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“It’s Layla,” I breathe, barely audible, all the air sucked from my lungs at his words and the heat in his voice.
“Trust me,” he goes on, prodding me until I fall on the bed, bouncing a little, “soon you will forget your own name.”
“Cocky, much?” I manage even as he puts a knee between my legs and shoves my coat off my shoulders, then pushes my dress up my thighs.
“I’m only stating facts.” He winks at me and in record time he has my panties off and his face between my legs.
Holy shit.
His breath is warm on my shaved pussy—shaved because Dorothy insisted I should, this being a two-year anniversary and all—and his stubble scratches against my inner thighs, jolting me. His hands land on my legs, rough and big, and spread my thighs a bit more.
Opening me up. Spreading my pussy wide.
Crap. “Hawk, I…”
He looks up at me and stills, waiting for me to say more. “This okay?” he finally asks, when no words come to my mind, and his question sends a different kind of warmth through me.
Aggressive and yet careful, pushy and yet ready to stop.
I barely nod when he licks his lips and puts his mouth on me. Unable to hold back a moan, I fists my hands on the white bed cover, my legs trembling. His tongue circles my clit, flicks back and forth lashing at it, then licks lower, into the core of me.
“Oh God!” A shockwave of need blasts through me, zinging up all the way to my head. My nipples are so tight they ache and I need… need to come. Need to relieve the pressure between my legs that’s only growing with every twist of his tongue.
Then he adds his fingers, and they’re thick and long and oh Lord… A keening noise leaves my throat and my head falls back, my body arching into him as he strokes me, like he promised—deep and hard, stretching me, ramping up the pressure until I’m ready to beg for release.
“Please, Hawk… Please…”
Yep. Begging.
As I’m fucking his face. And so turned on I can’t even find it in me to care. I’ve never felt so good in my life, never felt such need. It’s burning in my veins, deep inside my core, and his movements only make me burn hotter.
He licks my clit, swirls his tongue around it, thrusting two fingers inside me. Then he sucks on my clit, and I’m gone.
I shatter into a million pieces as the pressure breaks. Pleasure races up my spine, and I arch almost off the bed as I come in his mouth, a cry leaving my mouth.
Oh shit. God. What was that?
This time when I come to my senses, I’m staring at the white stucco of the ceiling, my thoughts empty and swimming above me like glass fish in a sky of white.
Boom.
That’s my heart, banging against my ribcage.
Hawk slides up my body, braces himself on his hands on either side of me and looks down at me.
God, that’s hot. Everything he does is smooth and sexy. He looks pleased with himself.
He has every right to be.
Then something hard and hot bumps against my thigh and I jump.
He chuckles, a dark, come-fuck-me sound that steals the breath from my lungs. “Just wanted to feel you against my cock.”
He’s naked. The realization dawns slowly and in stages. He undressed while I was zoned out, staring at the ceiling, and is now holding himself over me in all his muscular, naked glory.
I scoot back to see him better, and he grins at me.
Tanned in the way only pale people who spend a lot of time outdoors can be—playing tennis and golf, I suppose, sunning himself on the deck of his dad’s yacht, swimming in private coves—he’s made of gold and silver, a living statue of a man, all rolling muscles and fantastical proportions.
