Page 4 of Single Mom's Daddies
He curses. “You’re gonna make me come again.”
I dig my nails into his shoulders and pull him closer. “Do it.”
“I will. But first…” He digs in, angling that piercing at my swollen clit so that each thrust lights me up anew. I can’t hold back—I lose my breath, my thoughts. There is nothing but my orgasm.
And then he comes. Hard. He bites my collarbone as he does, grinding deep and twitching inside me.
The second one takes over. He starts with his tongue, licking every inch of me before sliding inside. He lifts my leg over his shoulder and pounds into me until the headboard smacks the wall in rhythm with my moans.
The other one rolls me over until my back is on his chest. He pops into my ass from beneath me, and the pain is searing. But once they get going again, it makes everything better. More intense. More incredible. They use me like they’ve done this before, like they’ve dreamed about it.
I know I have. When I was old enough to know what sex was, I knew this was something I wanted to try. Dangerous or not, foolish or not. I didn’t care.
And I don’t care now. Not when I don’t stop coming on their cocks. Their fingers. Their tongues. By the end, my throat is sore, my legs are jelly, and my skin is coated in sweat, cum, and their hands.
They don’t leave right away. They don’t ask my name. They don’t offer theirs. And I don’t ask. Because if I do, it’ll break the spell.
Eventually, they help me clean up and dress. It’s no easy feat. My lace bodysuit is damp in places, stretched in others. My makeup is ruined. My hair is tangled. But I’ve never felt more beautiful.
One of them cups my cheek and presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth before they guide me back to the hallway. The tall one says to another, “Happy senior year, little brother.”
By the time I make it down the stairs, they’re gone. I don’t even see the door close. They vanish like smoke.
The music is quieter now, the crowd thinner. Some people are passed out on couches. Others stumble by in pairs, giggling or fighting or making out in dark corners.
But I feeloutsideall of it. Like I just lived something too big to fit back in my body.
I head to the back porch, not even caring that I’m barefoot, my fishnets ripped and my mascara streaked down my cheeks. It’s after midnight on Halloween. No one cares what you look like.
The night air is cool and damp. I sit on the porch railing, letting the chill hit my skin and calm the heat still coursing through me. I try to replay what happened, but it’s a blur of mouths and hands and masked eyes and filthy praise whispered in multiple languages.
I don’t know who they were. But I’ll never forget them.
“Well, well, well.”
I glance up as Lolita struts onto the porch like she owns the world in her red devil horns, red fishnets, and crooked grin. She takes one look at me and stops dead in her tracks. “Where thehellhave you been?”
I try not to smile, but it’s no use. “Upstairs.”
She narrows her eyes, nothing but harsh judgment in them. “Withhim?”
I lift a shoulder. “Not exactly.”
She blinks. “Wait. Wait. Wait.”
“Not him.” My grin stretches. “Them.”
“Them who?”
“I’m not sure, actually. They wore masks. And nothing else.”
“Three?”
I laugh—loud and wild and completely unrepentant. “Yeah.”
“Oh myGod, Saffron. I leave you alone for one hour and you go full reverse harem on me?”
“They weren’t frat boys,” I say. “So, it’s okay.”
