Page 53 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
“What boundaries?” I whisper. “I’m so turned on right now, I’m tempted to do something rash.”
“Like what?”
“Like screw the break.” I bite my lower lip. “I can be a few minutes late for work.”
My hand, operating of its own will, descends to his belt, and I fumble with it one-handed.
Ryder gently takes my wrist. “Laurel…stop.”
I frown up at him. “Why?”
“We agreed we’d take a break.”
“Do you really want that?” I murmur.
“I don’t want to get carried away. You said you were sore.”
I have his belt undone, and then his jeans—and now I have him in my hand, all of him, thick and hard and hot. “Ryder…” I keep my eyes on his. “Are you really going to tell me no?”
He hisses, his eyes ripping away from mine to watch my hand as I glide it up and down his erection. His jeans sag open, and I push them down around his ankles. “Shit…Laurel—you know I can’t say no.”
“Can’t?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t. Incapable.” He dips at the knees as I caress him. “Shit, honey. What’s your plan, here?”
I shrug. “I dunno. I just know I want you.”
He tilts his head backward. “I left my bag at home—I don’t have any protection with me.”
I frown. “You don’t keep a condom in your wallet?”
He laughs. “God, no. What am I, nineteen and desperate?”
“I don’t have any here either,” I murmur, not slowing my touch. “Come to think of it, I’ve never done anything in this house. I moved in here with Nate a year and a half ago, and you’re the only man to ever be alone here with me.”
His jaw flexes. “I’m—I’m honored, honey. For real. But we don’t have any condoms.”
I grin up at him. “That’s quite a conundrum, isn’t it?” I watch him struggle to maintain his balance, locking his knees even as they dip helplessly as his hips quest forward into my touch. “Whatever shall we do? It seems you’re losing the battle to hold out, Ryder.”
He throws his head forward, his eyes narrow, jaw grinding. He speaks through gritted teeth. “Laurel…seriously.”
I drop to my knees and grin up at him. “You do things like you did this morning, and I just can’t help myself.”
“Not—not why I did it, Laurel.”
“I know,” I murmur, stroking him. “Part of why I’m doing this.”
He groans. “God, Laurel. I do not fucking deserve you, babe. For real.”
I sink my mouth around him, stroking him with my fists, and then, when I feel him losing the effort to hold back, I palm the hard, tensed globes of his ass and pull him toward me. My hair is loose, draping in front of my face, tangling in front of my eyes and sticking to my lips and to him—he pulls it back, holding it away as he clutches my head with shaking fingers.
“Laurel…fuck.”
It’s mere moments, and then he’s growling through his release, and I taste him, take everything he has to give and more. When he’s done, his legs are shaking and he’s gasping. I stand up, wipe my lips, and tug his underwear and jeans up, zip and buckle him, and back away.
He blinks at me. “Where—where are you going?”
I smirk. “Well, I need to brush my teeth again.”
He seems a little stunned, and it’s cute. I go into my bathroom, smear a dab of toothpaste on my toothbrush, and start brushing. I’m only a few seconds in when I see Ryder in the mirror, entering the bathroom. The look on his face is predatory.
“You really think you can do that and get away with it?” he murmurs.
“Geh away wi’ih?” I say around the toothbrush and foam.
He palms my hips and spins me around. “Keep brushing.”
I go back to scrubbing my teeth, and he stands in front of me, gathering the skirt of my dress in his hands—it’s a loose, flowing cotton dress, snug around my chest, a line of small buttons marching down between my breasts. He lifts the dress up around my hips, hooks his fingers into my underwear and drags them down, going to his knees as he does so.
I spit toothpaste.
“Ryder…” I breathe.
“No arguments from you, huh?”
“Hell no.” I widen my stance, taking the bunched material of my dress from him and hold it in one hand.
My electric toothbrush buzzes in my hand, vibrating against my teeth as he laps my core. I remember I’m supposed to be brushing, and give my teeth a few desultory swipes, before forgetting again as his tongue drives against me.
I gasp, bucking against him. “God, Ryder—”
He laughs. “So eager. You’re already almost there.” He slips two fingers inside me, and then, when his lips suction and his fingers curl inside me, I come apart, gasping.
My toothbrush rattles against the sink.
I have toothpaste dribbling down my chin.
My legs won’t work.
When my climax subsides, Ryder moves to his feet, sees the state I’m in, and chuckles. He takes a washcloth and wipes at my mouth, reaches into the sink and turns off my toothbrush, rinsing it and putting it back on the charger.
