How it feels between my legs. How you make me come so hard I forget my own name."

Christ. She's going to kill me.

I sweep everything off the prep table with one arm. Flour. Measuring cups. Rolling pins. All of it crashes to the floor.

She gasps at the sound.

"Up," I command, patting the now-empty surface.

She doesn't argue. Just hops up onto the table, legs dangling.

I step between her thighs, push them apart wider. Her skirt rides up.

"Jesus, Lilly,” I groan and lean down, kissing her once again.

My fingers find the hem of her skirt. Slide up. Drag over skin so hot I nearly lose it right there.

She bites my lip.

I groan against her mouth.

“Still think I don’t have a right to ask?” I rasp.

Her answer is a growl—feral and needy—as she grabs my hand and shoves it under her skirt.

And I know?—

We’re past talking now.

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