Authors: Jasinda Wilder
I took the holster from him and set it carefully on the floor. Reached up and unbuttoned his shirt from the bottom up, and when the last button was freed, I ran my palms up and down his chest, leaned in and kissed his stomach, roamed my palms over his shoulders, brushing the shirt off. He let out a breath that was equal parts relief and pleasure as I unbuttoned his pants, shoved them down over his hips.
His dick swung free, unfurling and swaying and hardening to full erection as I gazed at it. I curled both hands around his shaft and stroked him slowly. And, of course, because it was right there at the perfect level, I had to taste him. Between my lips, tongue sliding over the tip, tasting flesh and a hint of my own essence on his skin.
But then he pulled himself free and pushed me backward. “I don’t think so.” Nick lowered himself over me, climbing onto the bed, and his mouth descended to mine, his tongue slid over my lips and two fingers brushed over my clit. “Jesus, Layla. You’re wet already.”
“You do that to me. You have this effect on me, and I don’t get it. I mean, I’m always ready, but…there’s something about you that just makes my pussy drip, all the time.” As if to emphasize my point, his fingers speared into my opening with a wet squelch. “See what I mean?”
He pulled his fingers out of me and lifted them to his mouth, licked my juices away. “I love the way you taste. Sweet as fucking sugar.”
“Liar. I taste like pussy.”
He laughed. “True. But a very delicious pussy.” He moved down my body. “In fact, I think I need a better taste.”
I was torn. I wanted him inside me, wanted—
needed
—to feel that connection to him. But I also really,
really
liked the way he ate me out. “Nick…”
“Yeah, baby?” He spread me apart with his thumbs. Flicked his tongue over my clit.
“I need you.”
“You’ll have me.”
“I need you
now
.” He ignored me, licking at my pussy like he was eating ice cream off a cone. Lapping, lapping, lapping. I moaned, and buried my fingers in his hair.
“I don’t think you’re ready. I think you need to come at least once, first.” He punctuated his words by sucking my clit into his mouth and sucking on it and flicking it with his tongue tip until I was writhing and gasping and grinding my core against his face.
“Fuck yes, Nick. Eat me, baby. Jesus, that feels so good.”
He pushed two fingers into me, and then added a third, and then pulled them back and thrust them back in, over and over, until I was grinding against his face and riding his fingers and moaning nonstop, riding the waves until I crested the climax, and I screamed when I came, gripped his head in trembling fingers and kept him tugged against me, writhing and rolling my hips into his madly fluttering tongue.
And then he was inside me.
All at once, hips between my thighs, huge thick hard smooth cock filling me and stretching me and leaving me breathless with the perfection of it all, my spine arching up off the bed, my hips crushed to his. “Oh Jesus oh shit oh fuck.” I let my knees fall apart and drew my heels up to my ass cheeks, grabbed two handfuls of his taut backside and jerked at him. “Fuck me, Nick. I need it.”
“No.”
My eyes flew open and met his. “No?” I sounded a little shrill, a little panicked. “Why not?”
“Because I’m going to do
so
much more than that.”
“Oh.” One syllable breathed from my lips, pure relief.
He lowered his forehead to mine and stared into my eyes from millimeters away, his breath on my lips, and pulled back so he could thrust into me. His lips met mine, and I eagerly deepened the kiss, demanded his tongue, held onto his flexing ass with one hand and cupped the back of his head with the other. Kissed him and kissed him and kissed him until we were both breathless.
I felt my heart expanding as he moved inside me, felt my pulse thundering as another orgasm rose up within me. This time, I welcomed the feeling, welcomed the emotion. I felt it, and let it burgeon.
I moved with him, planted my feet in the bed and lifted my hips to meet his.
I can say, without equivocation, that I’ve never enjoyed missionary sex as much as in that moment. Physically, it felt like nothing had ever felt before. Emotionally, I was a mess, but a beautiful, delirious mess.
“Layla.” His voice was low, intense.
“I’m here, Nick. I’m with you.”
