Page 9 of Outlaw Daddy
I moan softly as he kisses down my neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin. His hand continues to tease my breast while hisother hand slides down my body, careful of my injured leg. He strokes my thigh, then moves higher, until his fingers brush the edge of my panties.
I’m soaked. I can feel it. The fabric is damp against me. He groans when he feels it too.
“Fuck, Junie. You’re so wet for me.”
I blush hard, but I don’t pull away. I want this. I want him to touch me. I want to feel everything he can give me.
He kisses me again as his fingers slip under the edge of my panties. He strokes me slowly, teasing my folds, circling my clit with just the right pressure. I moan into his mouth, hips rocking against his hand. He’s so good at this. So patient. So focused on making me feel good.
“That’s it,” he whispers against my lips. “Let me take care of you. Let Daddy make you feel good.”
The word sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I whimper and press closer. He slides one finger inside me, then two, stretching me gently while his thumb circles my clit. The pleasure builds fast and sharp. I’ve never felt anything like this. I cling to his shoulders, moaning his name as I come apart under his hand.
He kisses me through it, swallowing every sound, his fingers still moving slowly inside me until the last tremor fades. When I finally go limp, he pulls his hand away and brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting me. The sight makes my core clench again.
“So sweet,” he murmurs. “I could taste you for hours.”
I blush furiously, but I can’t look away. He kisses me again, letting me taste myself on his tongue. It’s filthy and intimate and I love it.
We kiss for a long time after that. Slow and deep and full of promise. His hands roam over my body, learning every curve. I touch him too, running my hands over his chest and shoulders, feeling the hard muscle under my palms. He’s so strong. So solid.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathing hard. He rests his forehead against mine.
“Sleep, baby girl,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”
I close my eyes and let myself drift, safe in his arms, my body still humming from his touch.
SEVEN
WYATT
I wake with a jolt, heart pounding hard against my ribs like I’ve been yanked out of a bad dream. For a split second my body’s tense, ready to fight, muscles coiled and mind already scanning for threats. Then I feel her. Junie is curled against my side, warm and soft, her head resting on my chest and one leg thrown over mine. Her breathing’s slow and even, deep in sleep. The realization hits me like a wave. She’s here. In my bed. In my arms. Last night was real.
I never meant for any of it to happen. I never meant to kiss her. I never meant to touch her like that. But once I started, I couldn’t stop. The feel of her under my hands, the way she moaned my name, the way she came apart for me —it’s burned into my memory now. I’ve wanted her since the moment I carried her back here through the snow, but I told myself I would wait. She’s hurt. She’s scared. She’s running from something dark. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve kept my hands to myself. But when she asked me to hold her, when she looked at me with those bright brown eyes and told me she felt safer with me close, something inside me snapped. I kissed her. I touched her. I made her come on my fingers while she whispered my namelike a prayer. And I don’t regret a single second of it. I only regret that I didn’t tell her how much I want her. How much I need her. How much she already means to me.
I lie still for a long moment, just feeling her against me. Her body’s warm and trusting, pressed close like she belongs here. Her hair smells like my shampoo. Her hand rests on my stomach, fingers loosely curled. I want to pull her closer. I want to roll her under me and kiss her awake. I want to slide inside her and show her exactly how much she belongs to me. The attraction is bold and intense, a constant heat low in my gut that I have to control every time she looks at me. She’s under my skin. In my head. In my blood. I’m already falling. Hard. Fast. In a way I didn’t think I was capable of anymore.
But I control it. I breathe steady and careful not to wake her yet. She needs the rest. Her body is still healing. I will give her that. I’ll give her whatever she needs.
I ease out of bed as quietly as I can, pulling on a shirt and jeans. The cabin is cool in the early morning light. I add a log to the fire and head to the kitchen. I make her a cup of huckleberry tea, the kind Harper taught me to brew with fresh berries and a touch of honey. I set the mug on the nightstand and start making breakfast. Pancakes with more huckleberries. I remember she liked them yesterday. I mix the batter and heat the pan, the smell of cooking food filling the cabin.
Junie stirs behind me. I hear her moving carefully, the bed creaking as she sits up. She appears in the doorway a moment later, wearing my flannel shirt again. It hangs loose on her, the hem brushing her thighs. Her hair is messy from sleep, and I’m picturing forever with her. What would it be like to wake up to her everyday?
“Morning,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Sleep good?”
She smiles. “I liked having you hold me… and, uh… everything else.”
I nod toward the table. “Sit. Breakfast is almost ready. I made you huckleberry tea. Harper says it’s good for healing.”
She limps over and lowers herself into a chair, careful with her injured leg. I bring her the mug. She takes a sip and her eyes light up.
“This is delicious,” she says, smiling wider. “There’s just something about huckleberries I love so much.”
I shrug, but I feel a quiet satisfaction at her reaction. “They’re sweeter than blueberries.”
I slide the golden stack of pancakes onto a plate, adding a generous pat of butter that melts slowly into the warm surface before drizzling maple syrup over the top in a careful spiral. The berries peek out from the fluffy batter, still plump and juicy from the heat. I set the plate in front of her with a fork and a clean napkin, watching as her eyes widen at the sight.
She takes her first bite and lets out a soft, involuntary sound of pure pleasure. It’s low and breathy, almost a moan, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. My cock twitches hard in my jeans. The way her lips part around the fork. The little hum she makes as the flavors hit her tongue. The way her cheeks flush with delight. I want to hear that sound again. I want to be the one who pulls it from her over and over. I want her spread out on this table, my head between her thighs, licking her until she makes that exact noise while she comes on my tongue. I want her under me, around me, saying my name like that while I take her apart slowly and thoroughly.
