Shit. Did I know that her dad died? Remembering the brief comment she made months ago, I nod. “How did he die?”
“Cancer.”
“Damn. I’m sorry, Lay. Is that why you told me to call my parents?” She nods, and I rest my forehead against her hair. “Were you close with him?”
“He was sick for so many years that our lives revolved around it. It took me a bit to fully comprehend how sick he really was. Kids are naturally self-involved, so it was hard for me to truly see how much he struggled. I think when he died, I was mostly relieved he was pain-free. No more chemo. No radiation. No hospital stays or IV ports. He was finally free. And at fifteen, I could see it. I could celebrate that fact. My dad was finally cancer-free.”
“Wow,” I murmur. “That’s incredibly mature of you at fifteen.”
She shrugs. “I like to think I’ve always been able to see the big picture of things. Maybe I couldn’t at ten, when I had to miss a sleepover because we were traveling for an appointment with a specialist, but at fifteen, I finally recognized the pain he was in. Life on Earth was hurting him. I was holding his hand when he took his last breath, and he smiled. I saw the relief on his face. I miss him every day, and occasionally catch myself thinking of him like he’s still alive. But I’d rather he be dead than half alive and miserable.”
Just when I think I have Layla figured out, she surprises me once again. Reaching over, I link my hands together and pull her into my lap. Burying my head in her hair, I breathe her in. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”
Layla turns her head slightly, resting it against mine. “I think you’re pretty amazing too.”
Lightning illuminates the sky, and the moment a loud crash of thunder booms around the space, the electricity flickers before going out completely.
“The fireplace still works,” Layla comments.
“It’s gas.”
“But you flipped a switch to get it to turn on.”
“The pilot light is on all the time, so it’ll still work. At least for a bit. We lost power this winter during that crazy blizzard around New Year’s, and the fireplace turned off a few hours into the outage. I guess if it’s widespread enough, the natural gas will run out eventually.”
“We should get the girls back into their cage,” Layla murmurs, but she snuggles deeper into my arms. “But that would involve getting up, and you feel too good for me to move.”
Her words, however innocent she intended them to be, strike a different chord in my body, and my cock twitches in my joggers. The vixen in my arms shimmies, stifling a delighted giggle when my dick responds by growing quickly. “Layla.”
“What?” she asks innocently.
I chuckle into her hair, making her shiver. “Be careful what you wish for, baby.”
“I have a feeling that you’re the kind of guy who would give me anything I ask for, Max,” she says quietly.
“What exactly do you want?” I ask gruffly, unhooking my hands to grab her hips. She shimmies again, and I help move her along my length. The wind whips through the open door as lightning streaks through the sky. I feel keyed up, turned on, and desperate for her, and just like she said, I’ll do anything she asks, right here, right now.
Layla abruptly stands, turns, then straddles me. Her eyes sear into mine. “I want you to fuck me. Hard. Don’t hold back, Sunshine.”
Fucking hell.
There’ssomething heady in the air. The sexual tension coating my skin is heavy and thick. I could feel Max get hard under my thigh, but I figured he wouldn’t make a move unless he knew I was game for it.
And boy, I sure am game for it.
Max couldn’t stop complimenting me at dinner. Praising my cooking skills, reveling in how I’ve gotten him to eat so many vegetables. I’ve never had a man be so verbal with compliments. Sure, I’d get the occasional “that sex was hot.” But rarely anything else. Experiencing Max has been enlightening. It makes me wonder if he’s always like this, or if he’s consciously trying to build up my confidence. Is this all an act? God, I hope not. I really like this version of Max, where he’s at peace in his space, sees the good people around him, and makes an effort to let them know he cares for them.
But I never expected to learn that I really have a praise kink, because by the end of dinner, my legs were shaking with desire. I’d actually wondered if I could make myself come with acouple of thigh rubs.
Max runs a hand up my back and into my hair. Grabbing a handful, he moves my head to where he wants it. “Eyes on me.”
I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes, and when I open them, he smiles.
“You’re such a good girl, Layla.” I preen at the words, but inwardly laugh at how ridiculous it is to be turned on by Max calling me a good girl. I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with what I’ve discovered about myself over the last couple of years.
“Max,” I whimper, attempting to move and gain some friction, but his free arm clamps around my waist, holding me still. “Please.”
“Please what?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. His brown eyes are blown out with lust, so much so that I can barely see the irises. Chin out and jaw flexing, the man looks like he’s in his element. I might have a praise kink, but Max has a dominant kink.
