Page 92 of Scouting the Single Dad

“Layla, I’m gonna come,” I grind out.

A tiny nod. Hands pull at my ass, pulling me closer.

“Yes,” she pants, breath hot in my ear. “Come inside me.”

“Gonna fill you up,” I groan into her neck. “You want it?”

“Oh God yes, I want it,” she moans, nails biting into my ass. “Make me come.”

I angle and hit that spot; her eyes fly open, mouth falling into a soft curse.

“There,” she gasps again. “Right there—oh s-shit . . .”

“I’ve got you.” My voice rips out of me. “Come on my cock.”

Buried to the hilt, I thrust and thrust and thrust her through a release, mine hitting at the same time, white, savage heat that empties every thought I’ve got in my brain.

I spill for what feels like forever, kissing the little cries she tries to muffle.

My body jerks. Shivers.

When the nerve endings finally ebb, breathing now in check, I ease out of her, thick and tender. Sensitive.

“Holy shit,” I breathe. Another twitch steals through me, and in the dim light, I catch her smile. “That felt great.”

Layla laughs. “It did.” She pauses. “I should clean up.”

I nod. “I’m gonna check on Benny—then I’m coming back and doing it again.”

Layla’s already easing off the bed, keeping her legs together as she shimmies to the bathroom door and flips on the light.

I hesitate, admiring her naked body, the curve of her hips. The faint crescent marks my hands left on her thighs. She glances back over her shoulder, mouth tilting.

“Stop staring and go be a dad.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I give her ass a quick, teasing slap that earns me a surprised yelp, and pad into the hallway.

I grin, happy for the first time in ages.

Chapter 22

Layla

We barely slept at all.

Every time I drifted, he’d breathe against my neck and the hand resting on my boob would feel me up, and that greedy dick would get hard again—what’s a girl to do but roll her hips so he’d wake up, and suddenly we’d be having sex again.

My thighs ache in a way that makes me feel smug. Alive.

I count the orgasms in my head, beginning with his head between my legs: One. Two. Four.

Beside me Hayes lies on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, mouth curved into a satisfied smile, and I wonder if he’s sleeping or awake.

“Good morning,” I murmur into his shoulder, kissing his warm flesh.

He groans. “Morning.” He moves his arm, cracking his eyes, bending his arm to check the watch encircling his wrist. “Seven o’clock.”

“Ugh.” So early?