Page 90 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

There’s no careful edge to it, no measured testing like before.

It’s deep and consuming, all heat and pressure, trying to leave a mark he knows I’ll still feel tomorrow.

His mouth drags down the line of my throat, slow enough to make me shiver, and he lingers there, inhaling me.

When his lips trace across my collarbone, I feel the deliberate pauses, committing each inch of me to memory.

My fingers find his hair, keeping him close and unwilling to let him pull away even an inch.

He catches one of my wrists, then the other, and pins them above my head with a single hand.

His grip isn’t cruel; it’s steady and grounding.

My breath stutters at the sudden shift in control.

His hips shift forward and he pushes into me again, filling me inch by inch until my eyes flutter closed.

The stretch is familiar now, but it’s no less overwhelming, drawing every nerve taut.

“You feel so damn good,” he murmurs.

He moves in a rhythm that’s maddening in its patience. Deep, steady strokes that keep me right on the edge but never quite push me over too soon.

This isn’t about proving something or staking a claim in front of anyone else like with Reece and Liam.

This is about keeping meright here, holding me in this moment where it’s only him, and there’s no room for anything else.

The heat builds slowly, deliciously, winding tighter with every movement until I can’t stop the soft, desperate sounds spilling from my lips.

My wrists flex in his hold, not to get free but because I’m unraveling.

His gaze is locked on mine when I finally come apart beneath him, his eyes dark and intent, watching every second, memorizing the exact way I fall apart for him.

He drives into me once, twice, and then he’s shuddering hard, coming in me for a second time.

His forehead drops to mine as his hips stutter, spilling the last of what’s left into me with a low, guttural sound.

We stay like that for a while, pressed together.

Eventually, he loosens his grip on my wrists, letting my hands fall to curl against his shoulders.

He doesn’t move away, though, he keeps me tucked against him, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the outside of my arm.

“You okay?” he asks finally, his voice low enough that it feels like it’s meant only for me.

I nod.

I’m okay, more than okay, actually.

My eyes drift over to his door, to where our other temporary housemates are probably still making a mess of the kitchen.

Jack must see something shift in my face, because his hand tightens just slightly on my waist, grounding me.

“Don’t think about them right now,” he murmurs.

Before I can even answer, he pulls me back into him.

My cheek rests against his shoulder, and for a while we just lay there in silence while his hand strokes over my side in slow, absent motions that make my eyelids heavy.