“Do you feel this?” He placed my hand over his heart; it pounded as hard as mine.
I put my hand over his and let all the vulnerability I felt shine out through my eyes. I pulled down the walls and defenses and just…
felt
. “Yes, Nick. I feel it.”
He pulled his knees beneath himself, pulled my heels over his shoulders and pushed so deep into me my eyes watered.
Okay, fucking fine. I’ll admit it: I was crying, because it felt so good. “Oh god, yes. More, Nick.
More
.”
He thrust, slowly and rhythmically, unhurried. I reveled in each slide, closed my eyes and focused on the stretch, on the way his cock felt sliding in and out of me.
“Watch us, Layla.”
I opened my eyes and watched where our bodies were joined, watched his cock pull back, coated in my essence, and then slide back in. And god, that was sexy. Watching us, watching him, his abs flexing, his hands wrapped around as much of my thighs as he could grip in one hand—which wasn’t much—watching his face show his emotions.
“I masturbated thinking about you,” I said, apropos of nothing. “I would lie in my bed and picture you just like this, and I would touch myself.”
“How? Show me, baby.”
I slid my fingers over my slit, used my fingers to spread my lips apart and circled my ring and middle fingers over my clit, gasping at the intense ramping up of sensation. “Like this, Nick. Hard and fast.”
He matched my rhythm. “What would you think about?”
“This. Us. Together. I’d picture us fucking. I’d picture you eating me out like you just did, and I’d—” I broke off with a grunt as I came, suddenly, arching forward and clamping down around him. I heard him growl and felt his rhythm slow, felt him tense as he focused on holding back.
“What, Layla? What did you fantasize about? Tell me.”
I didn’t tell him, I showed him what I wanted, instead. I pushed at his chest, and he pulled out, rolled off. I rose up onto my hand and knees, stared at him over my shoulder, my hair falling in a black curtain of curls. Sweat beaded on my spine, and my skin pebbled as he moved to his knees behind me.
“Like this?” he asked.
I moaned. “Like this.” I bowed my spine in, pushing my ass toward him. “This is how I want it. I want to feel you come inside me like this.”
He palmed my ass with both hands, caressing each globe slowly, tenderly. “God, I love your ass.”
I took him at face value. The way he was staring at me, touching me left no room for doubt. He loved my ass. My tits.
I did wonder, though, if he loved the rest of me, too. I suspected he did. I suspected I returned the feeling. I didn’t know what love was like, how it was supposed to feel, either giving or receiving, so I wasn’t sure.
But he loved my ass.
I was totally okay with that. It was a big ass, and not all guys appreciated that.
My train of thought was derailed when he pulled my ass cheeks apart. “I want you here, Layla.”
I groaned. “You can have me there. But not now. For now I just…I need to feel you in my pussy.”
He reached between my legs and feathered a gentle touch over my clit, found my entrance, guided his cock by feel into me. I reached down and nudged him into better position, and he slid deep.
We both groaned in unison.
I pushed back to get him deeper. “Don’t hold back anymore, Nick. Just…take me.”
Oh fuck, did he take me. It wasn’t hard and fast. It was hard and slow. And I
loved
it. I moaned and groaned and let myself scream as he thrust into me over and over, holding my hips and pulling me back into his crushing thrusts. He didn’t relent, and this time I felt him let go, felt him release control and just…take me. No pleasing me, no manipulating admissions out of me. Just taking pleasure, fucking to release.
I touched myself as he fucked me. Rested my head on my forearm and reached between my thighs to finger my clit until I was aching and trembling.
“Layla…”
“That’s right, baby,” I said, voice rasping and gasping. “Say my name when you come. Shout my name.”
“Layla, I’m almost there.”
I was close too, but I abandoned the effort and braced myself with both hands and rolled my hips to grind my ass against him, writhing into his frantic fucking. “Give it to me, Nick! Fuck yeah, just like this, fuck me hard, baby.”
He fucked me hard, and it hurt so good I didn’t need to touch myself, just needed to let him hit inside me and feel lightning burst inside me with each pound of his cock into my pussy.
