Second Chance Daddy: Broken Boss Daddies, page 8
Of course, even his damn furniture’s intimidating.
I ease down beside her, brush her curls back from her face, and press a kiss to her warm temple. Her breath’s soft and even. Out cold.
I could stay here, watch her sleep, crawl into the quiet. But the air shifts behind me—a ripple of heat and danger.
I turn, and there he is.
Dante.
Leaning in the doorway to his office, arms crossed, eyes shadowed and sharp, cutting through me like glass under bare feet.
His stare? Loaded. Knowing. Wary.
It drills into me, low and slow, pinning me to the moment until my pulse’s doing somersaults I can’t recover from. Slowly, I walk towards him, closing the door to let Aria sleep. Whatever this is, I don’t want her listening.
His voice drops low and lethal as it curls through the room.
He crowds me against the wall, his hands on either side of my head, his body towering over me, and my knees nearly crumble.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
And just like that—the floor’s gone. My lie teeters on the edge. And I’m standing in the wreckage of everything I’ve tried to keep buried.
12
DANTE
She’s cornered.
My arms bracket either side of her head, her spine pressed to the wall, and she’s looking at me like I’m both the storm and the shelter. All wide, frantic eyes and flushed cheeks, like running isn’t an option, but surviving this moment? Questionable.
I could push for answers. Press her. Tear the truth from her lips with the same hunger scraping my ribs raw.
But I don’t.
I just… watch her.
Christ—she looks good there. Eyes all blasted open like a little vixen. Her pulse jumps at her throat. Quick. Frantic. Giving her away when her face tries to stay calm.
I don’t push.
I let the silence do the work that questions can’t. Fuck, the FBI could hire me from all the tells I’m picking up on.
One, she wants me with every inch of her being. Two, she’s soaking already, as I feel her legs tremble. Three, she’s keeping something big from me, from how she forgets to speak when I ask her one simple question.
I watch her eyes dart everywhere but at me. She’s hiding something massive. Something that’s eating her alive from the inside out.
But none of that matters right now. Not with her pressed this close, trembling, reeking of that filthy, unmistakable scent that says she wants me to wreck her all over again.
Maybe I should care more about the secrets swimming behind those pretty eyes, ask about Gino and that kid sleeping in the office with eyes that mirror mine. Maybe I should be the good guy. Play this carefully. Be soft.
But I’m a red-blooded man standing inches from the only woman who’s ever set my world on fire—and if loving her came with a manual, it’d be titled no fucking regrets.
Instead, I lean in closer. Let my breath ghost over her neck. Watch her pupils blow wide, her chest rise faster.
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper against her ear, my lips barely touching the shell. “Tell me to back off, and I will.”
Her breath hitches. Her fingers twitch at her sides. But she says nothing. Not a fucking word.
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.
It doesn’t matter how fast I move.
I’ll never catch up to the way she owns me.
We slam into the wall halfway. My mouth finds hers again, hungrier this time, one hand sliding under her shirt to feel the warm skin beneath. She arches into me, nails digging into my shoulders through my shirt.
“Fuck, Cassie,” I breathe against her neck, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp. “You drive me fucking insane.”
She doesn’t answer with words. Just grabs my face and pulls me back to her mouth, kissing me like she’s drowning and I’m air.
We stumble through the house like that—a tangle of limbs and half-formed curses, crashing into furniture, knocking shit over. I don’t care. Nothing matters except getting her somewhere I can spread her out and take her apart piece by piece.
The kitchen. It’ll have to do.
I back her into the island, lift her by the waist, and set her on the cold marble countertop. Her legs spread automatically, making room for me between them—long, smooth, dangerous as hell. Legs that were made to wreck men, ruin bank accounts, and drive good sense straight off a cliff.
Her dress rides up those thighs, and I slide my hands underneath, fingertips skimming over bare skin like milk.
I ghost my palms over her thighs, watching her shiver, her chest rising quickly like she’s already losing the battle.
She bites her bottom lip, trying to hold it together, but her hips roll forward on instinct, chasing my touch like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the floor.
“Look at you,” I rasp, thumbs dragging circles along her inner thighs, teasing, never giving her enough. “Already shaking, and I haven’t even started, sweetheart.”
