Page 11 of Raw & Reckless

“Thanks, Prez,” I tell him truthfully. I know he’s not thrilled with this new development, but I’m in too deep now. I’m not letting Layla go, and he knows it. The only solution is to accept the facts and move on.

“We’ll keep you posted,” is all he says before cutting the line.

I set the burner phone down on the counter and finish brewing a fresh pot of coffee, letting the rich, dark aroma fill the kitchen. Just as I pour the steaming liquid into a mug, the quiet click of a door latch echoes down the hall.

I look up.

Layla steps out of the bedroom, wrapped in one of my oversized flannel shirts that swallows her frame, hanging loose past her thighs. Her long, jet-black hair is a soft, messy cloud tumbling over her shoulders, and her striking indigo eyes are heavy with sleep.

The air between us thickens instantly, pulled taut by an invisible, magnetic gravity. Neither of us says a word as we cross the kitchen toward each other, closing the distance like we’ve been starved of oxygen. When she reaches me, I set my mug down and bury my hands in her soft hair, tilting her face up.

I kiss her deeply, slowly, and reverently.

We break apart by a fraction of an inch, our ragged breaths mingling in the cool morning air. Layla looks up at me, a shy, pink blush dusting her cheeks.

“I thought I dreamt up the kiss last night,” she whispers, her voice a soft, disbelieving murmur.

A slow, possessive smile spreads across my mouth. I press my lips against hers again, murmuring against her skin, “Then let me show you how real it was.”

The second kiss is a hundred times hotter, burning away the gentle sweetness and igniting the raw, desperate hunger we’ve both been holding back. Layla responds with a fierce, trembling urgency, her small hands clutching at the front of my shirt. Without breaking the kiss, I loop my arms under her thighs and effortlessly lift her up, settling her hips right onto the edge of the kitchen counter.

She gasps into my mouth as I step between her thighs, parting them wide. My hands slide up the loose cotton of the flannel, mapping the lush, flawless curves of her body, cupping her hips and dragging her flush against my belt. The need clawing through my veins is blinding, overwhelming every logical thought I have left.

“Phoenix,” she whimpers, her hips shifting almost uncontrollably. “I need more of you. I need…”

“I know what you need, beautiful Moonflower.”

I step back just an inch, my gaze burning into hers as I hitch the hem of the shirt up to her waist. Her breath catches, her indigo eyes turning dark and wide with a potent mix of shyness and intoxicating anticipation.

“This okay, Layla? I won’t do anything without your permission.”

“Please,” she says urgently. “I want whatever you’ll give me.”

A painful groan bubbles up in my chest, and I savor her sweet words. I don't make my sweet girl wait. I drop my head between her thighs, parting her folds, and taking my first taste of her honey.

Layla cries out, her fingers tangling frantically into my hair as my tongue drives straight into her wet, trembling heat. The sweet, clean taste of her shatters my remaining control. I eat her out with an intense, driving rhythm, my hands gripping her thighs as she writhes and bucks against my face.

The breathless whimpers tearing from her throat wrap around my heart like a vise until she shatters, her entire body locking up around me as a blinding, violent orgasm rips through her. She comes apart with a strangled, beautiful cry, her hips trembling against my mouth.

I stand up slowly, chest heaving, my own body aching with a razor-sharp, painful erection straining against my jeans.

Layla reaches down blindly, her small hand fumbling at my belt to pull me closer, wanting to touch me. I catch her wrist gently, pulling her hand away. “Hey… this was all about you and your pleasure.”

Her breath stutters, her eyes dark with emotion. “I want you to feel as good as I do.”

A low, guttural groan tears from my throat as I yield, letting her clumsy, eager fingers undo my jeans and wrap around my throbbing, heavy length. The friction of her warm, soft hand nearly makes me lose it right there on the kitchen floor.

“What did I do to deserve you?” I rasp out, my eyes rolling back as my hips twitch instinctively into her palm.

She doesn't answer with words. She just strokes me faster, kissing my jaw, neck, and lips, pouring every ounce of her adoration into the way she handles me until my control finally snaps. I come hard in her hand, my vision blurring at the edges as I spill against her fingers, uttering a choked, broken curse against her mouth.

We stand there for a long moment, breathing hard in the quiet kitchen.

“You’re all sticky,” I murmur with a dark, fond chuckle, looking down at our mess. “You’re welcome to take a shower.”

Her cheeks flare a brilliant, burning crimson. “Oh. Right.”

“Just you,” I add quickly, softening my tone so she knows there’s no pressure, no expectations. “I don't want to crowd your space.”