Page 67 of Curvy Nanny for the Cougar
Shit.
I think I just leaked precum.
I bite down a curse and steel myself not to move.
Not to thrust.
Her fingers search and explore. She’s cupping my balls. Fuck. Now she’s back to squeezing my shaft, as much of it as she can get her small hand wrapped around.
Up and down.
“Tamare,” I whisper, voice low and wrecked.
She hums in her sleep.
Her thumb brushes the tip.
My vision whites out for a second.
Gods help me.
If she’s asleep, I’ll let go of every ounce of pride I have and crawl to the kitchen for an ice pack.
Or I’ll jerk one out in the shower.
Because this? This is too fucking much for one man to resist.
But then—her lashes flutter.
She shifts slightly, sliding her leg over my hip, snuggling closer.
Her eyes crack open, hazy with sleep, and for a second I think maybe this is still a dream.
Then she smiles.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
Game. Fucking. Over.
“Come here,” I growl, voice like gravel soaked in want.
She barely has time to blink before I’ve yanked her up and over my chest, settling her across my lap like a feast I’m about to devour.
My mouth crashes against hers, tongue demanding, lips unrelenting.
Tamare melts into me, and it is everything I have ever wanted and more.
Her fingers threading through my hair, tugging just right, sending sparks straight to my cock.
Mental note: send Uncle Uzzi a fruit basket. Or a beef jerky bouquet.
Then she rocks against me, her damp panties sliding along my hard length, and any thoughts I have about anything other than her leave my brain immediately.
Like they never even existed.
I groan as the heat of her presses into every nerve ending I have.
Cotton. Wet. Friction.