Her fingers grip the counter behind her, knuckles white, those pretty eyes blown wide with heat. She tries to sass me, tries to act like she’s not seconds from crumbling, but her body’s louder than her mouth.
I dip my head, nipping at the skin along her jaw, my voice low, rough. “Say the words, Cass.”
She swallows hard, that pride fighting for air, but want always wins with her.
“Dante…” Her voice cracks, breathless, begging, filthy sweet. “I want you.”
Not good enough. I slide one hand higher, brushing my thumb over the damp fabric of her panties. She jerks, a small moan escaping her lips.
“Be specific, Cassie.”
“I want your mouth on me. I want your fingers inside me. I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.”
A grin curves my lips, cock throbbing hard enough to ache.
“Good girl.” I lean in, my breath hot against her ear, teasing her one last time before I make good on that promise. “Hold on tight, ‘cause once I start? I’m not stopping ‘til you fall apart for me.”
I circle my thumb over her clit through the thin fabric, watch her eyes flutter closed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
I lean in, my mouth at her ear again. “You were mine before you even knew it.”
She shudders, her thighs tensing around my hand. I pull back just enough to see her face—to watch as I slip my fingers beneath the elastic of her panties and find her hot and slick and ready.
“So fucking wet for me,” I growl, sliding one finger into her, then another. She clenches around me, a broken sound falling from her lips. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? About me inside you again?”
She nods, unable to speak as I curl my fingers just right, finding that spot that makes her whole body tense.
“I need words, baby.”
“Yes,” she gasps. “Yes, I’ve been thinking about it.”
Then I drop to my knees like a sinner at church, ready to pray at her altar. My hands find the waistband of those lace panties, and I drag them down slowly.
She’s shaking by the time they hit the floor.
She’s fucking perfect. Swollen and pink and glistening in the dim kitchen light. I spread her wider with my thumbs, lean in, and breathe against her.
I make her wait for another heartbeat. Another breath. Until she’s moaning. Until she says it again: “Please.”
I bury my face between her thighs and lick her slit, groaning low—a sound that rumbles straight from the animal part of me. She tastes like sin and salvation tangled into one—a taste I’d bleed for. Sweet. Addictive. Mine.
I drag my tongue slowly, deliberately, learning every inch of her like a man memorizing the battleground before a war. I don’t rush. I savor. I claim.
Every time she gasps, my grip tightens. Every time her hips jerk, my jaw clenches. And when her hands twist in my hair, nails biting into my scalp, pulling like she wants to tear me apart?
Yeah—good luck, sweetheart.
I’m not stopping.
I circle her clit with my tongue, drag it around the track, and when I slide two fingers back inside her, she cries out—a sound so sweet I want to record it and play it on loop for the rest of my life.
“Shhh,” I remind her. “Aria’s down the hall.”
She nods, biting her lip again, but a moan escapes anyway when I curl my fingers and suck her clit between my lips.
I don’t let up—mouth and fingers working in a brutal and steady rhythm, tuned to every gasp, every twitch of her hips like I’ve mapped her body in my sleep. Her thighs start to tremble around my head. Her fingers twist in my hair, desperate, her spine arching clean off the counter like she’s coming undone from the inside out.
“Let go, baby,” I growl against her, voice rough with want. “Fall apart for me.”
And she does.
God—she shatters.
Her body seizes under my hands, thighs quaking, breath catching, those filthy, breathless curses slipping from her mouth like a prayer gone wrong. Her whole body bows, shakes, and clenches until I feel her come apart on my fingers—wrecked, ruined, beautiful.
But I don’t stop. I ride the aftershocks, dragging her higher, licking her through the unraveling until she’s pushing weakly at my shoulders, whimpering like she can’t take another second.
I lift my head, her taste still on my lips, her eyes glassy and wide.
“Yeah,” I rasp, voice low, dangerous. “We’re not done yet.”
Only then do I stand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, savoring the taste of her still clinging to my lips. She’s sprawled across my kitchen counter like the most dangerous woman in the world.
I’d sell my soul to please her.
I drag my gaze down the length of her parted legs, messy hair, and heaving chest—and my cock’s already pressing hard behind my zipper like it’s got a death wish.
“Take off your dress.”
She swallows, eyes darting to mine, pulse jumping at her throat. Her hands shake as she pushes herself upright, fingers fumbling at the hem.
