Page 36 of Power Play Daddies

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 sohard.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.”