Page 31 of One Baby Daddy
Up and down.
“Fuck,” I grunt, squeezing my eyes shut, biting down on my lower lip.
Her lips, those fuckable, kissable, sexy-as-sin lips.
Up . . . and . . . down.
“God . . . shit.” My head falls to the tile, my hand relentless on my cock, my forearm burning from the erratic motion. My abs tighten, a euphoric feeling working its way up from my toes to my gut, to my balls.
Up.
Down.
Up . . .
“Goddamn it,” I press my head harder into the tile, trying to keep my groans together, the head of my cock ready to burst.
Her smile.
Her laugh.
Her caress.
Those long legs.
That . . . ass.
Inexplicably groaning, my hand pulls on my cock as my orgasm takes over, my vision tunneling, my legs shaking, my grip squeezing so goddamn tight I’m almost positive I’m about to black out.
My hand stilling, my cock throbs in my palm, my come pouring out of me until I don’t think I have any left. Spent and partially satisfied, I take a deep breath, the steam of the shower opening my lungs, rejuvenating me.
I might just be able to get through this morning without jumping Adalyn unexpectedly. Because I want to fucking jump her. God, how I want her.
Quickly, I soap up my body, wash my hair and face, then turn off the shower. Peeking past the shower door, I glance into the bedroom to find Adalyn still sleeping. Man, she must have been really tired. That or she’s the heaviest sleeper I know.
I towel off, put on a pair of Nike shorts, and head into the bedroom, droplets of water careening from my hair, down my chest. I make sure one last time she’s fully asleep, snag my phone, and walk to the kitchen.
What should I make for breakfast?
I rub my hands together and take a look at the time. Eight o’clock. Wow, I never sleep in this late. I must have been extremely comfortable sleeping with Adalyn.
Well, that was until she started skimming her fingers over my cock.
Shaking those thoughts out of my head, not wanting to get excited again, I pick up a box of waffle mix from the pantry and scan the ingredients. Just add water, that’s easy.
While I’m searching for a waffle maker, my phone rings in my pocket. I answer without even looking at the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Hey, man. What are you up to today?” Racer, shit.
“Hey Racer, uh . . . not much. Just making some breakfast.”
Where the fuck is the waffle maker? Ah, there it is.
“Breakfast? Dude, it’s eight.”
“I’m aware. I slept in. I’m allowed to do that when it’s the off-season, you know.”
