Layla
I wrap my hand around the back of Dalton’s neck, my nails raking over his skin. His hair is like silk–soft and thick–and his skin is warm against my touch.
He’s here; he’s real, and I’m safe.
His lips brush against mine again in a silent invitation. My heart is still hammering in my chest as I close my eyes and part my lips, letting go of the crushing weight of the fear I’d just experienced and everything I thought I’d seen while running for my life through the house.
His tongue slides over my lower lip–tasting me. I inhale a desperate breath before his tongue slides into my mouth, over my teeth, my tongue.
He makes a low, throaty sound of pure male satisfaction before pressing his hand against my throat and deepening the kiss until I’m gasping for air.
He tastes like salt and scotch. His leather and spice scent coils around me as he holds me against the wall, his tongue lapping around mine before he lowers his kisses to my jaw, then that sensitive place just behind my ear that makes me melt into a puddle of desire.
My nipples harden and peak beneath my soft linen pajama shirt as he trails kiss after kiss down my neck and back up again. I run my fingers through his hair, pleasantly aware of the sharp citrus scent of the shampoo he uses.
Everything about this moment is tangible. His scent, his touch, his warmth. It’s real. He lets go of my throat and clutches my hips, pinning me to the wall as he grinds his hips into mine. I let out a hushed whimper as his rigid cock presses against my sex, only the fabric of my pajamas and his gray joggers keeping us apart.
But my heart is still racing. The memory of being chased through the house by a ghost still sits at the forefront of my mind. That fear turns into something new, mingling with the need throbbing through my body.
“Dalton,” I whisper, clutching his shirt. “Am I dreaming?”
His lips dust over my cheek. “No,” he rasps, and kisses me again with more urgency. He rests an elbow against the wall beside my head, his other hand embracing my cheek, locking me in place as while his tongue dances over mine.
It’s just a kiss. That’s all this is. Whatever he’s doing is grounding me back to reality, however, and as his touch becomes more heated, I find it harder and harder to pull away and put an end to this.
He’s laid waste to my body in my dreams. He’s fucked me hard and left me on the edge of release time and time again, and I’ve always woken up coated in sweat and wholly unsatisfied.
I know that if we take this any farther, I’ll give in. I’ll submit. I’ll do whatever I can to get my next fix. I’ll come crawling to him, begging, because no one has ever set my blood on fire in the way he can with just a look in my direction.
With each thrust and swirl of his tongue, the icy hold that memory of the ghost has on my mind gives way, leaving nothing but fevered lust.
He backs away from the wall, taking me with him, his mouth crushed to mine as he spins me around and shoves me onto his bed.
I get my first real glimpse of his room now from flashes of lightning. The raw shiplap walls and plain furniture are nothing fancy. It’s a far cry from the haughty, luxurious bedrooms just a level below. Sketches of plants are pinned to the wall near the single window where the storm still rages outside.
I tear my eyes back to his face. He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his broad, muscular chest littered with tattoos that snake down to his waist. My lips part in surprise as he reaches for the button of his jeans, his chest heaving with a heavy, drawn out breath. His eyes light on mine, a deep emerald in the muted amber light from the oil lantern flickering on the dresser on the far side of the bed. He stands there staring at me, his gaze locked on mine for what feels like eternity as he debates his next move.
Some of that heat slips through my fingertips, replaced by that creeping, icy sensation that I’m being watched, that every darkened corner in this room, and in this house, has a pair of eyes peering at us through the shadows.
My brow furrows as I look up at him from where I lie prone on his bed. He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, looking markedly conflicted about something. I begin to wonder if he’s having second thoughts, and now I’m having them. I start to sit up, but his hand juts out and presses me back down on the bed so fast I let out a sharp yelp of surprise.
“Do not move,” he tells me in a low, rasping voice. He lets out his breath as he bunches up my shirt, revealing my midriff, then takes my shirt in either hand and twists, ripping the fabric. I suck in a surprised breath, which causes a cocky smile to touch his lips while his eyes gleam with mischief.
“Are you a good girl, Layla?” he says as he slowly begins to tear my shirt down the center. Each thread of fabric gives way in an agonizingly slow fashion that has my heart quickening with each passing second.
“I am,” I tell him, breathless. He only smiles down at me and shakes his head.
