Her Pucking One Night Stand (Game On Daddies #1)

4. AVA

4

AVA

I’m in, but only after I’ve texted Leighton. I can’t just ditch her after she brought me to her bar while off-duty with the express intention of bolstering me after my disastrous day. She’s been out of sight, but I catch a glimpse of her as she and her boy toy reappear from the shadowed hallway near the restrooms, her lipstick now missing. She twists her head toward me after reading what I’ve sent her, her jaw practically hitting the floor.

Ava: You good if I head off with these three tonight?

I can’t help but blush as she reads those words.

Leighton: OMG. That’s kinda hot. You sure about this, though?

Ava: Yeah. I’m breaking free, even if it’s only for a few hours.

Leighton: Ok. Do you. But keep your location tracker on for me.

Ava: Already on.

I’ve been sharing my location with my bestie ever since things started to go south between me and Dean. If that doesn’t explain how horrible things have become between him and me, I don’t know what does.

Leighton: I’ll be spending the night with my new guy, so mine is, too. Call me if you need me.

Ava: You, too.

Leighton: Love you… and be careful.

Ava: Xoxo.

My nipples perk with excitement, but I’m shocked as hell at my daring choice. Maybe it’s the heat of the moment, or maybe it’s the fire they’ve awakened in me—one that had been lying dormant, burning beneath the surface, waiting for the right spark. My hand finds the blonde man’s arm, fingers curling into the solid strength of him as I steady myself to rise from the seat.

“What’s your handle?” I ask, my voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur, the words a challenge as much as an invitation.

But before he can answer, Odds cuts in, his eyebrow arching with a wicked gleam, tone needling. “He’s Doggie. Now ask him why.”

I don’t, though. Instead, I make a guess. “Because he loves dogs.”

“Oh, he does, all right.” Odds claps Doggie so hard on the back it can be heard over the music and noise of the bar. “But that’s not the reason.”

“Because he prefers the dog paddle while swimming?” I try next, and both Odds and Doggie nearly tumble from their barstools in hysterics.

“No,” says the more serious Spandex, his gaze unflinching. “But if you go through with tonight, you’ll find out.”

Of course. I’m such an idiot. Doggie style.

My imagination takes off as the weight of his words hits me. I shouldn’t be intrigued, especially not by a position I’ve been in countless times before. I know I shouldn’t, but God, I am. Every part of me is drawn to the rawness of the idea, the dangerous thrill of it. My body pulses with a hunger I can’t ignore. I’ve barely touched any of these men, and they’ve hardly laid hands on me, yet my panties are soaked, drenched with need. It’s been so long since I’ve craved the touch of a man, and now here I am, on the brink of surrendering to three.

Everything’s moving in a blur—the flirtation, the tension building with every passing second. In the blink of an eye, we’re outside, hailing a taxi, hearts racing in sync. Less than twenty minutes later, we’re in a sleek elevator at the JW Marriott, the air thick with unspoken desire as it ascends, carrying us to a penthouse suite on the top floor, where every inch of space feels charged with anticipation.

The entire time, their eyes cling to me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine, like I’m the last piece of steak they’ll ever savor—hungry, desperate, as if they’ve been starved for eternity. I can’t remember the last time anyone looked at me this way, as though I’m a forbidden sin they can’t wait to feast on, each glance a promise of things to come, raw and untamed.

I have no doubt that they would be sucking my face against the shiny metal wall if it weren’t for the stately elderly couple in tow. Both dressed to the nines, the woman practically drowning in jewelry, enough to make her seem like she might topple over. The pair get off on the same floor and aim their steps down the opposite corridor.

I think the only thing keeping these dangerously sexy men from losing all propriety is the sheer elegance of this place. Even the floor of this elevator is a statement—plushly carpeted and pristine, as if decadence extends to the very soles of your feet. The air smells of wealth, a subtle blend of leather and polished wood. I’ve never been anywhere like this before. Growing up, I was lucky to stay in a one-star motel with scratchy sheets and towels that reeked of bleach and mildew.

This place feels like a fantasy, and the way these men’s eyes keep caressing me makes it even harder to believe it's real.

Odds strides into their expansive suite, making himself comfortable on the long, plush suede sofa in the main living area. With a devilish smirk, he pats his thighs.

“Made you a spot to sit, Hottie. Or, if you’d rather…” He slouches back, his palms dragging down his clean-shaven face, his eyes locking on mine with a burning, territorial fury. He tilts his head up slightly, slowly slipping his tongue out—teasing, coaxing, a silent challenge to sit where he’s more than willing to please. His movements are deliberate, his gaze unwavering, as if it’s the only place I’m meant to be. Then, he shifts, drawing closer to the center of the sofa. “I’d be just fine with this spot, too.”

I gape at him, my breath catching. Maybe I shouldn’t be so shocked since I agreed to come up here with them, but the boldness of his invitation—so forward, so unashamed—is just… it’s not what I’m used to. But then, none of this is what I’m used to. The shots, the wild dancing with strangers, and now, three men I barely know offering me a night laced with promises of pleasure I’ve never dared to imagine.

