Page 63 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
Hesitantly, reverently, he cups their weight, lifting them, caressing them. He moans against the back of my neck, and I feel his erection against my buttocks, throbbing hard and thick behind his underwear. I have my hands bunched in his hair, my head tilted back to rest on his shoulder. He spends several long moments just playing with my breasts, cupping and kneading, thumbing my nipples until I’m gasping and flinching.
And then, without warning, he lets them go. I open my eyes to see him with my phone in hand, swiping from the lock screen to activate my camera. Standing behind me, he holds the camera away facing us, and snaps a photo of us like this. He taps the thumbnail and we see the photograph: he’s huge behind me, his chest broad and his tattooed arms vanishing behind the camera angle, his hair a wild mane of black, his eyes merry and hot and aroused. I look sensual, erotic—my hair is loose and still curly, my eyes smoky, lips red, skin tan, and my breasts are firm and round, my nipples thick and tall from his attention.
It is possibly the hottest photo I’ve ever seen—and it’s of me. Of us.
I’m about to comment on this when he tosses the phone onto the counter. “I can’t wait any longer,” he growls.
There’s no time to wonder what he means—he slides to a crouch behind me, fingers hooking into the waistband of my thong. His lips touch the small of my back, and then the upper bell of my left hip, and I’m breathless from his kiss, from the touch of his lips to my flesh. His lips kiss downward to the waistband of my thong, and as he kisses along it, he tugs it lower and lower, following its descent with his lips, from one side of my buttocks to the other. I grip the counter and endure his kisses, gasping now and then. I can’t even gasp when, finally, he tugs them past the swell of my ass so they tumble to the floor at my feet. And, just like that, I’m naked.
But he’s not done.
His mouth continues to lave kisses over my thighs and buttocks, while his hands curl around my legs and inch upward, his fingers dancing along the insides of my thighs. Up and up and up his hands dare, and my lungs contract until I’m dizzy and have to suck in air. My breath is shot right back out of me the next instant, though, when his fingers dance up to the juncture of my thighs, and pause.
“Jesse?”
He murmurs in response, a wordless answer to my inarticulate question. My core trembles, soaked and slippery with desire, as his touch inches nearer. I clutch the counter with a white-fingered grip, barely breathing. His teeth sink into my left buttock, nipping sharply, eliciting a shriek from me—the shriek morphs into a drawn-out moan as he traces my seam with a fingertip. There’s not the gradual intrusion as in the parking lot; this time, he sweeps his finger up my opening once, and then presses two fingers to the hypersensitive nub of nerves at the apex of my core. It hardens at his touch, begging for attention; two slow circles of his fingers, and I’m gasping. Three, four, five—faster and faster, and I’m shaking, knees quaking, hips helplessly flexing. Two fingers, and he has me undulating on the edge of orgasm faster than I’ve ever gotten there in my life, even on my own. His other hand cups my breasts, one and then the other and then both, playing with them and caressing. As I start to move into his touch, he starts to play with my nipples, flicking them, pinching, twisting, thumbing, until I’m a writhing, seething mess of dripping arousal, moaning and whimpering and utterly desperate for the edge to come so I can topple eagerly over it.
But when I’m moments from reaching the cusp of climax, he stops, grabs me by the hips, and spins me around. It’s an abrupt, rough maneuver that leaves me gasping and dizzy, my breasts jiggling from the movement.
“Jesse, I—please, don’t stop now. I was so close!” My voice cracks into a whisper at the end.
He just smirks up at me. “You think I’d leave you like this?”
“I don’t—I don’t know.”
He palms my ass and pulls me closer, shifting to his knees on the floor, gazing up at me. I knot my hand in his hair as he leans closer to me, as I realize his intent. Oh god, please, please, please—it’s been so long since I’ve gotten that, and I want it so badly, I want to feel his tongue and his beard and his—
Thoughts fly out of my head as he kisses my core—a true kiss. And another kiss, and another, each one hotter, each one more passionate, and then the kisses turn into his tongue slathering against my seam and slipping between my lips and finding my hardened center. I cry out, a sobbing moan of pure ecstasy as he laves tonguing kisses over every inch of my core. I writhe against his mouth, sagging back against the counter, groaning gasps and crying and sobbing as he worships me with his mouth.
