“I’m going to assume that was a joke, but let me make this clear, Layla. I don’t fucking share. If we’re in this, that’s it. End things. You’re mine from this point on.”
“Wow,” I breathe. “That was way hotter than I thought it would be.”
“You know what else is hotter?” he asks, leaning closer.
“What?”
“You. On your knees. Now, Layla.”
I may have just come.
This woman makesme irrationally feral.
I’ve never been a man who felt the need to stake a claim. Owning a woman? How outlandish and barbaric. But there’s something about Layla Holmes that makes me want to mark her as mine, then let every other man within a hundred miles know that she’s spoken for.
Maybe if I knock her up, men would know she’s unavailable.
Jesus Christ. That thought makes my dick leak pre-cum.
Do I have a breeding kink?
The thought of her pregnant and bouncing on my cock is almost too exquisite an image to bear. I’m five seconds from coming, and I haven’t even kissed her tonight. Yet there’s a quiet voice in the back of my mind whispering, “Put a baby in her belly!”
This is definitely the first time that thought has ever occurred before I’ve fucked a woman. But, seeing as how Layla has unnerved me from the first moment I met her, I’m honestly not surprised that I’m finding out I have new kinks just by thinking about her.
And when my woman immediately drops to her knees in front of me, I groan at the sight. Dragging my thumb along her jawline,I’m awestruck at how flawless she looks, and I can’t help but tell her so. “You look perfect on your knees for me, baby.”
She preens at my words, further cementing the fact that Layla clearly has a praise kink. Her silver eyes sparkle, and the adorable pink sleep set she’s wearing stretches across her tits beautifully.
“Take off my pants,” I finally say, my voice deep with desire. Layla’s hands confidently grab my waistband as I lean back, offering her more room to unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. I lift my hips as she slowly drags the fabric from my waist, my obvious erection tents my boxers as she fully removes my pants. I silently shake my head when Layla yanks off my socks.
“What?” she says softly. “People who have sex with socks on have to be sociopaths.”
“Completely agree.” She rests her hands on my knees as she awaits further instructions. “Take off my boxers.”
Hands slightly tentative this time, Layla grabs hold of the hem of my boxer briefs. I keep my gaze locked on her face as she pulls the material down, noting her eyes widening when she sees my length. “You’re bigger than I anticipated.”
“Okay?” I ask with a laugh. “What exactly did you anticipate?”
“I don’t know. Cocky men typically don’t have this,” she gestures wildly up and down my cock, “to back it up.”
“Poor Layla,” I say, with a mock sigh. “Always fucking the wrong men.”
She shoots me an irritated glare. “You’d better back this up with more than sixty seconds.”
I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be satisfied. Now shut your mouth until I tell you to fill it up.”
She snorts, but I see her answering smile. Her eyes meet mine, and she raises an eyebrow as if asking me, “Now what?”
“Do you like sucking cock?” I ask, and she shrugs. Guessing that to mean she’s indifferent, I soldier on. “I bet you secretly like it. You want to make a man lose control, and know that you’re responsible for it.”
Her smile widens, and I know I’m on to something.
“Do you like to hear when a man loses control? When he says things like ‘yeah, right there,’ or ‘just like that, don’t stop?’”
Layla nods enthusiastically, and I drag my hand through her hair, the strands like silk slipping through my fingers. “And if I bury myself in the back of your throat, telling you to swallow me while tears fill your eyes, will you enjoy that?”
She nods again. I reach out to stroke her lower lip with my thumb, forcing her mouth open. Sliding my middle finger against her tongue, I test her gag reflex, pleased when she doesn’t gag. “When I tell you to swallow, you won’t let one drop out? You’ll take everything I give you?”