None of it.

Doggie—I’m seriously unsure if I can keep referring to him this way—simply smirks and leans toward me conspiratorially. “The man is gifted in many areas, and eating pussy is one of them. If you’re comfortable with that.”

There’s no rule book for this, but maybe a woman embracing such debauchery doesn’t need one. For once, I don’t have to be Ava Sterling—the shy young woman, mistake-maker, queen of bad decisions.

Tonight, I can be whoever I want, someone free from the weight of who I’ve been. I can be just as anonymous as these men are. In fact, I already am, since they’re calling me “Hottie.” Maybe I’ll take a page out of their book and run with it, unrestrained and completely untouchable.

So, what would Hottie do?

I think she’d sit on Odds’ face.

Before I can overthink it, I begin to unbutton the daffodil yellow short-sleeved blouse I wore with my pale matching skirt. Since I knew today wouldn’t be a typical day working with clients, I chose to wear something dressy I could jet across the country in. As foolish as that was. At least it’s prettier than my usual scrub-like uniform.

I avert my eyes, fingers trembling as I part the halves of my blouse, revealing the plain white cotton bra beneath—a choice I regret now, not knowing anyone else would see it. I may be pretending not to be Ava, but I can’t ignore the potential fallout of what I’m about to do. My eyes flick to each of them, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my flushed complexion undoubtedly cranked up to eleven.

Hesitantly, I say, “I… I didn’t bring any… protection.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Spandex says, his features locked into an expression that’s equally lustful and stern.

“Yeah,” Doggie agrees, patting the back pocket of his fitted black jeans. “We’re always packing.”

“Never leave home without it,” Odds tacks on. I try to relax, remembering I’m on the pill. Moreover, Dean often double-checks to make certain I don’t forget my daily dose. Not that I’ve ever wanted to bring kids into that travesty of a marriage. Not with him as the father.

But none of that matters right now. I’m not Ava. I’m Hottie. And Hottie’s up for anything as long as she’s safe.

Doggie reaches out his palm in a request for my hand, so I offer it.

“D you enjoy sex, Hottie? Trust us that if you don’t like something, you can say so and we’ll stop, no questions asked. Do you like careful and tender?” He slowly traces each of his hands along the curves of my breasts, then down to my navel, sending a wave of shivers across my skin as goosebumps rise wherever his touch lingers. “Or something a little rougher?”

All at once, he brackets his hand to my throat, turns me around and drags my body to his. The peep-toe heels I’m wearing catch slightly on the carpet, the soft grating sound pulling a startled gasp from my lips. I blink in surprise, hyper aware of his hand around my neck. His grip isn’t tight—just firm enough to remind me he’s in control. And there’s no real danger, no threat of being choked, yet the commanding pressure has my nipples beading and panties growing even wetter.

Damn.

When I exhale, the breath quivers—not from fear, but something more primal. It’s desire, raw and unfiltered. Suddenly, I crave the feeling of his grip tightening just a little, desperate for more of that intoxicating pulse of power running between us.

“She needs to be naked,” Spandex points out, his words more of an observation than an order. Yet, without hesitation, Doggie follows suit, deftly unclasping the front of my bra. My breasts spill free, the weight of my D cups is more than what my petite frame seems to warrant. The thought lingers—maybe Hottie will appreciate the disproportion, the fullness of my chest, and the curve of my hips.

I decide that she would and refuse to round my shoulders inward to hide them.

“Your tits are spec-fucking-tacular,” Doggie growls in my ear. I arch back, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He stays behind me, his hands kneading my breasts, and when he pinches my nipples while sinking his teeth deep into the side of my neck, I let out a moan that echoes through the suite.

Shame immediately washes over me. I just made what Dean calls my ‘whore moan.’ After our honeymoon period, he enjoyed doling out ridicule rather than giving me the ecstasy I craved. And now, I’ve just let it slip in front of three men who are all too eager to judge.

“Make that noise again,” Spandex barks, making my body tense. I snap my attention to him. That babyface of his is fixed on me, his gray eyes darker than I remember. But what has me scanning lower is the fact that his hand is moving over the crotch of his black jeans, stroking the sizable bulge there with a slow, deliberate rhythm—making my pulse quicken.

He’s hard, and I made him that way. Or Hottie did. And I fucking love it. For the first time, I feel the raw empowerment of knowing a man craves me—wants me—and still respects me.

And I want more.

I wrench down the zipper at the side of my skirt, letting it pool on the floor, then making sure that my plain, pale pink cotton panties follow. I stop worrying about my underwear not matching my bra—because the men sure as hell don’t. Spandex and Odds are observing every move I make, and when I glance over my shoulder at Doggie, he is too.

I’m the one in control here.

That’s why I step out of my heels, even though it lowers me by another three inches. My movements break me free from Doggie’s grip, but he doesn’t stop me. It’s a silent confirmation—they’re going to let me take the reins.

So, I step up onto the fancy sofa, the suede soft beneath my bare feet. I say nothing as I approach Odds, who gives me a slow nod, his hand waving for me to come closer.

Next, I lift a leg to straddle his face.