Page 44 of Second Chance Daddy

I drag my knuckles along the slope of her bare arm, slowly, teasing, watching the goosebumps rise under my touch. Watching her exhale like keeping her guard up is getting harder by the second.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“You still want this,” I murmur, mouth grazing her ear. “You’ve been lying to everyone—including yourself—but your body’s a terrible liar, Cassie.”

Hell, her body’s screaming loud enough for both of us.

Her breath stutters. Her chin tilts up, but there’s no fight in her eyes—just want. Hot, heady, needy.

Her skin is soft as silk and warm as butter under my touch. I’m barely touching her, and she’s already falling apart.

“You’re shaking. Why is that, Cassie?”

She swallows hard. I watch the movement in her throat, remembering how it felt under my lips. “I’m not,” she lies.

I trace a path along her collarbone and dip my finger into the hollow of her throat where her pulse hammers against my skin. “Liar.”

Her eyes finally lock with mine. Time stretches and thins, and I forget where I’m standing.

All I see is her.

And then she breaks.

It happens in slow motion, like we’re in some Nicholas Sparks shit. She rises on her toes, brushes those soft lips against mine, and whispers against my mouth, “Please.”

And that’s it.

Game over.

My mama might have screwed up plenty, but she sure as hell didn’t raise me to say no when a woman begs.

One hand slides up her thigh. Her breath catches. Her lashes flutter.

And then I kiss her like I’ve been waiting my whole damn life.

I curl my hand behind her neck, slow as sin, dragging her in until her breath’s mixing with mine—and then I take her mouth like a man who’s been caged too long. It’s rough, deep, and laced with every filthy, buried thought I’ve had since the day I kissed her last.

She moans into my mouth, and my cock lunges like a horse on steroids. I press her harder against the wall, my body pinning hers, making her feel exactly what she does to me.

“Not here,” I growl against her lips. “Aria?—”

“Still sleeping,” she gasps, hands already fisting in my shirt. “But?—”

I don’t let her finish. Just grab her wrist and tug her away from the office door, down the hallway. She stumbles after me, quicker than usual, like she’s afraid I’ll change my mind if she doesn’t keep up.

But hell, it’s not her who needs to keep up.

It’s me.

I’ve been playing catch-up since the second this woman crashed back into my life, wrecked my sleep, twisted my guts, and made my head a goddamn war zone of logic versus lust.

She’s always been three steps ahead, with those legs that don’t quit and that mouth that never quits running through my dreams.

And right now? She’s got me by the fucking throat without lifting a finger.

I tug her along faster, down the hall, knowing if I let her go for even a second? My resolve’s going to crack wide open, and I’ll be throwing her up against the next wall like a lunatic.

But that’s the problem with Cassie Russo.