Leaning in, he kissed her lips, his mouth demanding, telling her without words she truly did belong to him. And she understood that it really didn’t matter what she called herself—Domme or switch or submissive—as long as what they had was real. All that mattered was what they were to each other.
He left her mouth only to kiss her breasts, and it felt as if he were worshipping them. It was amazing. She held his head there, savoring each tiny sensation, every press of his lips, every tiny nip of his teeth, every lovely, wet sweep of his tongue. But soon her need became too great.
“Duff, please. Now.”
He looked down at her, his heated hazel gaze flecked with silver and gold and love. She had never seen anything so beautiful. And as badly as she needed him to be inside her, she needed to be able to see him.
“Duff, help me.”
He instinctively knew what she was asking and, slipping his hands under her hips, he turned her, rolling onto his back, until she was straddling his body.
He smiled up at her. “Do your worst, princess.”
She placed her hands on his chest, and he kept his hands on her hips, helping her to raise up, then to lower her onto his beautifully rigid shaft, pleasure thrumming like a humming vibration in her body as his heavy flesh pierced her.
“Ah, love . . .”
Sensation was something warm and sinuous, yet no less intense than it had ever been. It seemed to weave throughout her body, reaching her arms and legs, the back of her neck as she arched against him. Together they moved in a rhythm that was all about them, as if they were one being made of love and pleasure, heat and desire. She saw his gaze on her, watching her sway above him, and felt so completely abandoned to sensation she was going into overload. But she wanted it—she wanted everything. When he reached up to fill his hands with her full breasts, his touch brought a new wash of pleasure to her system. She was panting, cooing and sighing, and his breath was rough and raw, signaling his pleasure.
“I love you, princess,” he told her.
“Ohhh, love you, Duff. Love you, love you . . . Oh!”
Then she had to bite her lip, trying to hold back. But he was coming in a heated rush inside her, arching up into her, and she ground down, taking all of him, needing every bit of his flesh, every bit of him.
“Layla. I belong to you, love,” he gasped, pulling her down onto his chest, crushing her to him, but she loved it.
They stayed there, moving together, hips arching and drawing back, slowing until it was only the smallest motion, like water gently lapping at the shore. And everything felt that liquid to her. Soft and silky. Quiet and gentle. And outside, the rain was still falling, but the storm had passed, and it was nothing more than the sky weeping their joy.
“Layla,” he said quietly, his voice a low rumble.
“Hmm?”
“Would it freak you out if I wrote you some poetry?”
She giggled. “Are you about to?”
“I just might. My inner Scotsman is coming out, and I don’t think I’ll be able to help m’self.”
“Why is that?”
He kissed her cheek, then her jaw, and she reveled in every point of contact.
“Because I love you, my princess. Mine. All mine. But I’m yours, too, you know.”
She snuggled into him. “Good. That’s exactly how I want it.”
“Anything for my princess.”
“I love you, Duff.”
“Good. Because that’s exactly how I want it.”
“Who would have thought?” she asked after a few moments. “The two of us, of all people? But the universe works in its own time, in its own way, doesn’t it? And as you said, I think this was simply meant to be. I believe that. How silly we were to think we could resist the inevitable.”
“I’m over being silly,” he said.
She smiled, her cheek against his chest, his heart beating against it. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Well, you know, not like that. I can’t ever take myself too seriously. But you? This? I know what we’ve got.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “We’ve got each other. And whatever the future holds, I feel like that’s the important part.”
His arms tightened around her. “I knew from the start you were a dangerous woman—dangerous to my bachelorhood, as it turns out. But I’m damn happy about it.”
“And I knew you were a dangerous man. But in the end, it wasn’t a bad thing. Because the only thing we were ever really in danger of was falling in love.”
“I like a dangerous ending, my love.”
“So do I.”
And she did. It was all so unexpected, but she’d needed some of that in her life. She’d needed a big dose of the unexpected, and they didn’t come any bigger than Duff. Or any bigger-hearted.
Somehow, she’d found the man she’d been looking for, even if she hadn’t been aware she was looking. Or maybe he’d found her. But it didn’t matter. She had her dangerous man, and he had her heart. They’d figure the rest out. Together.
EPILOGUE
LAYLA LEANED INTO Duff’s big body as the music started. She’d never been much of a girlie-girl—the type who’d dreamed of weddings since childhood—but this was Summer and Jamie’s wedding and that made it special. And she loved the ambience of this place. The Chicory was a classic old New Orleans building, with its exposed brick walls punctuated by tall, narrow-paned windows, vaulted raw-beamed ceilings and gorgeous wood floors. It was a special day—special enough that she found tears gathering in her eyes as she watched Jamie shifting nervously, waiting for his bride at the altar beneath an arbor of white flowers and tiny faery lights. Or maybe the tears were the damn hormones again. She’d barely been able to stop crying since her pregnancy, and it had been even worse since giving birth three months earlier.
Her tiny daughter cooed softly, and Layla looked down at the beautiful baby girl sleeping in her lap, the infant’s long lashes resting on her smooth, round cheeks.
Duff leaned over and whispered in Layla’s ear, “It’s Joy’s first wedding.”
“Don’t get started on the wedding thing again just because I’m crying.” She sniffed and stroked Joy’s dark, downy hair. “I can’t help it. But it doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind.”
“Woman, you are gonna marry me someday. You might as well get used to the idea.”