Page 9 of Second Chance Daddy
“You like that?” he growls against my ear.
“Yes,” I gasp. “God, yes.”
His hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit, and I nearly scream.
Too much. It’s too much.
But also not enough. Never enough.
“Come for me again,” he commands, his voice rough with exertion. “Come on my cock.”
And I do. Again. Harder than before.
This orgasm is different—deeper, more intense. It starts in my core and radiates outward until my whole body is shaking with it.
“Fuck, Cassie,” he snarls, his rhythm faltering. “You’re going to make me?—”
He thrusts and buries deep, chest heaving against my spine. He lets out a guttural moan as he spills inside me.
And, holy hell, I feel all of it.
The heat. The weight. The slickness of his cum. The ache that lingers in my bones and the softness of his breath against my neck, still panting.
Holy shit. Holy actual shit.
We stay like that for a moment, both breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine.
What the hell just happened?
And why do I already want it to happen again?
He pulls out slowly, and I suddenly feel very naked and very exposed.
Reality is creeping back in.
I just had sex with Dante Romano on the hood of my car in a public parking lot.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He helps me down from the car, his hands gentle as he hands me my clothes.
“You okay?” he asks.
Am I okay? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.
“Yeah,” I lie, pulling on my shirt. “I’m fine.”
I’m not fine. I’m the opposite of fine.
I’m in trouble.
We get dressed in silence, and when I’m finally clothed again, I don’t know what to say.
Thank you? That was great? See you around?
None of it seems adequate for what just happened.
“Cassie,” he starts, but I cut him off.
