Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends #2) - Sara Ney Page 0,80
me know if there’s anything else you need. I’m going to…” He swallows, searching for his next word. “Try.”
That’s a start. A huge one.
“I know.”
When Buzz meets us back in the foyer, he’s wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a cutoff bro tank, his toned arms ripped. The whole outfit is an intentional flex on my father and I’m not mad about it.
He’s protective and I’ve not had that before.
God it’s hot.
Such a damn turn on.
We walk Dad to the door.
“Maybe call next time Westbrooke. I’d hate to get caught with my pants around my ankles.”
Why does he say shit like that? I smack him in the stomach.
But.
My father nods his acquiescence. “Will do.”
“Look forward to seeing you at the office.” Buzz har-hars with a chuckle, amused with himself.
It’s all I can do not to bust out laughing; he can be such a showboater when he wants to.
“I’ll have my people come see you about a raise,” Buzz calls out to him when Dad hits the sidewalk, striding toward his luxury sedan. He looks down at me. “I have people, you know.”
“No you will not come see about a raise,” Dad calls over his shoulder, the beep-beep of his unlocking car ringing in the night.
“We should do lunch—on you,” Buzz shouts.
“I’m busy that day,” Dad shouts in reply, clearly enjoying the back and forth.
“We picked names for the Christmas gift exchange last week and I chose you. Send me your list,” Buzz jokes.
“Unsubscribe,” is the last thing my father says before sliding in and shutting the door to his car, roaring the expensive engine to life.
I’m laughing beside Buzz on the porch, waving to my departing parental unit. “Was he smiling? I think he was smiling.”
“Oh, he was definitely smiling. It was a cross between constipated and a grin.”
“He’s definitely a bit rusty in the pleasure department.”
“Speaking of pleasure…” He looks down at me wolfishly and I remember that he didn’t come when we were having sex in the bathtub.
“That’s not the kind of pleasure I meant.”
But it’s too late—he’s scooping me up and carrying me into the house, kicking the door closed behind him. Carrying me as if I weigh next to nothing, which we both know isn’t the case.
He doesn’t put me down. Does not stop until we’re back in his bedroom and he’s setting me on the edge of the bed, hands cupping my face, mouth kissing me on the lips.
“Mmm.” It’s only been two hours, but I already missed this. His body pressed against mine, the intense heat he fills me with.
I raise my arms so he can pull my t-shirt off, over my head. Next come the leggings; I lean back on the mattress so he can divest me of them, one leg at a time, his hands slowly gliding up my smooth legs.
I’m only in a thong, having skipped a bra in haste when I threw on clothes to greet my dad.
Buzz is running his hands all over my bare skin, rubbing my shoulders and neck, gently pressing his thumbs into the knots buried there.
I moan. Eyes slide closed.
He is spoiling me rotten with all this affection and attention, and I could get used to it.
And why shouldn’t I after the hell I’ve been through with some of these assholes I’ve dated? Not to mention the emotional abandonment I’ve felt from my family.
Deserve it indeed…
My ass gets pulled to the edge of the bed, legs spread by a pair of large shoulders nudging them open. Buzz, down on his knees, buries his face between my thighs, tongue working its magic on my vagina.
My knees quiver, and without his support, I’d be unable to hold them open. What a not-horrible problem to have.
“Do you like that?” he mutters and I want to push his head back down because no chitchat during oral. Hello, cardinal rule!
Now I’ve morphed into a greedy asshole desperate for his touch. His tongue. His hands and fingers and dick.
“Fuck me.” I need him inside me. Give his shoulders a push, scooting my ass across the mattress, hoping he’ll get the hint. I mean, what bigger hint can there be other than Fuck me? But still—some guys love oral and don’t want to quit until they finish the job.
Buzz is no such man.
He rips his clothes off in record time, shucking his pajama bottoms and shirt, climbing on top, climbing up my body, kissing my skin along the way.
“Like satin,” he tells me. “So fucking beautiful.”