Slow. She peels it up inch by inch, revealing smooth thighs, the curve of her hips, and soft, flushed skin that makes my palms itch. Her breathing’s uneven now, matching mine, like we’re both circling the edge of something dangerous.
The dress hits the floor.
Her bra follows—black lace, delicate as sin. I grip the strap, rough and impatient, and it tears like paper under my fingers. She gasps, but there’s no protest, only heat in those eyes, dark and heavy as they lock onto mine.
“Good girl,” I murmur.
She’s naked for me now—completely, sinfully, maddeningly naked. Her skin flushed, breasts rising and falling with every jagged breath, soft curves all laid out across my counter like she’s some goddamn sculpture built to ruin men.
And hell, I’m already ruined.
My eyes drag over every inch of her—the swell of her lips, the peaks of those perfect breasts, the way her thighs shift just slightly like she knows exactly how undone I am.
My heart’s racing like I’ve got minutes left to live, and this? This is the only way I’m spending them. Watching her, wrecking her, reminding both of us who the hell she belongs to.
I run my hands up her sides, over her ribs, and cup her breasts in my palms. They fit perfectly, like they were meant to fit. I brush my thumbs over her pebbled nipples, watching her squirm.
“Beautiful. Fucking perfect.”
Her fingers fist in my shirt, tugging, frantic now, like she’s seconds from losing her mind if I don’t get my act together.
“Off,” she commands. Her hands are on me before I can speak—shoving at my shirt, yanking it up over my head, nails dragging down my ribs.
She’s breathless, flushed, grabbing at my belt, my jeans, frantic like we’ll combust if there’s space between us.
Clothes scatter across the counter, her legs wrap around my waist, and I grip her thighs, heart pounding like a war drum. No patience. No slowing down.
I step between her legs again and line myself up with her entrance. Her eyes flicker to my cock, and she bites her lower lip with a nasty, dirty little smile. “Fuck,” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine.
She’s soaking wet, still pulsing from her orgasm, and when I push just the head of my cock inside, we both groan.
Her body clenches around me the second I push inside, tight, hot, still fluttering from that orgasm I just wrung out of her with my mouth. Her head falls back as she lets out a little breathless moan.
“Fuck, Cass,” I rasp, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “You make me forget my own damn name.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Your name isn’t what I need right now.” She groans as she clenches her pussy around my cock.
“Fuck, you little tease,” I growl as her legs lock around my waist, pulling me deeper like she’s starved for this—starved for me.
I roll my hips slowly, savoring the stretch, the slick heat wrapping around me, every nerve ending firing off like gunshots under my skin.
“You’ve been lying,” I grit out, thrusting deeper, watching her eyes go wide, her back arching off the counter. “Telling everyone you’re fine… pretending you don’t think about this… about me.”
Her breath catches, nails biting into my skin, hips shifting, chasing every inch I give her like she can’t stand the space between us.
I slam in harder this time, the counter jolting beneath us, and her gasp rips through the room like we’re filming a fucking porno.
“Say it,” I growl, my voice sharp, filthy, and possessive. “Say you still want me.”
Her eyes flutter closed, lashes trembling, her lip caught between her teeth, but it’s her hips that answer first, rolling up to meet every brutal snap of mine.
“Dante…” My name’s a wrecked whisper, soaked in need.
I drag my hand up her ribs, over those perfect, flushed breasts, my thumb brushing the peak of one tight nipple as I thrust again—harder, rougher, until the only sounds filling the kitchen are skin meeting skin and those pretty little gasps spilling from her mouth.
“You were mine, always,” I snarl, my hand fisting in her hair, tilting her face to mine. “And now? You’re sure as hell not walking away from me again.”
Her body tightens, pulsing around me, the heat of her pulling me under, unraveling what little control I’ve got left.
I slam her down on her back, both hands gripping her thighs wide, pinning her there, and I drive into her, every thrust rougher, deeper, until her body’s jolting with every movement, the marble beneath us trembling like the whole damn house might come apart.
She’s gasping, wrecked, trembling under my hands, her body arching, chasing the high I’m dragging her toward, and I’m not stopping—not until I’ve burned every memory of every other man from her skin.
“Mine,” I grit out, my voice low and ragged, as her walls clench around me, pulling me deeper, tighter.
