Page 48 of Off-Limits Daddy
“Scenic route, huh?” His hand found my waist, fingers pressing against the fabric just above my jeans. Not hard, not soft. Just certain. “You trying to test me already, boy?”
That word again.
My breath hitched, but I leaned in anyway. “Maybe,” I said, voice low. “You’re the one who ordered me to show up. What did you expect would happen?”
His palm slid around to the small of my back, pulling me in that final inch. Heat rolled off his chest like a second skin.
“I expected you to listen.”
“You expected wrong.”
That earned me a smirk—just a flicker. Then his mouth was on mine, no teasing this time. Just heat and pressure, control wrapped in gentleness, like he already knew I’d give him whatever he asked for if he kissed me like that.
His tongue swept in, confident and slow, coaxing mine into rhythm. My fingers curled in the front of his shirt, holding on as the ground tilted underneath us.
“You been thinking about last night?” he murmured against my mouth.
“You know I have,” I managed.
Daddy didn’t hesitate. Both hands gripped my hips, backing me into the wall, his mouth dragging down the line of my jaw to the base of my throat. When he sucked lightly there, I swore my knees gave out for half a second. One thigh slid between mine, anchoring me.
His hands slipped under my shirt, palms rough and warm. He pushed it up to my chest and paused.
“Can I?” he asked, voice low but clear.
“Yes,” I breathed.
Then his mouth was on me again—this time over one nipple, tongue swirling, lips dragging heat through skin and nerves. I gasped, head thunking against the wall.
“Daddy—shit?—”
“Quiet,” he whispered, teasing the other side now. “Someone might hear how badly you want this.”
My hands found his shoulders, digging in as he opened the top button of my jeans with one hand, then the second. His knuckles brushed my stomach, low and slow, like he had all the time in the world.
“You’re playing with fire,” I whispered, voice jagged.
“Good.” His hand cupped me through the denim. “I like heat.”
A low sound escaped me—half warning, half plea. Daddy kissed me again, deep and unhurried. His thumb traced lazy circles that made me arch into him.
Boots echoed down the stairwell.
Daddy froze. Just for a second. His forehead dropped to mine as we both stood there, breathing hard.
“That was too damn close,” I whispered.
His hand brushed the waistband of my open jeans one last time before he pulled away, adjusting my shirt with infuriating care.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook.” He smirked, all teeth and slow-burning intent.
I grinned, breathless. “You’re the one who started this, Daddy.”
Something flickered behind his eyes. Not surprise—something darker. His mouth twitched at the corner, but he didn’t smile. Just breathed out once, slow and shallow, like he was trying real hard to keep it together.
Daddy stepped back, expression smoothing out fast—but not fast enough to erase the heat I’d seen flash across his face. The tension didn’t leave the room. It just tucked itself into the corners, quiet but alive.
His voice came out low, rough-edged. “Get your pants buttoned, boy. We’ve got work to do.”
