Page 12 of Power Play Daddies (Miami Icemen #1)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Kieran

I can see the bruises from whoever she was with before me, but I can also see the marks I’ve left. Little reminders.

She’s sitting at the kitchen counter, looking half-asleep but still sexy as hell, her red curls messy from the shower and… everything after. She stretches, and the jersey rides up a little, exposing more of those thighs. Christ.

“You’re staring,” she says, her voice soft but teasing.

“Hard not to,” I reply, flipping the sausages in the pan. “You’re wearing my number. Looking like that.”

She smirks. “Looking like what?”

“A fucking dream.”

She laughs, and it’s this lazy, satisfied sound that makes me want to drag her back to bed—or the counter. Hell, the floor works too. Instead, I focus on the food.

“Promise me something,” she says, resting her chin on her hand.

“What?”

“After pictures,” her lips curve in this wicked little smile, “you’ll drop me back here to get my car. I need to go home to feed my cat and get fresh clothes.”

I raise a brow, fighting my smile. “So, you’ve finally agreed to pictures?”

She nods, her eyes sparkling. “Private ones. Just for you.”

Damn. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Her hand slides across the counter, her fingers brushing mine. “You’re gonna say yes.”

She’s right. Especially when she leans forward, her other hand sneaking into my sweatpants to wrap around my cock and stroke me. My breath hitches, and I shoot her a look.

“That’s cheating,” I say, but I’m already agreeing. “Fine.”

“See? Not so hard. I like your jersey, but I want to show up to work looking at least semiprofessional.” She grins, sitting back like she’s won something. And maybe she has. I turn back to the stove, trying to focus on not burning the sausages.

“You’re trouble,” I mutter again.

“I know.”

I plate the food and slide it in front of her. She picks up a fork, her movements slow, like she’s savoring every bite. Watching her eat in my jersey, her legs bare, has me gripping the edge of the counter to stay in control.

“What time do we need to leave for the beach?” she asks between bites.

“In an hour, maybe. Some of the guys will be there too.”

Her eyes light up. “Perfect. I can take pictures of them surfing.”

I nod, watching her. “You good with that?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

I shrug, leaning against the counter. “You would be there, in my jersey. They should be able to do the math.”

She bites her lip gently and then says, “You have a point. Who exactly will be there?”

“Maybe Ford. I think Rhett. Definitely Mason. He’s the best surfer on the team if you’re looking for lessons.”

Her smile falters, just for a second, but it’s enough. My jaw tightens. Is that who she slept with?

“You okay?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

“Yeah. I’m perfect,” she says, brushing her hair back with her hand. The movement pulls my attention, and whatever I was going to ask next is gone. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

She stands, coming around the counter. Her hand slides into mine, and before I can process it, she’s guiding it under the jersey, pressing my palm between her thighs.

“Make me wet enough,” she whispers, her voice low, “before you bend me over the counter.”

“Jesus, baby.” My fingers move instinctively, finding her already slick. “You’re something else, you know that?”

She smirks. “You like it.”

“Damn right I do.”

Her lips brush my jaw, and my control snaps. I spin her around, pressing her hips into the counter. The jersey rides up, exposing more of her skin, and my hands roam freely now, gripping her thighs, her waist.

“Keep the jersey on,” I growl, yanking at my sweats.

She glances over her shoulder, that wicked grin still in place. “Wouldn’t dream of taking it off.”

I slide into her in one smooth motion, her gasp echoing in the kitchen. My hands grip her hips, holding her steady as I thrust, each movement sharp and deliberate.

“You’re gonna kill me,” I mutter.

“You’re not complaining.”

“No. Not even a little.”

Her laugh turns into a moan as I shift my angle, and it’s the best damn sound I’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, Kieran,” she breathes.

“Yeah, baby. Say it again.”

Her fingers claw at the counter, and I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her back arches just right.

“You gonna come for me?” I ask, my voice dark.

“Don’t stop,” she manages, her voice breaking.

I don’t. Not until she’s shaking, her body clenching around me, and even then, I’m not done. I pull out just long enough to flip her over, lifting her onto the counter.

Her hair fans out, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looks wrecked. Perfect. Mine.

“Again?” she asks, a teasing edge to her voice.

I smirk, leaning down to kiss her. “Think you can handle it?”

She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer. “Try me.”

I do.