“Duff. Oh, yes. Yes, yes . . . yes . . .”
Her hips were rising to join his, despite being bound, and her sleek little pussy felt so good. He ramped up the pace, pounding into her. As his climax blasted through him he felt her coming, too, her pussy clenching him so hard it was painful. But he welcomed it. His body emptied into her as his brain emptied of all thought—empty of everything but her name.
Layla.
“Ah, Christ, woman.”
His body shook—pleasure was an earthquake that tore through him, threatening to tear him apart. And as soon as it started to ease off, it began again as her body clenched his hard flesh.
“Ah! Fuck! Layla . . . Yeah!”
He couldn’t stop surging into her, and he had to kiss her again. Had to.
He lowered his mouth to hers. Fisted a hand in her hair, and he felt something release in her body, as if some final boundary had been crossed. And knew that for him, it had.
Something is different with her. Has been from the start. But now . . .
But now what? But Lord, he couldn’t think. Her little body was so baby soft beneath him, her skin like silk against his. And the gorgeous flesh of her full breasts against his chest might make him come all over again.
In fact, he was growing hard once more. But he’d need another condom. He kissed her again, then tore himself away, somehow managed to climb off her, off the table, and, discarding the used condom, he unbuckled her less carefully than he should.
“Duff?”
“Shh, lovely girl. I just need to take you to bed. I need to fuck you again. Here.”
He picked her up in his arms. She weighed nothing. And her arms went around his neck, her head resting against his shoulder, which made more than his cock jump—there was a quick little stab in his chest. He didn’t know what it was.
You do know, damn it.
But he didn’t want to stop and dissect it. Not now, when he had her in his arms, and was about to have her in his bed.
He managed to grab another condom before carrying her into the bedroom and laying her down on the bed. He rolled the latex sheath over his hard shaft, looking down at her.
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this view—you all worn from coming and play, glassy-eyed with subspace. It’s a beautiful thing. You’re a beautiful thing.”
Had he ever said such things to a woman? Maybe he should have. But all that mattered was that he was saying it now to her.
As he parted her thighs and pushed into her, she sighed, wrapping her legs around him. He pushed on her knees, until they were almost flat against her shoulders, opening her wide. Then he was in, buried to the hilt, his balls pressed tight against the curve of her lovely ass.
“Fuuuuuuuck.”
He began to move and, freed now, she moved with him, her hips arching up against him, her mound crashing into him, the muscles in her body working.
“Duff,” she rasped, “I need to . . . God, I think I need to come again.”
“Yes, do it. Come for me, my lovely girl.”
It started as a small tremor in her limbs; then he felt it as her insides squeezed, then squeezed again. Her nails dug into his hips as she drew him deeper. And very quickly it was too much to take. He had one moment to raise himself up so he could watch her face as she came. He had to—had to see her gleaming green eyes and beautiful, plush mouth. Their gazes locked as his orgasm hit him, and this time it was like flying, soaring to heights he’d never reached before. Like dark earth and night sky and the fucking moon. Sensation poured through him, blinding him, out of control.
“Ahhhhh! Ah, good Lord, Layla. Feels. So. Good.” Then he was whispering, “So good, darlin’ girl. Ah, Christ. You don’t know what you do to me. You don’t know.”
He found himself cradling her head, his bowed against her hair as he drew in one gasping breath after another, trying to recover from the climax that had just rocked his body.
“You are a most dangerous woman,” he whispered against her cheek, uncertain if she heard him.
He hadn’t meant to say the words aloud. But there was a lot going on between them that wasn’t what he’d intended—with her, or ever. Oh, yeah, she was dangerous for him. Because he knew this was more than sex, maybe for the first time in his life. And that changed everything.
CHAPTER
Nine
IT WAS A weekend unlike the other time they’d had together. On Sunday they took a steamboat brunch tour along the Mississippi River, with Layla pointing out the sites. He couldn’t remember whose idea it had been, but it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was how impossibly good it felt to have her in his arms, the breeze blowing through her hair, seeing how the sunlight reflected in her eyes. He loved watching the way her mouth moved when she talked, and couldn’t resist stealing kiss after kiss—although, to be fair, it couldn’t exactly be called “stealing” since she didn’t fight it one bit. She was full of the usual fire at times, but once he was touching her she simply melted against him. The Dominant in him was pleased as hell. It made the man in him . . . well, it made him smile, inside and out. And what man wouldn’t smile, with this gorgeous girl—gorgeous woman—giving herself into his hands? Putting up with him forcing her to come six times the night before and twice more that morning? He could count himself as lucky, and he damn well did.
After Layla proclaimed the food served on the boat was “tourist crap,” they got off at the end of the tour and went to the infamous Court of Two Sisters, where they sat in the brick-walled terrace and loaded up on a rich shrimp étouffée and spicy andouille sausage gumbo. The green-jacketed waiters brought her a glass of cold beer while he drank glass after glass of iced tea. Finally they were both stuffed, lounging in their chairs while the three-tiered fountain in the center of the courtyard splashed against the low tones of a live jazz trio.