Sofie turns to button them, then flounces toward the door. Her legs stretch out from beneath the frayed denim, long and toned and tanned, and I’m stuck on them. Completely fucking stuck on them.
They’re what she’s been wrapping around me?
Fuck.
“I smell bacon and pancakes,” she announces before walking through the door like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
She doesn’t.
She doesn’t have a cock. For the love of fucking God, this erection is a killer.
I grunt my annoyance to the silence of my bedroom and snatch a towel from my radiator. I yank my door open and walk into the bathroom.
Locking the door behind me, I lose the boxers and step into the shower. I let the water pound down on me and close my eyes.
Sofie fills my mind like her image is burned into the back of my eyelids. I can see the curve of her ass, the way her dark lace briefs stand out against her pale flesh. I can see the way she bends, except this time it’s different.
In my mind her legs are slightly apart and I can see her pussy through the lace.
My fingers close around my dick. It’s not a fucking memory, it really happened. She really did open her legs deliberately. She knew exactly what she was doing.
She wanted to punish me, but for what, I don’t know.
I’m picturing her soft, pink flesh, undoubtedly wet after the way she kissed me and rubbed against me. Inside the lace, it’s swollen and ready and soft.
And in my mind I pull her back and onto me, my hands reaching forward to cup her breasts as I move inside her.
My whole body clenches. I pump my fist harder and my balls tighten as my release nears. Fuck. The thought of being inside her is too fucking much, and I let go.
I come hard. My body trembles in the aftermath, my hand still stroking my cock as tiny tremors of pleasure rocket through me.
I slam my fist into the tile. Fucking hell.
Pleasure changes to annoyance. I wasn’t supposed to do that. Getting pleasure from her is just as tempting as having her against me. But it’s not what I fucking wanted.
I wash quickly, the swirl of the water on the tile floor washing away any evidence of my morning jack-off. At least I’m not stuck with that motherfucker of a hard-on anymore.
I slam the water off and tie a towel around my waist tightly. I brush my teeth quickly and storm back into my room.
Sofie’s there, rifling through the bag for something. She pauses and looks up when I walk in.
Almost immediately she diverts her eyes, but I saw the flush in her cheeks. I know her skin is burning, and I’m glad.
She pulls some tiny clothes from the bag and stands. She straightens, trying but failing to meet my eyes. They’re focused on my stomach, and some fucking primal male bullshit makes me tense.
Her gaze trails down to the towel and she inhales sharply, before letting that same breath out, one shuddery exhale after another.
“Sofie? Weren’t you doing somethin’?”
She snaps her eyes to mine and hugs Mila’s clothes to her chest. “Yep. Yep. I was.”
She shoves past me and runs down the stairs. I watch her go, and a smirk curves my lips.
A cough sounds from the end of the hall and I look up to see Leila glaring at me.
“You two need to fuck or just never speak again,” she snaps, storming past me and following in Sofie’s footsteps.
You can’t argue with that logic.
“Sand.”
“Music.”
“No. Sand.”
“Music now, sand later?”
“Sand now!” Mila jumps, her feet smacking against the porch with the force of a baby elephant.
I look up from the guitar. “How’s Daddy gonna buy you pretty things if you won’t let him work?”
She pouts, her bottom lip wobbling. She’s doing it deliberately to manipulate me, but fuck me, it’s working.
“Have you asked Mama?”
She nods.
“Pops?”
Another nod.
“How about Tate? I’m sure he’d be real happy to play sand with you.”
Her little face lights up and she gasps, waving her hands. “Tay!” She runs into the house screaming his name over and over.
I grin when he follows her outside and down the steps.
He turns to me and points. “You fucking owe me for this,” he mouths before Mila draws his attention again, babbling about “cussuls.”
“You want me to go?” Leila asks.
“You couldn’t tell a pack of diapers from a lipstick.” Sofie snorts. “I can go to the store for freakin’ diapers.”
I set the guitar down and glance around the back door. Damn, she’s cute.
“Uh, you’ve seen the company out front, right?” Leila reminds her. “You think you’re getting off the damn property, let alone to the store, unmolested?”
“Yeah, princess,” I chime in. “You think?”
Sofie snaps her head around to me. “I can go to the store, Conner. They ain’t gonna stop me looking after my daughter.”
“Or me.” I stand and pull my keys from the pocket of my shorts. “Come on, then.”
“But—what?”
I look back at her, stopping. “Mila has Uncle Tay playing cussuls,” I say with a smirk. “You think you can get to the store without the media, well, you’re wrong. You think they were bad yesterday?”
“They were freakin’ awful.”
“Yeah, well. That ain’t nothin’ on what they’ll be like today, hopin’ for a pic of Mila. I can deal with them. It’s a part of my life. It’s an intrusion in yours,” I explain. “Now I’m goin’ to get Mila diapers, but I ain’t got a damn clue what I’m looking for. So you can come with and make sure I get it right, or you can sit here glaring at the door waiting for me to get it wrong.”
She looks at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. She walks toward me and meets me at the door, then stops and stares up at me. “Fine. But you touch me once and I’m . . .”
“You’re what?” I loop my arm around her waist and pull her into my side.
“I’m . . . going to think of somethin’ that’ll really hurt you,” she finishes lamely, pulling the door open. “Hell, don’t they have nothing better to do?”
She wrenches herself from my hold and storms out of the house. “Y’all need a damn life!” she shouts to the crowd of photographers and reporters.
I stop, shocked, then burst out laughing. Only Sofie.
“Come on. In the truck.” I open the door, grab her waist, and hoist her into it.