“Layla…” His voice was ragged and his thrusts faltered. He pushed deep, thrust until my ass cheeks were flush against his hips and he couldn’t get any deeper, and still he thrust, harder, growling. “Oh
fuck
, Layla, I’m coming…I’m—Oh—Jesus,
Layla
…”
He came as he said my name, filled me with his come, a river of hot wet seed flooding me. I touched my clit once, and that’s all it took to join him in release, thunder detonating inside me, making me shake and go limp and breathless.
Moments later, I was wrapped up in his arms, head resting over his beating heart, listening to his pulse slow from a frantic thunder.
I love you
. I felt it bubbling up in my throat, and I shook with the need to say it, the desire to say it.
To hear it said to me.
Kyrie St. Claire was the only human being to ever utter the words “I love you” to me.
I desperately wanted to hear Nicholas Harris say it first, and I couldn’t get the words past my lips.
“Layla?” His voice was a sleepy murmur.
“Yeah, Nick?”
“I’m not going to say it. I know you feel it. I know you see it.” He sighed. “I will say it, because it’s real and it’s true. But not like this. I don’t want you to think it’s got anything to do with how hard I just came. I mean, it does, but that’s not why.”
He sounded almost awkward, and Harris was
never
awkward. It was cute.
“Nicholas?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t say it if it’s not forever. I can handle just about anything. But don’t say that if you don’t mean it, and if it’s not…for forever.”
“Layla, I wouldn’t—”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. I want to enjoy the afterglow.”
He tightened his grip on me, his arms coiling tighter. He may not have said he loved me in so many words, but he’d made it clear he did.
It was enough for right now. More than enough. Maybe even all I could handle, at that point.
Baby steps to falling in love.
“I do, though,” Nick murmured.
“Me too.”
16
AIN’T OUT OF THE WOODS YET
I woke up when I hit the floor beside the bed with a painful
thud
. “What the fu—
mmmph
—” I was cut off by Harris’s hand over my mouth.
“Shut the fuck up. Someone’s outside.” His voice was a harsh whisper in my ear, barely audible.
I went still, disoriented and sleepy still but recognizing the urgency in his voice. He was crouching over me, naked, pistol in his hand, aiming at the entrance to the bedroom. Tense moments passed, and I heard nothing, saw nothing. Light streamed in bright through the drawn shades. I smelled the thick musk of sex, and looked down to see Harris’s dick mere inches from my face, dangling, heavy.
“Mmm. Penis,” I whispered, and took him into my mouth, tasting us, feeling him twitch.
“Jesus, Layla! Not now.” He glanced down at me and gave me an angry look. The effect of the glare was ruined somewhat by the fact that he was now hard as a rock.
And then I heard it. A creak of hinges, footsteps scuffing on threadbare carpet.
“Awesome,” Harris whispered. “Now I’m gonna have to kill this guy with a hard-on. Thanks, babe.”
“No problem,” I responded, “I’ll just wait here.”
“Good plan.” He moved toward the foot of the bed, holding the pistol in both hands, slinking with predatory grace and silence.
The gear bag was on the floor, and he reached into it, tugged the opening aside, found what he was looking for: a silencer, which he quickly and quietly screwed onto the barrel of his pistol. More waiting. Sounds from the living room, a voice murmuring in a foreign language and another voice responding. Two of them, then.
Harris glanced back at me, put a finger over his lips. I rolled my eyes at him to indicate
no shit, what do you think I’m going to do, start shouting?
Fuck me, he was sexy. Rugged, lean, hard—ha, that was a double entendre, now, thanks to my mouth—muscles of his back shifting in the shadows with each motion. He should have looked stupid, prowling closer to the doorway, buck naked with a gun in his hands. But somehow, he didn’t. He looked primal, fierce, and deadly.
My man was deadly, and dead sexy.
My man?
Yes, my man. I decided to own it. He was my man. I was his woman. Oddly, unexpectedly, I kind of liked the feeling of being someone’s woman.