Page 67 of Shootout Daddies
I tighten my grip on her hips, and for a moment it feels like the whole world has narrowed to just this.
Just her. Just us.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rhett
I hear her whimper,sharp and needy, the sound rocketing straight through my chest. But the instant it echoes down the hall, another thought cuts in—if I can hear her, then Landon can too.
Shit.
I drag a hand over my face, forcing a calm I don’t feel, and turn back toward him. “How about we talk out there?” My voice is too casual, but it’s the best I’ve got.
He studies me for a beat, eyes flicking past my bare chest, and then he nods once. “Out there works.”
I step into the hallway with him, trying not to think about how ridiculous we must look. Me, shirtless and barefoot, still flushed from what was happening inside. Him, in a full suit and tie, pressed and polished, like he’s stepped out of a boardroom. It feels like two different worlds colliding.
He clears his throat, lifting a folder. “I got the papers back from the insurance claim. There’s something you forgot to sign.”
Relief floods me that it’s just paperwork. I take the pen he offers and sign where he points, the scratch of ink loud in the silence between us.
“Thanks,” he says, slipping the papers back into the folder with that lawyer efficiency.
“No problem.” I hand the pen back, trying not to imagine what’s going on behind the closed door. Ivy’s soft moans are still in my head, looping like a damn song I can’t turn off. I force myself to ask, “So. How you liking Miami so far?”
His mouth twists, thoughtful. “It’s… growing on me.”
I nod, slipping my hands into my pockets, pretending I’m not vibrating with impatience to get back inside. “Good. You should come over for dinner this weekend, maybe. Meet your neighbors properly. We’ll cook.”
His brows lift slightly, but then he nods once. “Sure. That’d be good.”
We shake on it, brisk and professional, before he turns and heads toward the elevator. I wait until I hear the soft ding and the doors close before exhaling. When I push the door back open, my pulse is still thudding in my ears.
The sight that greets me nearly knocks the breath out of my lungs.
Hunter’s already got Ivy on the couch, his fingers buried deep inside her, her head tipped back against the cushions. She’s gasping, eyes glassy, lips parted around another whimper.
For a second, all I can do is stare.
“Christ,” I mutter, slamming the door shut behind me. “We might have to make this door soundproof.”
She blinks up at me, dazed and wrecked, and the corner of her mouth curves weakly. “Where’s the food?” Her voice is hoarse, breaking on the question.
I laugh once, rough. “That wasn’t the food.”
“Oh, fuck,” she whispers, her whole body jerking as Hunter thrusts deeper, his jaw clenched, his attention locked on her.
The sight claws at my self-control. I reach for the button of my jeans, dragging it loose, my cock heavy and demandingagainst the denim. My hand wraps around it instinctively, stroking slow as I step toward her.
I grab her chin, tilt her head up, and crash my mouth onto hers. She tastes wild—heat and desperation and the faint salt of sweat. She moans into me, and I bite down on her lower lip, tugging until she gasps.
Hunter shifts behind her, his mouth on her neck now, his teeth grazing her skin before he pulls her bra down, freeing her breasts to the cool air. He palms one roughly, his thumb circling until she arches into his hand.
“I’m going to come,” she whimpers, voice breaking, thighs trembling around Hunter’s arm.
“Do it, baby,” I murmur against her mouth, my tongue sweeping inside as I watch Hunter’s fingers pump faster and deeper.
She splinters apart with a sharp cry, her body bowing, clenching tight around his hand. The sight alone rips through me, and I stroke myself harder, groaning into her kiss.
