“LAYLA . . . THAT’S IT, lovely. Take it deep. I need to fuck your mouth. God, I need to fuck you.”
He gripped his cock, stroking savagely—it was the only way to satisfy this burning lust. And with her face, her beautiful mouth, in his mind, he came into his hand, so damn hard he could barely hold himself up as his body shook. Pleasure was a deep rumble in his cock, in his balls, in his belly. It was her mouth, her sweeping tongue, her beautiful body just out of reach, and fuck, he had to have her.
Have to.
“Fuck.”
He arched into his fist, over and over, milking it for the last dregs of exquisite pleasure. Finally he was left shivering, his still-hard cock in his hand, a stupid half-smile on his face. But he felt little relief, and knew he wouldn’t until he could get his hands on her. His mouth. His cock inside her while he spanked that delectable, fine ass. While he took a cane to her fine flesh, nipple clamps on her sweet nipples. While he grazed her skin with his violet wand, the light arcing, ozone crackling in the air.
Oh, yeah, electrical play with Layla . . .
He was going hard again.
“Goddamn it.”
He slammed his free hand against the front door, the pain helping to center him. Shaking his head, he tore his T-shirt over his head and used it to wipe up. He didn’t bother to tuck his dick back into his jeans as he took the stairs two at a time.
If he needed to spend the rest of his evening wanking into his palm with Layla on his mind, then so be it. But he would damn well have the girl.
? ? ?
LAYLA SAT PANTING in her car, her fingers still deep inside her, her tight clit still pulsing. She could not believe she’d called him—called anyone!—“Sir,” even if it had only been a stroke fantasy. But she had to admit Duff brought something out in her. Something that scared her and turned her on like crazy.
She was still trembling as she slipped her fingers from her body and zipped up her jeans. Letting her head fall back against the headrest, she bit her lip. This kind of thing could not go on. Not that it wasn’t hot as hell to bring herself to a shattering orgasm in her driveway. But if this was what the man could do to her by simply talking over dinner, with a good-night kiss, a brush of his hand on her naked skin . . .
As she groaned, her body lit up with need once more. And knew she could barely wait to get in her house and pull out every damn sex toy she owned so she could stroke and fuck her way into satiation. Until she worked Duff Stewart out of her system.
But even as she got out of her car, let herself into the house and made her way to her bedroom in the dark, she knew her toys would only do so much. No, it was Duff she wanted—Duff she needed—for some reason she couldn’t begin to understand. This kind of chemistry was electric. Impossible. Undeniable. And she was in big, big trouble, with this big, big man.
She flopped down on her stomach on the bed and opened the antique sea chest on the floor next to it that held her vibrators and dildos, her lube and condoms. And one pair of shining nipple clamps. She tossed them aside and went for the biggest dildo she owned, a large pink phallus made of fleshlike silicone.
“I’ll bet this isn’t even half your size, Duff Stewart,” she said quietly, her hand curling around the wide girth of the toy.
With a moan she kicked her way out of her jeans and tore her thong down over her legs. Leaning back against the pile of white lace-edged pillows, she spread her thighs, her knees bent, and reached down to find herself wet and ready. She pulled her knees up and worked the tip of the enormous dildo into the entrance to her sex, her body clenching at it already.
“Fuck me, Duff,” she murmured, sliding it in farther.
It was big enough to hurt a little, but she welcomed the pain, and the pain itself made her wetter, allowing her body to open more. She spread her legs wider, pulling her knees higher, and slid the big toy in deep, then pulled it out slowly.
“But you would make it fast and hard,” she murmured.
She thrust it inside her, desire a hungry animal demanding to be fed—as demanding as he would be. She pulled the dildo most of the way out, then rammed it in deep. Did it again, and again and again, her body bowing to take it all. To take the size of the toy. To take the pleasure rippling over her skin, making her clit swell with the need to be touched, but she wanted to come from the inside. She wanted to come the way she knew she would with him.
“Harder, Sir,” she begged, fucking herself with the phallus, deep and fast.
She was panting, writhing, arching up to meet the plunging toy, on the edge of climax in moments.
But Duff would give her pain with her pleasure.
She reached under her top and pinched her nipple as hard as she could. Her back arched, her body rising off the bed, and she cried out as sensation shot through her—pain and pleasure melding in her hard nipple as she let her nails dig in, through her needy pussy as she thrust the giant phallus viciously. Pleasure layered on pleasure, shafting deep inside her. She shivered with it, her body rocking, writhing on the bed. She was coming and coming, the spasms rocketing through her system, making her cry out.
“Duff! Yes!”
When her mind came down from the lofty, spiraling ecstasy of orgasm, she slipped the big dildo from her sex. Her legs splayed on the bed, limp and weak. Her breath still came in rasping pants. And in her head spun images of Duff Stewart. His sharp hazel eyes. His strong, broad shoulders. What she imagined his cock would look like. And just like that, even though her body was too spent to move, desire was like a flare going off in her system, her sex clenching. Wanting.
Her cell phone rang, and she saw it had spilled from her purse when she’d dropped it on the bed. Reaching for it, she saw Duff’s name on the screen.
CHAPTER
Three
WITHOUT THINKING, SHE touched the screen. “Hello?”
“Layla, you sound breathless, pretty girl. What did I catch you in the middle of?”
Fuck. Really?