But when she offered to sleep on the couch, the old anger resurfaced. It had felt like she was threatening him, insinuating if he didn’t lay claim to her and let her know exactly what he wanted her next forty-eight hours in his abode to entail, then she would relegate him to friend territory.
And he was many things, but he had never been and would never be Layla Matthew’s friend. So he’d kissed her, and much like the last time, it immediately sent him up in flames. His greedy desire for her burned hot and relentless inside of him, making him unable to care what she’d been through or that she had indeed looked as tired as she said she was when they had argued earlier back at her Squirrel Hill apartment.
At that moment, he needed to be inside her, needed to know she wanted him the way he wanted, had always wanted her. And she was already responding to him – moaning underneath his kiss and rubbing her breasts against his chest, so he couldn’t help but want to rip off the clothes that separated him from her beautiful body.
“Please,” she said again, and he groaned. Why did she have to do this to him? Make him want her like this?
He swept her up into his arms and carried her to his bed. He removed everything but his underwear as quickly as possible, but caught her hands above her head when she tried to take off her own clothes.
“No,” he said, digging a hand under the elastic waistline of her scrubs and cupping her mound, which was once again covered by a thin pair of cotton panties. “This is for me. Keep your hands up here.”
He let go of her then, so he could pluck off her socks and shoes, untie her pants, and pull them down himself, revealing the lower half of her body slowly, like a birthday gift.
He moved aside the crotch of the cotton panties, and she jumped when he pushed two large fingers into her opening. “You’re already so wet,” he said. “We’re going to have to do something about this.”
The lips of her soaking slit quivered around his fingers and he could feel a responding gush of cream at his words, making her even slicker than she’d been before.
He pulled his fingers out.
“No,” she moaned. Her hips lifted and grinded, seeking the heat of whatever body part he was willing to give her, and he had to work hard to get his body under control and not whip his cock out and plunge into her right then.
“Sshh,” he said, pulling her panties down her hips and over her knees and finally off her body all together.
He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder and kissed the inside of her thigh, before delving into her opening with his tongue.
“Oh!” Her head lolled back and she ground her hips against his face.
Her response was almost as good as her taste. He stroked his tongue further inside of her and pushed his nose against her swollen bud, determined to make her as crazy with lust as she was making him.
“Oh, I can’t. It’s too much.” She was panting now, but he didn’t stop, instead he pushed against her with his nose again, and she bucked underneath him, her hips thrashing as her head whipped back and forth in wild abandon. Then she exploded for him, tugging at his hair and coming with one large moan.
When she was done, she sagged against the pillows, but he wasn’t done with her yet. He crawled up over her body, so they were face to face. “Say please again,” he commanded.
He still had his underwear on, but dragged his thick erection across her still quivering pussy, so she could feel him in her afterlight. She trembled at the touch of his cloth-covered erection, lifting her hips toward it.
But he shifted, so she couldn’t grind against him, and was instead forced to feel the pressure of his cock against her opening but not have any of it. Yet. “Say please,” he said again.
“Please,” she said. Her eyes were helpless with need.
He pulled off her top and was grateful to find a front clasp bra this time. He released her breasts and palmed the left one. “That gets you nipple play,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her hard, dark nipple. “Now say please again.”
“Please,” she said again without any hesitation whatsoever.
He rolled away from her and a few deft moves later, had his underwear off and a condom pulled over his large, pulsing dick. But when he lay back down on top of her, he still didn’t give her what she really wanted. Instead, he lodged the large knob of his penis against her opening.
Her breathing became very shallow, and she immediately let loose a series of “Please, please, please.”
“Please what?” he asked her.
“Please, Nathan,” she said.
“What do you want me to do to you? Tell me exactly.”
“I want you,” she said, frantically trying to move her hips, but he pressed harder into her, giving her even less purchase to move and even more pressure on her aching bud.
“Please put it inside of me,” she said. “Please.”
“Put what inside of you,” he asked against her lovely neck.
“Put your penis in me.”
His cock throbbed, demanding he do exactly what she’d requested now. But he stayed in control of himself.
“How do you want me inside of you? Missionary? From behind? Sideways?”
Her lust-filled gaze cleared for just a moment and she looked directly into his eyes. “Anyway you want me, I want you,” she said.
He had been planning to play with her a little bit more, tease her until she sobbed for it, but that statement broke him. He lifted up and plunged into her, giving her all of him in one hard thrust.
She gasped as if she’d just had the wind knocked out of her, but then she began moving her hips against his, her legs squeezing him around the waist. He lifted up on one forearm and took control back from her frenzied thrusts, forcing her into a slow, rolling rhythm with him.
She felt so sweet and tight around his manhood, perfect, like she had been created to have him inside her. With Layla, it didn’t feel like fucking, but like joining, like coming back to the place he most belonged.
And when she climaxed, clinging to his back and arching up against him, lips pressed together against a scream, she pulled him over the edge, too. He released with a body-wracking shudder, pressing as deeply as he could into her before collapsing on top of her.
Breathing hard, she kissed his forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer for fear of saying something stupid. Like I love you. The old Frank Sinatra song coursed through his head along with the thought that he had to make her sign that contract and leave town. Not only because he wanted her gone before his brother got back, but also because he didn’t know how much longer he could keep himself from falling in love with her again.