Page 203 of Mile High Ex's Dad
He takes his time at first. Slow strokes, deep enough to make my knees soften, his thumb finding my clit with a certainty that makes me bite my lip. I watch us in the glass because he told me to, and because there’s something filthy and intimate about seeing his body behind mine, his hand under my dress, my own face falling apart while the mountains stare back at us.
“You like this,” he says.
I shake my head once, uselessly.
His laugh is quiet and mean in the best way. “Liar.”
He adds another finger.
I gasp and push back against his hand.
“There she is,” he murmurs. “My greedy girl.”
The words go straight through me.
I used to think I would hate being talked to like that. Maybe with anyone else, I would. But with Viktor it doesn’t make me feel small. It makes me feel seen in some dark, private corner of myself I don’t have to explain to him.
He knows.
He knows I want him rough sometimes. Knows I want him gentle after. Knows I want to be held down and adored in the same breath.
His fingers curl inside me, and I moan.
“That’s it,” he says. “Let me hear you.”
“We’ll wake her.”
“She’s asleep.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I checked the monitor.”
Our daughter is asleep upstairs, warm and safe in the room across from ours, all soft breaths and curled fists and the fierce little frown she inherited from him.
That thought should cool me down.
It doesn’t. It makes this stranger somehow. Sweeter and dirtier at the same time. We are parents now. We’re exhausted half the time. We talk about feeding schedules and pediatric appointments and whether the cabin is too cold at night.
And then he gets me alone against a window and fingers me like he has all the time in the world.
His thumb circles my clit harder. My legs start to shake.
“Viktor, I’m going to?—”
“I know.”
He keeps me there, right on the edge, his mouth on my neck, his hand working between my thighs, his body solid behind mine.
“Come,” he says. “Now.”
I do.
It hits hard enough that my forehead drops against the glass. My body tightens around his fingers, pleasure rolling through mein hot, helpless waves. He holds me through all of it, one arm wrapped around my waist, keeping me up when my legs stop being useful.
When I finally start to come down, he pulls his fingers out slowly and turns me around. His eyes are dark. He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean while looking at me.
My breath catches all over again. “You’re obscene,” I whisper.
