Page 70 of Single Mom's Navy Seals
And she does. Loud, messy, raw. Her legs nearly buckle, body convulsing against my mouth and hand as I draw every bit of her climax out of her.
But I’m not finished.
As she pants and whimpers, I rise to my feet, sliding my fingers from her and gripping her waist again. I bend over her, kissing the sweat-slick skin of her back as I grind against her ass, hard and throbbing.
“I’m going to fuck you again,” I growl, lining myself up. “Right here. Right now.”
“God, yes,” she whimpers.
And I do—driving into her from behind in one long, slow thrust. Her moan is sharp and desperate. I grip her hips and set a deeprhythm, her breath fogging up the mirror in front of her. But it’s not the steam that has me transfixed—it’s her reflection.
The way her mouth falls open in a silent gasp. The bounce of her breasts with every stroke. The wildness in her eyes as she stares at herself—at us.
“Look at that,” I growl, my lips brushing her ear. “You watching how good I make you feel?”
Ava’s gaze stays locked on the mirror. Then, slowly, deliberately, she lifts one hand from the counter and cups her breast, fingers pinching her nipple until she gasps.
My rhythm stutters. “Fuck.”
Her other hand rises, slipping two fingers into her mouth. She sucks on them, eyes still on mine in the mirror, cheeks flushed and lips parted in sinful invitation.
“Jesus, Ava…” I slam into her harder, her tight heat clenching around me. “You’re gonna break me.”
Her fingers slide down between her legs, teasing herself where I’m buried inside her.
The image nearly undoes me—her, bent over and taking me deep, touching herself like that, watching it happen.
I lean in closer, voice thick and guttural. “You feel how deep I am? You see what you do to me?”
She moans, nodding frantically. “Liam, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
I grip her hips tighter, pounding into her until her body starts to shake again, her moans turning frantic. She cries out as another orgasm crashes through her, her body shuddering under mine.
And that’s it—I let go with a growl, spilling inside her as I clutch her tight, the mirror catching every raw second of our release.
When I finally still, we’re both panting. Her hands brace against the counter again, trembling.
I press a kiss to her shoulder, then her neck, then the back of her ear. “You just ruined me.”
She smirks, breathless. “Good.”
She slips out of the bathroom a moment later, still glowing, her steps quick and quiet—no doubt hurrying back before Eli notices she’s gone.
Reaching for a towel, I dry off, the rough fabric scraping over my skin in a way that feels oddly grounding. Dressing is automatic—jeans, black T-shirt, boots—the familiar weight of clothing doing little to ease the tightness in my chest.
I step out into the bedroom, pausing briefly as my gaze lands on the bed. It’s empty, neatly made, untouched. And that empty space feels heavier than usual. For years, that emptiness never bothered me. Hell, it was the normal state of things. But now, it feels wrong. Like something crucial is missing.
“Get a fucking grip,” I mutter to myself, grabbing my wallet and phone off the dresser.
I shove them into my pockets, shaking off the momentary weakness. Whatever Morales wants today, I just have to hope that it doesn’t involve him telling us we can move on. We aren’t moving anywhere, but I still haven’t figured out how to navigate that fact without bringing on problems with the American government. Something nobody wanted.
Drawing a deep breath, I move deliberately toward the kitchen, focusing my mind back on the task at hand. I’ll deal with Morales and whatever trouble he’s bringing our way today. Everything else can wait.
It has to.
When I get into the kitchen, I immediately start pulling out the ingredients for a sandwich. I’m starving, and the drive won’t be a short one. So, soon enough, I’m standing in the kitchen, slapping two slices of bread together, and considering the upcoming drive into town.
After nearly two decades of dealing with Morales and his cryptic demands, I’ve learned not to ignore those messages. Whatever he has to say, it’s important. Still, I hesitate, glancing toward the ceiling at the muffled sounds drifting down from upstairs. Eli’s laughter echoes clearly, followed by Jax’s playful groan and Cole’s quiet chuckle.
