Page 20 of 3 Stolen Kisses

It’s true, and we both know it. Saxon would’ve stayed in the background for years, watching over me, silent and steady. Never presuming to offer anything more; never imagining that I might want him back.

This is so much better, and I’ll never be sorry for teasing us to this edge. Already, his heat and scent and presence is nearly overwhelming, and my eyes are damp with relief and joy.

This has got to be it, right? I’ve kissed his mouth. Gone to my knees for him in the library. How else can I possibly prove that I want this man?

“Ali,” he says quietly. “Alison.”

Then he ducks his head, and… brushes his cheek against mine.

It feels good, don’t get me wrong, but I poke at his shoulder. “What are you doing? Kiss me.”

Saxon makes a rumbly noise, then rubs his face against my neck. And it finally twigs, my brain too soupy and slow after the night’s events—this is his revenge after my antics in the library.Hisstolen kiss.

Without my brain even getting involved, my thighs spread apart.

And Saxon laughs, smoky and pleased, as he sniffs and rubs andalmostkisses my chest, my bare nipples, my stomach, my hips… my trembling thighs.

“Oh, please,” I whine, tangling my fingers in Saxon’s dark hair. He’s still fully dressed down there, looming over my bare body in his suit, and the contrast makes something twist in my lower belly. My pulse thuds between my legs, heavy and insistent, and the cry spills out of me without warning: “Please, daddy.”

Saxon turns to stone. He’s rigid down there, a breath from my bikini shorts, every muscle in his body suddenly tense.

Oh, god. Oh, god, oh, god.

Why did I call him that? I’ve blown it.

Because sure, I’ve called Saxondaddya thousand times in the privacy of my own mind, especially when I’m having a little me-time late at night, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear it out loud. Doesn’t mean he won’t think I’m a freak for even thinking it.

“What did you say?” Saxon says at last, his voice strained. The words rumble against the juncture of my legs, even without his mouth on me. His breath torments me through the last layer of fabric.

“Nothing!” My voice is too high, breathy and strangled. “Sorry. No, I didn’t—didn’t say anything. I mean, I did but I said, ‘Please, Saxon.’”

And maybe I can babble my way out of this; can say I hit my head in the pool or something. Maybe I can lie my ass off and make this okay again.

But: “Liar,” Saxon says softly, and he still hasn’t moved. Hasn’t touched his mouth to my desperate body, but hasn’t leaned back either. Is he repulsed or not, damn it? I’m losing my mind here, sweating and shivering in the center of my giant bed.

“Don’t be mad,” I whisper, and Saxon’s head jerks up. Gray eyes fix on me, ravenous and barely restrained.

“I’m not mad, Alison.” Two big hands grip my bikini shorts and tear them in half, merciless and matter of fact, and I yelp, body rippling toward the ceiling. The shreds of red and white fabric fly over Saxon’s shoulder, landing somewhere with a softwhump.“I want to hear it again.”

“D-daddy,” I say, forcing the word through chattering teeth. Everything about this is so much, so intense, and I can barely stand it, even as I desperately want more. “I said please, daddy.”

And Saxongroans,burying his face between my legs.

It’s hot and wet and tingly and torturous, his tongue swiping the length of my slit and rubbing at my clit. Saxon leaves no part of me untasted, shows no mercy even when I gasp and writhe and moan, and every time I call outthat name, it only spurs him on.

He likes this too?

He… feels the same way?

Like he’s mine and I’m his; like he watches over me. Protects me. And in return, I’ll be Saxon’s good girl and I’ll make him feel so loved, I’ll let him work out all his stress and frustrations on my body, I’ll take such good care of him too—

The crack of his palm against my ass makes me howl, pulse thudding between my thighs, and I hope Saxon can breathe down there because he’s wearing my thighs like ear muffs.

“Again,” he grunts, mouth still sealed against my slit, and I gasp out his new name again.

“Daddy.”

On and on it goes, until I’m worked into a shuddering heap on the bed, my back damp with sweat and my chlorine-scented hair spilling over the covers.

---