Page 91 of Scouting the Single Dad

Fanfuckingtastic idea.

My last scrap of willpower snaps when she begins kissing me.

I line up, nudging against her slick heat, just the tip, enough to make us both curse under our breath. She’s so tight I almost forget to breathe.

“Oh shit,” she whispers, thumbs stroking my hip bones. “You’re so big.”

Music to my fucking ears. I haven’t been accused of having a big cock in ages. “Sorry.”

Not sorry at all when she grips my shoulders, nails biting, a delicious sting that snaps my control thinner and thinner. The room is dark and quiet except for our breathing and her tiny gasps. I swallow them with a kiss.

I push forward . . . one inch . . .

Then another.

I grind my hips, finding a rhythm that makes the mattress groan and Layla’s mouth fall open. Every time I push a bit deeper, she answers with a roll of her hips that steals the air from my lungs.

She is so fucking tight . . .

Not sure if it’s because of my size or because she hasn’t had sex in a while, either, or if that’s just how her pussy is, but it feels incredible.

“Should I slow down?” I rasp.

“It’s okay—I’m fine,” she tells me, giving me permission to bury myself deeper. “Don’t stop.”

So I fuck her—really, really fuck her good. Pump my hips, driving into her until the headboard hits the wall, my name slipping out of her on every thrust. I press my forehead to hers, relishing the little ahhhs that leave her mouth.

“You’re so deep,” she whispers. Whines. Coos. “It feels . . . so . . . good.”

“How fucking good?” I rasp, hand sliding between us to where we’re joined. I circle her clit once, slow, and her whole body jerks. “You like that?”

“God—yes.” Her hips chase my hand. “Just like that. D-don’t stop.”

She drags her hands to my ass and urges me deeper, and I swear I’m going to die from how good this feels.

Jesus Christ. I’m going to die.

“Close,” I grind out. “Fuck, I’m clo—”

“Don’t you dare come yet,” she demands. Her body tightens, the change instant, electric. “Yes, yes . . .”

I keep the rhythm cruel and steady—stroke, circle, stroke, circle—until she’s trembling under me, thighs shaking, breath stuttering against my lips. She’s right there; I can feel it in the way her pussy begins clenching.

The bed creaks. My back bows as I thrust. She goes taut beneath me, eyes going wide and then squeezing shut as she breaks—hot, fluttering pulses around my cock that rip my sanity to shreds.

I grind deeper, deeper, until my pelvis is flush to hers and she makes a sobbing sound in her throat.

Bang, bang . . .

The headboard continues hitting the wall, and for the briefest moment I worry it might wake my daughter, but I lose the fight against Layla’s tight, wet pussy . . .

I want to live inside her.

I want to fuck her again and again, and I haven’t even come yet. Caught up in the sensation of her heat, I could literally fucking cry, it feels so good.

I brace a hand against the headboard to quiet it, the other sliding under her knee to hitch it higher, my nose nuzzling in the crook of her neck.

She trembles. Thighs shake. The mattress dips, molded to her body, moving along with us.