Page 93 of Shootout Daddies
“Yes,” she breathes, so faint it’s nearly lost.
“Are you feeling needy? Wet?”
Her whimper cuts through the static, raw and needy.
The scrape of footsteps. The slam of a door shutting. Silence.
Rhett and I stare at each other across the table. His jaw ticks tight, his chest rising heavy.
My fists curl in my lap. My balls ache with the weight of everything I just heard.
I want to tear the walls down just to get to her. My breathing is uneven, heady, the pressure in my cock nearly unbearable.
Neither of us speaks.
The absurdity hits me, and I let out a dry laugh. “You know,” I murmur, my lawyer’s brain surfacing even through the fog of arousal, “eavesdropping is against the law. FloridaStatute 934.03. It’s a felony to intentionally intercept oral communication without consent.”
Rhett just laughs, sharp and humorless. “Now what?”
I don’t have an answer. My throat is tight.
But then, barely two minutes later—two minutes—there’s noise in the hall. The door opens.
Ivy steps back into the living room, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen. Hunter is right behind her, mouth wiped on the back of his hand, but his dick is straining against his pants like a flag at full mast.
Did he eat her out?The thought slams into me like a fist.
I bite the inside of my cheek, and all I can think of is her taste. That slick heat flooding my tongue, the way she’d squirm if I pinned her down and licked her until she screamed.
Her eyes flick to us, curious, oblivious. “What’s going on?”
Rhett doesn’t answer. Instead, he points at the monitor sitting in the middle of the table, its little green light still glowing like a cruel joke.
“The monitor in Chloe’s room,” he says flatly. “Picked up everything.”
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then the color drains from her face, leaving her pale. Her eyes go wide, horror and shock etched across every line of her expression.
My cock throbs so hard it hurts.
Because all I can think about—while she stands frozen in the doorway, lips parted in dawning horror—is how her voice had sounded saying she wanted us all. How her moans had spilled out like confession. How my name had been tangled in there too.
I don’t regret hearing a single second of it.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is thin, cracked down the middle. Ivy’s hand hovers near her chest as though she could hide the bruisesthere, hide the sound of her own confession that has been bleeding through this goddamn monitor.
Something in me snaps.
I’m out of my chair before I can think better of it, before caution can lace its sharp fingers around my throat the way it usually does.
The part of me that thrives on control is nowhere to be found. What’s left is raw and reckless, and it carries me straight to her.
Her eyes flicker wide when I reach her, but she doesn’t move. I cup her jaw, tilt her face up, and crush my mouth against hers.
She melts instantly.
The shock in her body softens into heat, into a pliant surrender that makes me groan against her lips. She tastes like beer and salt air, like a secret I wasn’t supposed to hear but now can’t unknow.
