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But there's something about Layla reaching for me, calling my name, that sends a vicious surge of satisfaction through my chest.

Not Mitchell Knight, billionaire.

Not the owner of Knight Global.

Not the man whose name opens doors and closes deals.

Just me.

The same woman who questions everything is trusting me with this. And fuck if that doesn't feel more intimate than it should.

I push two fingers into her heated core and flatten my tongue against her hard little clit—and my Firecracker explodes.

Her legs tremble, her moan echoes inside my head, and her whole body shudders against me.

But I’m nowhere near finished with her. I grab a condom from my discarded slacks and put it on before I stand, bringing her with me.

She squeaks when I pull her off the floor, lining my body up just right.

“I got you,” I whisper against her ear. “Ready?”

“Yes, Mitchell.”

My name leaves her lips on a breath, and I swear it nearly brings me to my knees.

“Again.”

Her hazel eyes find mine.

“What?”

“My name.” I brush my mouth against hers. “Say it again when I push into you.”

Something changes in her expression.

Heat, yes. But something softer too.

Something that hits me directly beneath the ribs.

She nods and I flex my hips, driving inside her tight, wet sheath. It’s so good, I have to struggle for control.

“Mitchell.”

Fuck. I close my eyes and I kiss her. Deep, hard—my dick throbbing as it sits all the way inside of her. I don't know what the hell else to do with what that does to me.

“Please,” she whispers against my lips. And I know what she wants. Because I want it to.

I grip her thighs, spreading her wider and I withdraw. Then I look her in the eyes and I thrust into her, swallowing her strangled cry.

And my Layla? She responds to everything.

Every kiss.

Every stolen touch.

Every murmured word.

So much more than I expected. Not that I should've expected anything.