Dating Daddy's Best Friend novel · Chapter 12 of 32

Chapter 12: Upstairs

For a second he didn't move.

The radio played on behind him.

"Say it again," he said.

"Take me upstairs, Cullen."

He reached past me and turned the radio off.

In the quiet I could hear the river slapping at the dock, and my own heart.

"Last chance to tell me to go home."

"You can drive me home tomorrow."

He picked me up off the counter.

I held on around his neck and laughed into his shoulder.

Nobody had carried me anywhere since I was a little girl.

The stairs were narrow and steep and he took them two at a time.

He carried me over the threshold like it meant something, and maybe it did.

The room was small under the eaves, one lamp burning, the window open over the river.

I could hear the water and the dock creaking and my own breath.

He set me down slow, my body sliding along his until my feet hit the floor.

"Don't move," he said.

I didn't.

He crossed to the bed and pulled the quilt down to the foot.

Then he stood beside the nightstand and looked at me.

"Watch."

I watched.

He took off his rings, one at a time.

The Coast Guard ring first.

He set it down with a click.

Then the bronze ones, four of them, dull and heavy, each one cast from a boat the yard couldn't save.

He lined them up on the nightstand in a row.

Five rings, all in a line.

He had never taken them off in front of me before.

I think I stopped breathing when his hands came back empty.

"Come here," he said.

I walked to him.

He didn't grab me.

He just put his hands on my hips, light, like I was something he was afraid to break.

Then he looked down at my mouth.

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

"Say it."

I put my hands in his hair and pulled.

"I want you to fuck me, Cullen. In this bed. Right now."

He made a sound low in his chest, almost a growl.

Then his mouth was on mine and his hands were under my flannel, pushing it off my shoulders.

It landed on the floor somewhere.

His T-shirt came over his head.

He was all swimmer's shoulders and gray hair on his chest, and I put my mouth there, on his skin, just to hear him hiss.

He undid my jeans and pushed them down.

I kicked them off.

He lifted me again, one arm under my ass, and laid me back on the sheet.

Then he stood over me, looking down.

"Say it again."

"I want your cock inside me."

He crawled over me, caging me in with his arms, and kissed my collarbone.

His mouth went lower, to the plain white cotton of my bra.

He pulled it down with his teeth and took my nipple into his mouth.

I arched off the bed.

"Fuck," I whispered.

He sucked, hard, and I grabbed at his back.

His hand slid down my stomach and into my underwear.

I was already wet.

Soaked.

"Christ, Britt," he said against my skin. "You're so fucking wet for me."

"For you. Only you."

He pulled my underwear down my legs and tossed it aside.

Then his mouth was between my thighs.

I cried out.

His tongue found my clit, and my hips came up off the bed.

He held me down with one big hand flat on my stomach and licked me slow, then faster, like he had all night and nowhere to be.

I fisted my hands in the sheet.

"Don't stop. Please don't stop. I'm going to..."

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