He took me hard as he played with my breasts, tugged on my nipples. Whispered dirty words. With his other hand, he coiled my hair around his fingers and pulled. Gently, but still. I’d never had it tugged before and it was hot as hell. Especially when it arched my back and he groaned when my breasts thrust out.

I’d never met a guy who was so much of a breast man.

Reaching between us, I rubbed my clit. I needed to come. And now because I was so worked up. It was like I craved Thatcher, craved what he could do with his dick. I could barely move. Between my hips trapped between the granite and Thatcher, my hair snagged… I couldn’t do anything but feel. I’d think about how quick I orgasmed with him another time. I just gave over to the feel of him surrounding me, pounding me, taking what he wanted from my body while I came on a whimper, my glasses practically falling off my face.

He followed me, thrusting deep and slapping a hand on the granite by my head.

Our ragged breathing was the only sound in the house.

“Thank you,” I finally whispered.

“For what?” he asked, his voice rough as he pulled out. “Fucking you? Sweets, I do that gladly.”

“Well, for that too, I guess. I’ll never think of this kitchen in the same way again.”

I felt his smile against my skin. “Same goes for my shirt. Come on, back to bed.”

Later, when we woke up for the softball game, I didn’t panic when I thought about being late. I had an answer planned for my sister. But it was long and hard, and I really didn’t want to share.

13

THATCHER

She panicked because we were late, fidgeting in the van as she pointed the way to the high school ball fields. She was in running shorts which showed off her legs in ways I hadn’t seen before and a bakery t-shirt. Of course, I envisioned her tits in all their bare glory. Her hair was pulled back in a long ponytail. And that made me remember how I’d gripped it in the middle of the night. I hadn’t expected to fuck her over the kitchen counter, but it wasn’t something I would forget. Ever. Taking her so roughly, so carnally. And it had all been fake.

Right. We may have been calling everything we’d been doing fake, but my dick was the smart one and knew that the hot clamp of her pussy when she’d come had been anything but pretend.

“There they are.” She pointed, although it was obvious where we were going since there were two fields, one of them empty.

I pulled into a spot between a Cutthroat police SUV and a six-figure convertible that only came out to play for about three months a year.