“You haven’t proved that to me yet.” He tears the shirt away from my body, baring my breasts. Roughly, he gropes them, kneading them until my nipples harden and peak beneath his touch. My lashes flutter as his touch sends prickles of desires licking over my skin. My need to be touched is at an all-time high, and I rub my thighs together, writhing, trying to create that friction I so desperately need.
“Look at you,” he whispers, flicking his thumb over my right nipple. I jerk in response, inhaling sharply at the faint sting. “You’re a fucking masterpiece.”
I don’t dare close my eyes as his heated gaze rakes over my body. He’s going to take his time, that’s clear. Every touch is deliberate, calculated, like he knows exactly what he wants to do to me and has been thinking about it for a while.
I’m at his mercy.
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“Oh!” I cry out, arching my back as his mouth closes around my breast, and he sucks deep, his teeth raking over my nipple. His tongue swirls, lapping at my tender, aching skin. I curl my nails into his backs, scraping hard as he draws a moan from my lips.
But just as I’m giving in to him, to his touch, to the wrongness of this situation, he pulls away with his hand pressed to my throat, pushing me into the mattress.
“Look at me, Angel,” he says, his tone dripping with warning.
I clutch his wrist, sucking in a desperate breath. “You’re hurting me–”
“Good. This is a punishment.” He lets go of my throat and pulls me toward the edge of the bed, his thumbs hooking under my waistband and pulling my pants and panties off in one fluid motion. He tosses my clothes across the room and stands between my knees as he unzips his jeans and pushes them down over his thighs, taking his boxers with them.
My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him naked before me. He’s a masterpiece, like his body has been sculpted by a master’s hands. Each sharp curve of muscle is dusted with lantern light as he fists his cock. God, his cock. I’ve never seen anything like it. I immediately know this is going to hurt in the best way, but apprehension begins to curl in my stomach as he edges toward the bed, stroking his dick with his eyes locked on mine.
“I warned you not to wander around the house at night, just like I warned you about roaming in the marsh alone.”
My reply is a shudder of breath as he pulls me closer to him until my legs fall over the side of the bed. He kneels between my knees, running his hands up my thighs.
“And yet,” he rasps as he leans down, brushing the words over my belly, “you continue not to listen to a word I say.”
He presses a kiss just below my navel. My core begins to ache as he drags the kiss down, teasingly close to my center, but then he rests his chin on my belly and looks up at me, his eyes dark with what I can describe as cruel intent.
“You haven’t been good, Angel.”
My lips part, and a choked whimper escapes my throat as his hands yank my thighs apart. I’m fully exposed to him now, my inner thighs wet and glistening. His fingers graze over my sensitive skin, trailing through the glimmers of arousal illuminated by the amber light fanning over our bodies.
He trails a finger through my slit, chuckling darkly. “You’re so beautiful, Angel.” He kisses the juncture of my thighs.
I close my eyes, gripping the sheets when what I really want to do is grip his hair and press him down to where his mouth would meet my clit.
He chuckles again, grazing his teeth over my inner thigh. “Poor thing,” he whispers, his tongue darting out.
I let out a stifled moan and arch my hips to meet his mouth. “P–please–”
“Please what, Angel?”
“Fuck me,” I breathe, opening my eyes to find him watching me with interest. “Please, Dalton.”
He grazes my inner thigh with his teeth again, “You haven’t earned it yet.”
“But–why?” Desperation clouds my mind as I writhe against his teasing ministrations.
He bites down on my thigh and I yelp in pain. I try to squirm away, but he bites harder, which blurs the line between pain and pleasure. His fingers are inside of me, sliding into my pussy and stretching me. I nearly arch off the bed when his thumb begins to slowly circle my clit, drawing out a breathy moan from my lips.
He lets up from the bite I know will leave a bruise and rises slightly, his lips parted in a groan as my muscles clamp around his fingers.
“I could make you come right now,” he whispers, then blows over my clit. My skin prickles as a chill races up my spine and fans out through my body. “Do you deserve it, Angel?”
I clutch my breasts as he slowly pulls his fingers out and presses them in again with more force, groaning with male satisfaction.
“Please,” I beg as he lowers his mouth, his lips hovering over my clit. “I’ll do anything.”
“Anything?” he laughs, and his the sound skirts over my swollen clit.
