It’s so hot—even if I know she’s the one who owns me.
She sucks me deeper, hollowing her cheeks, and my whole body tenses. My hips jerk. This won’t last long, I think, as she tightens her grip on the base of my cock and tugs, as she hums around my length, as her silky hair brushes my bare thighs and tickles my balls.
Goddamn. That’s it.
I grunt out her name as I come in her mouth, and she swallows it all down, still humming. Wrenching more pleasure than I thought possible from me.
“Fuck…” I release her hair and flop back against the pillows, spent and still hard.
Have I mentioned she does crazy things to my body? To my mind, too.
Her eyes hooded, she moves her hand up and down my dick, and I shiver. I could go again, I realize. But I need a push.
“Take off your clothes,” I rasp, trying to regain my breath. “Slowly. I wanna see you.”
She sits back on her heels and grabs the hem of her T-shirt, lifting it in one slow, smooth movement. Her tits lift, then settle down again after she’s thrown the shirt on the bed, and I raise my hands to touch them.
“You have the sexiest tits,” I tell her, mapping their fullness, the hardness of her big nipples. “I love them.”
She gives a strangled moan when I start playing with her nipples. She’s always loved nipple play, but these past few days it has been more intense.
I want to ask her about it, if her tits are always so sensitive on certain days of the month because I don’t remember that, and it’s really cool.
I wanna please her. I wanna plan things like that with her—what kind of sex to give her when it’s bes
t for her. When to take her from the front, when from behind, when to give it to her rough, when gentle.
And more things. I want to plan trips with her. I want her to pick the furniture for our bedroom. Our living room. I want to argue with her about the best TV set and the color of the carpet.
Together.
She pulls back—again, dammit—but my complaint dies on my lips when she shoves down her soft pants and straddles my lap, naked.
Gorgeous.
“Lay…” Need to ask her again, if she’s mine, if she will be mine, and—
She puts one hand on my arm, grips my cock with the other, and sinks on it, taking me inside her.
Oh yeah. I grip her hips, controlling her pace. “Touch yourself, babe. Slide those pretty fingers of yours between your legs, between your folds. Rub yourself. Stroke your clit.”
Her hand is clenched around my biceps, and she’s breathing hard, riding my cock slowly, still adjusting to its size. She reaches down with her other hand, rubbing herself, and immediately tightens around my cock.
Fuck, so good.
“Yeah, that’s it.” I trail my hands down to her tits and cup them, lift them, pinch her nipples, groaning as she starts riding me faster, her hand moving between her legs. “Fuck, yeah.”
We’re moving together, in sync, stroking and sliding and rocking, faster and faster, until I let go of her tits to grab her hips and she plants both hands on my chest for balance.
She shudders, rippling around me, moaning my name—and I fall after her, coming so hard I black out for a long moment.
When my vision clears, though, things aren’t any fucking clearer.
She’s not there.
Chapter Eighteen
Layla