Page 72 of Who's Your Daddy
With a fortifying breath, she straddles me. “This changes nothing,” she warns as she lines herself up.
When she slides down that first inch, I grip her hips, pressing my fingers into her soft flesh. “This changeseverything.”
Fire ignites in those eyes, lust mixed with the fight she wants to have. Before she can start it, I cuff her neck and pull her down against my chest, kissing her quiet. I dip my tongue into her mouth and roll my hips, stretching her a little further, relishing every little moan and whimper as she tightens around me.
Never in my life has sex felt like this. We go slow, our hips tentative, our movements gentle. Our lips never part. Our kisses only grow needier. Messier.
Hands roaming every inch of her, I revel in the feel of her above me, around me, on top of me.
I never want the moment to end. I grit my teeth and clench my abdominals and glutes to stave off my orgasm. But when she pulses around me, her body beckoning mine to follow her into oblivion, my balls tighten, and I come with her.
All the while, I hold her to me, keeping her right where I need her. Right where I want her. From here on out.
Chapter 23
Lola
Iwake to incessant buzzing.
Two quick vibrations, then two more. With a groan, I lift my head and glare at the phone lighting up on the nightstand.
“No running from me, Lola.” Cal tightens his hold around my waist.
Those are the exact words he said as we drifted off last night. He was adamant that I wasn’t allowed to disappear on him while he slept.
It hit me as strange then, just like it does now. Sneaking out in the middle of the night seems much more his MO than mine.
When the phone buzzes again, I slip my arm out from under Cal’s and snatch it up. As I squint at the too-bright screen, I’m confused. It’s not a text notification or a phone call. It takes a good ten seconds to ascertain that it’s his Ring app, alerting us to movement in his apartment.
I wince. Shit. If Murphy is up and in need of something and he’s not there for him, Cal will freak out. I click the notification and turn the screen his way to unlock the phone with Face ID.
“What are you doing?” he mumbles, his eye cracked against the brightness.
Though I was far from drunk when we went to sleep last night, my head still throbs as I squint at the image on the screen. When I discover the person moving through the apartment isn’t Murphy, though, my eyes fly open wide and I gasp.
There, tiptoeing toward the door, is Sloane. Her hair is a mess, and she’s wearing the dress she had on when we FaceTimed before her dinner with Sully.
Speaking of Sully, she absolutely just slipped out of his room…
And this is a live video. That means she spent half the night in her soon-to-be ex-husband’s bed.
Whoa.
“Lola?” Cal asks, lifting his head.
Breath held, I delete the video and set the phone on the nightstand again.
“I was worried it was Murphy,” I rush out. “But it wasn’t.” I turn toward him and rest my head on my pillow so our faces are only inches apart.
He lets out a soft sigh, his lips ticking up adorably.
I understand now why this heart bed works for special occasions because Jesus we have to be damn near on top of each other to both fit.
“Who was it?”
There’s no way I’m telling him that my best friend just slipped out of his brother’s room. If I did, he’d only gloat about how right he was when he said the divorce isn’t a sure thing.
“Must have been the ghost.”