I nod, whimpering as he slowly, achingly slowly, pulls out his fingers and drags his tongue up my slit.
My body explodes with pleasure, blurring my senses. I let out a cry and arch into his touch as his tongue slips inside of me, and his lips close around my clit and suck.
Fuck, I’m a goner. I’d grovel at this man’s feet in an instant if he demanded it of me.
He hums with approval as I whimper and arch against his tongue, the slight vibration making my vision explode with stars.
I want him inside of me. Whether down my throat, or stretching out my pussy, I don’t care. All I know is that this isn’t enough. And, the more I think about it, the more I realize he knows that, too.
His touch is teasing, meant to draw this out as long as possible. He slides his fingers back inside of me, hooking them, finding that place that makes me buck my hips off the bed and cry out his name to the ceiling.
“You’re fucking delicious,” he rasps in a deep, throaty tone. He glides his tongue over and around my clit more, sucking again.
I grit my teeth and close my eyes, my climax beginning to coil through my belly and thighs. My muscles squeeze his fingers involuntarily in warning as I reach that edge, but then he pulls away slightly, right before I come.
“No-no–” I whine, reaching for him.
His cocky smile is the last thing I see before he’s fisting my hair and dragging me into a seated position. “Open your mouth. Let me see what that sharp tongue of yours can do.”
I look up at him, panting, and open my mouth.
His satisfied smile brightens the room, and the look of pure ecstasy in his eyes as he slowly slides his cock into my mouth has me trembling with excitement and longing.
He’s huge–much too big for me. My eyes water as he eases toward the back of my throat, his eyes growing heavy with pleasure.
I let out a whimper as my air supply is stolen. “Can you take all of me, Angel?” he rasps, his jaw flexed as he pulls out slightly, then back in again, further this time, forcing his way down my throat.
Tears spring into my eyes, one of them sliding down my cheek as I choke on his cock, gagging as he hits the back of my throat. “That’s a good girl.” He grunts, his fingers curling into my hair to hold me steady. His other hand kneads my breast as he holds himself there, unmoving, while I fight for breath. More tears slide free, rolling down my face. He lets go of my breast to wipe it away. “God, you’re so pretty when you cry.”
His praise ignites a fire within me I hadn’t known was there. My pussy aches, begging to be touched, as he pulls his cock from my mouth.
I gasp for breath, my jaw muscles straining, but he shoves his cock down my throat again–hard. Hard enough to leave a bruise in the back of my throat.
I cry out around him, and he growls with delight, his eyes narrowing into cat-like slits. He pumps into me once, twice, then pulls out and shoves me to the bed.
My cheeks are wet with tears as I pant and fight for breath, but he leans over me, nudging my legs apart as he sinks down and guides the head of his glorious cock against my entrance. He kisses me softly, almost tenderly, whispering praise over my jaw and neck while he stretches me open.
I shake as he presses in, then out, my muscles curling around the head of his dick. “You’re paradise.” He groans, sucking in a breath as he presses his chest to mine and grips my ass, thrusting home.
I cry out his name as pain and pleasure meld into one as he claims me, every rigid inch of his massive cock sheathed to the hilt in my pussy.
“Fuck, Layla,” he whispers, beginning to grind his hips against mine. “You’re fucking tight. You’re so good, Angel. Such a good girl…”
My skin glistens with sweat as he glides over me, breathing my name into my ear, telling me how good I am, how good I feel. His praise sets my blood on fire.
I’m going to come any second now. I can feel that delicious tension beginning to fracture and snap.
“Come for me,” he demands, pressing a rough kiss to my neck, then my breasts, his teeth grazing my skin.
“Dalton, please!” I cry out, canting my hips to meet him stroke for stroke.
“That’s it, Angel,” he rasps as my muscles clamp and spasm around his cock, my climax tearing through my body.
He sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling over it, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he can from my body as he pumps into me so hard. He bites down hard enough to leave a mark, and spills himself inside me while I milk him dry.
He rises, caging me in with his hands pressed to the mattress on either side of my shoulders. His green eyes shine like polished jade as he looks down at me appraisingly. “Who do you belong to?”
“I belong to you,” I whisper, breathless, riding a high I’m not sure I’ll ever come down from. “I belong to you.”