Page 26 of Her Hat Trick Daddies
A shudder of breath escapes me. I should stop this. I should say no, pull back before it goes too far. But I can’t. My body has already made the decision for me.
Without thinking, I step closer, moving from behind him to stand beside him, my hands roaming down his chest, tracing the hard ridges of his abs slowly. His scent, clean and masculine, with a woodsy undertone, floods my senses, dizzying me.
I barely notice when he grabs me by the waist and yanks me into his lap, his strength effortless. I straddle him without hesitation, my skirt riding up as I feel the thick bulge of his cock press hot and hard against my slick folds, the thin fabric of my thong and the zipper of his pants the only barrier between us. I bite back a moan, my body moving instinctively, pressing down on him as the heat builds between us.
“Fuck, Leighton,” he says through clenched teeth, his hands roaming my back, my hips, kneading like he wants to devour me. “You’re killing me.”
“Good,” I pant against his cheek.
He chuckles low and dark, the sound vibrating through me. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me… what you’vebeendoing to me.”
His hands slip under the hem of my shirt, firm palms grazing over my bare skin, squeezing my ass, sparking a fire that burns through every nerve. His mouth crashes into mine, hot, frantic, all tongue and passion, a kiss so desperate that it has me rolling and grinding my hips harder against him, shameless, desperate for friction, for release, formore. When he pulls away, his rough beard scrapes along my jaw, sending a shiver down my spine that makes me whimper, unable to suppress the sound.
“You made me feel better,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse in my ear, breath hot against my skin. “Now, let me take care of you. Give you everything you’redrippingfor… everythingshe’ssilently begging for.”
The dark promise in his tone, laced with raw hunger, nearly sends me over the edge right then and there. The same filthy whispers he’d breathed in my ear on that chaise at the mansion, all the same words that I wanted him to make good on, if we ever got another chance.
I nod, barely able to breathe. My pussy is already throbbing, already drenched for him, and I know I’m already his for the taking.
Without a word, he lifts me off his lap, setting me firmly on my feet between the desk and the podium. His hands are rough, commanding, positioning me exactly where he wants me—my ass perched on the edge, one leg hiked up onto the desk, spreading me open just enough to expose all my dirty little secrets. “Don’t move.”
He moves fast, locking the door with a soft click, then crossing the room in two long strides to deadbolt the back doors too. The quiet snicks of the locks are almost too tame for the storm about to break loose between us.
Soon, he’s in front of me again, his palms cradling my face with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the desire thrumming through his massive frame. His touch is almost reverent, like he’s afraid he might break me, yet there’s an undeniable force behind it, like he can’t keep his hands off me. “There’s something about you,” he exhales roughly, each word laced with an intensity that makes my heart race. “From the moment I saw you in the office, I felt it. A pull. I can’t explain it.”
The air between us crackles, thick with everything we haven’t said yet. He doesn’t know what it is. But I do. And it only makes me ache for him more.
“Youdoknow me,” I say softly.
He shakes his head, his eyes suddenly becoming feral. He slides his hands down to my hips, where his grip tightens, possessive, unapologetic. He holds me there, like a lion marking his territory, claiming me in a way that leaves no room for doubt. “No. Not like that. It’s different. Every time I see you, every time you so much as breathe near me, it’s like I’m crawling out of my fucking skin trying not to pin you to the nearest wall. Take you over the desk. Shove you into the men’s showers. Bend you over in the goddamn press box. Eat your pussy in the stairwell. Finger fuck you in the elevator. Throw you on my lap in my car.”
I’m practically panting with eagerness, his words threatening to undo me completely. His breath is hot against my ear as he keeps whispering filthy things.
“I wanna fuck you so hard that you come all over me, on this desk, until you have nothing left to do but scream my name. I want you walking out of here with my cum dripping between your thighs, with one thought in your mind. ThatIdid this to you. And I want you to walk these halls knowing that youbelongto me. That I can have my way with you. Whenever. Wherever. However.”
I should rethink this, but logic doesn’t stand a chance against the white-hot hunger ripping through me. I don’t blink. I don’t hesitate. Iorderhim, breathless, desperate. “Then have your way with me.”
His nostrils flare, jaw clenches tight, a guttural sound vibrating low in his chest.
I reach for his belt, unfasten it, then tug down his zipper. “Take me, David.”
He moves like a man unleashed, urgent, all-consuming. He buries his face in the curve of my neck, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to memorize my scent. The rough drag of his stubble and the searing heat of his breath send shivers racing across my skin. My nipples stiffen, painfully taut against the sheer lace of my bra and the thin silk of my blouse stretched over them.
He fists a hand in my hair, tugging my head back, baring my throat like he owns me. Then, god help me, he pops open the buttons of my blouse with his teeth.His fucking teeth.One by one, until the fabric gapes open and slides off my shoulders.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growls. He sinks his teeth into the soft skin above my collarbone, a rough bite that tears a gasp from my throat and sends a bolt of heat shooting through me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I pant, breathless. “You can’t leave any hickeys on me, Captain,” I manage, already feeling the throb blooming there. No way that love bite would stay hidden under the deep V of my neckline.
“Captain, huh?” he murmurs, licking over the mark he just made. His voice drops. “I like that.”
His hand slides up under my skirt, fingers curling around the waistband of my thong, a soft cotton pair printed with a rose. Sweet. Innocent. Completely at odds with what’s unraveling between us right now. He peels them down and off, then liftsthem to his face without hesitation, breathing me in like he’s getting high off the scent. Like I’m his favorite addiction.
My fingers yank his thermal up and over his head, feeding my hormones a five-course feast. Every inch of him is a goddamn masterpiece cut from granite, all sculpted muscle and carved abs that flex with every breath, every move. Those sharp cheekbones, those filthy, fuck-me lips, the lazy smolder in his brown eyes. But it’s the ink that makes my heart stutter. Blue and orange hockey stick tattoos. And just like that.
Game. Fucking. Over.
Whatever shred of denial I had left, whatever fantasy that this could be some reckless, anonymous fling, gets torn apart and fed to the wolves. Because it’s him.
