Page 12

"I’m a photographer," I say, licking chocolate shake off my thumb as he watches me with dark eyes. "I own a studio here in St. Pete. Bombshell."

He tilts his head, his thumb pausing on my stomach. "Bombshell. I'm guessing that means you don't do family portraits on the beach in matching white polos."

"God, no. I shoot boudoir. Lingerie, implied nudity, that kind of thing. I basically spend all day stripping women down, hyping them up, and showing them how insanely hot they are."

His eyes drop to where the white sheet barely covers me then roam over the uncovered parts. His gaze lingers on my boobs, then my stomach, then the ink running along my ribs before following the sheet where it dips over my hip. The air in the room suddenly feels ten degrees hotter.

“And you know how fucking hot you are, right?” he rasps, his grip tightening on my waist.

I smirk. “Obviously.”

A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. "Good."

I drop my head onto his shoulder. My hand drifts down his stomach, my finger tracing the deep V of the muscle right above his hip bone. He flinches, his stomach contracting sharply.

I pause, looking up at him with a grin. “Wait. Are you ticklish?”

His eyes narrow. “No.”

Yeah, he’s full of shit.

I immediately poke him right in the side.

He jerks away with a startled laugh and catches my wrist before I can get him again, but the grin on his face gives him away completely.

“Oh my God. You are.”

“I’m not,” he says, still laughing as he keeps hold of my wrist.

“Uh-huh.” I grin and flex my fingers like I’m considering another attack. “This is dangerous information for me to have.”

His smile turns a little more sinister as he tightens his hand around my wrist and pulls me closer. “I think you’re the one who should be worried.”

The teasing answer should make me laugh, but then his thumb drags slowly over the inside of my wrist, and his eyes drop to my mouth.

That changes things.

I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are, how little I’m wearing, and how hard he is under the sheet.

He reaches over, plucks the milkshake and the fries out of my free hand, and sets them on the nightstand.

"Your fifteen-minute break is officially over," he says, and I didn’t know it was possible for his voice to get deeper and rougher, but here we are.

He doesn't give me time to process the shift. He grabs my ankle and yanks, dragging me flat onto my back right in the middle of the mattress. He crawls over me, caging me in, and settles his body between my spread legs.

Sumner doesn't rush to push inside me. He brackets my head with his arms and just looks at me. His gaze drags over my messy hair, my stomach, and my thick thighs spread around him. One of his hands leaves the mattress and closes around the outside of my thigh. His fingers sink in as he squeezes, then slide higher to my hip. I lived with my ex for years, and not once did he ever look at me like this—like I’m a goddamn feast and he’s starving.

He shifts his hips, pressing his hard, thick cock right against the slick heat of my pussy. The friction of his skin sliding against where I’m still wet from our first round makes my breath hitch.

"I’m going to fuck you until you pass out," he murmurs, his hips rolling forward. Just the broad, blunt head of his dick slips inside me, stretching me out for a second before he pulls back. "And when you fall asleep, I want to wake you up by doing it again."

He thrusts again, sliding in a fraction deeper, letting the friction build.

"Am I allowed to fuck you while you're sleeping, Goldie?"

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“Am I allowed to fuck more of my cum into you so we do all we can to make a baby tonight?”