Seduced By The Single Dad. Yvonne Lindsay

whispered back, “A design teacher I had once told me that what I lack in imagination, I make up for in efficiency and good planning. I was really insulted at the time.”

      He took her earlobe between his teeth and tugged on it, biting down just a little harder than he needed to.

      It felt so good it made her moan.

      He whispered, “Put it on me.”

      She pulled back a little, far enough to meet his eyes. They were the color of some tropical sea right then, so deep, going down and down to deeper blue. Focused so completely on her. “Right now?”

      For that she got a slow, deliberate nod from him.

      She started to tear the top off the pouch.

      “On second thought...” He caught her hand. “Wait...” And he pulled her close and kissed her some more. She gave herself up to that, to the taste of his mouth and the heat of his breath, to the feel of him, fully erect against her belly, making her burn for him.

      Making her moan. She eased her free hand between them and wrapped her fingers around him, stroking. Oh, he felt so good—his powerful body pressed close, his mouth covering hers, the long, hard length of him held tight in her grip.

      He kissed her endlessly, kissed her and caressed her, his fingers tracing magical patterns over her skin, teasing her breasts, first cradling them so gently, then catching the nipples, rolling them, so that she moaned some more. He seemed to really like it when she moaned.

      He made a wonderful growling sound low in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Like that?”

      She couldn’t say “Yes” fast enough. So she said it again, moving her hand up and down the thick length of him. “Yes...” And again, “Oh, yes, Quinn. Like that...”

      And then his hand went lower, all the way to the feminine heart of her.

      She cried out as he stroked her, opening her. She felt her own wetness, her readiness for him. She didn’t want to wait a second longer. She couldn’t wait...

      “I...” She got that word out, and then couldn’t for the life of her remember what she’d meant to say next.

      “Yeah?” He was kissing his way along the line of her jaw, biting a little, licking some, too. Below, his fingers kept up their clever, thrilling play on her wet, secret flesh.

      Oh, she was lost in the best way, totally gone. She kept her left hand wrapped around him, holding on for dear life. In her right, she still clutched the unused condom. She kind of waved it at him. “I...” Just that word. Nothing more. It was the only word she seemed to have at her disposal at the moment.

      And apparently it was enough. He took the condom from her. She opened her eyes and stared up at him, dazed. Transported.

      He lifted the small pouch, caught the corner between his teeth and tore the top off, all the while staring directly into her eyes, his other hand continuing to do amazing things to her below.

      “Here,” she whispered, holding out her free hand. He gave it back. She let go of him to use both hands, removing the wrapper and dropping it on the little table next to her pearls. And then she rolled the protection down over him. He moaned. And she granted him a small, triumphant smile. “There.”

      He reached for her, clasping her waist. She gasped in surprise. His right hand was slick and wet. It was her wetness, her desire. She was shocked at herself, at her own complete abandon.

      Shocked. Amazed.

      And gratified.

      It was the same as that other night. Only better. He took her, claimed her, carried her right out of herself. He just swept her away—at the same time as he made her feel that she’d somehow come home, that nothing and no one would ever hurt her again.

      And then he was lifting her. He did it so effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing. She grabbed for him, hungry for the feel of him, for her flesh pressed to his flesh, hot and tight and hard. She wrapped her arms and legs around him.

      He whispered her name.

      “Quinn,” she whispered in return. “Oh, yes.” She sank her teeth into his neck and when he growled at her, a dark, hot laugh escaped her. He bent to nuzzle her and she turned her face to his and claimed his mouth.

      The kiss went deeper, wetter, hotter. And he was moving, with her all twined around him like a vine. He went to the short section of bare wall beside the entry closet, just walked her right up to it.

      And then he lifted her, positioning her just so...

      She felt him there, nudging her, right where she wanted him. And she pressed down.

      He made the deepest, hottest, hungriest sound then, as she lowered herself onto him. He was wonderfully thick and large. Still, her body took him easily, gliding down around him until he filled her all the way.

      They froze. She let her head fall back and her eyes drift shut. He had her perfectly braced, with the wall to give them stability. He canted his upper body slightly away from her, while below, he held her so close, just right, big hands cradling her open thighs. She clutched his shoulders, fingers gripping tight, her legs locked securely behind his waist.

      She was...gone, lost in wonder, swept up in the connection, her breathing harsh and hungry, just like his.

      “Chloe...”

      And she opened her eyes and looked at him. His blue-green gaze was right there, waiting for her. He gripped her thighs tighter, pushing them wider, pressing his lower body closer, sliding into her that fraction deeper.

      That did it. She felt the gathering, the build—and the lovely, hot sensation, as though all of her was blooming.

      She asked, “Quinn?” For permission? Acknowledgment?

      She had no idea which.

      But he seemed to understand, even if she didn’t. “Yeah,” he answered, one corner of that soft, bad boy’s mouth of his curling upward. “Go for it, angel.”

      And she did. She let go, let it happen, let it roll out from her in a hot, endless wave. Pleasure cascaded from the core of her, sizzling along every nerve, hitting the tips of her toes and the top of her head, spilling all through her in a flood of light and glory. He stayed with her, pressing up into her hard and tight, as the fire flamed so bright and then slowly faded down to a lovely, glowing ember.

      And right then, when she thought it was over, when she was more than ready to ease her shaking legs to the floor, he started to move again.

      She groaned in sexual overload and shoved fitfully at his rocklike shoulders. But he didn’t release her.

      And, well, could she blame him? After all, it was his turn. He’d swept her right off her feet and straight to paradise. The least she could do was stick with him now.

      With a sigh of surrender, she stopped pushing him away and held on instead, bracing to ride it out.

      But then, out of nowhere, all at once, it became more than just sticking with it for his sake. So much more.

      In a split second, she was catching fire again.

      “Oh... Oh, my!” She yanked him tight against her.

      He let out a laugh, deep and knowing. Full of heat and joy.

      She moaned his name as she pressed her open mouth to his, her body moving in time with his, picking up speed, finding the hard, insistent rhythm he set—and matching it, giving it back to him.

      Time whirled away. The edge of the world was waiting for her. Waiting for both of them. She spun toward it, dizzy with the thrill of it. She hovered on the brink—and went over.

      And he was right there with her, hitting the peak a moment after she did, pulsing hard and hot within her.

      And then following her down.