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ONE
layla
The fleeting orgasmis the first one I’ve managed to chase down in weeks. There and gone in the span of seconds with the shrill ring of my cell phone ripping me out of the fantasy.
”Sinclair,” I growl into the phone, stilling my movements on top of the male beneath me.
I slam a palm down to the middle of his chest when he resists, bucking against me in a clear demand for me to continue. Weeks of this bullshit back-and-forth and lying to the beta beneath me about being absolutely great…only to have it come to this?
My glare has brought down stronger men but this one pays me little mind.
“We’ve got a situation,” the voice on the other end of the phone says. Simple. Harsh. “I need you to get your ass out of bed.”
I know what it means.
“How do you know I’m in bed?”
“Because no matter how much you hate it, you are a creature of habit, and it’s about that time. You’re not going to want to waste time. Layla…this one is bad.”
“Howbad?” I ask my partner.
I keep my answers short now. Curt. Still crouched above the Sub with my legs on either side of his hips, an inch separating my cloth-clad core with the erection he’s forced to keep in his pants.
Forced until I give him permission to release it.
The Sub I’ve been playing with for weeks groans underneath me and shifts his hands up to my nipples. He grabs the globes of my breasts and squeezes.
“Please,” he begs. A world’s worth of need in one syllable. “Please.”
His groan turns into a panting and whispered plea. Mental note as I smack down on him to get him to stop: If I keep playing with this Sub then I’ll need to restrain his hands. He should know better than to touch without my permission. It’s one of the rules we set out whenever we first started playing with each other.
“It’s bad,” my partner replies simply. “Get your ass over here, Detective.”
“Where are you?”
The Sub groans. “Are you going to talk on the phone the whole time I’m here?”
I’ve been calling the SubBillbecause I know it’s not his name and it’s another level of control between us. Or so I thought when we first met each other.
He agreed to play by my rules when we got into this relationship of sorts, but if he’s going to push boundaries then he’s got to go. I don’t have time for a Sub who doesn’t know how to pay attention.
The whimpering man annoys me. Especially when the whines are coupled with the grabbiness of the hands. A good Sub knows when to touch and when to lie still. This one? Everything about him screamsnewbie.
Too new for me, and I realize there won’t be a next time for him. He’s reached the end of the line with me.
My partner sighs on the other end of the phone. “I’ll text you the address. Get here as soon as possible.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
He clicks off without another word and I toss the phone into a pile of laundry.
“Bill” is red-faced from trying to control himself. The whimpering is gone but the panting reminds me of a dog.
Weak. Pathetic. Not a dog, but the man.
“We’re done here, friend.”
I slap my palm down over his cock a few times but there’s no way I’m getting off now. And the sensation of having my orgasm stolen leaves me pissed off. It leaves me beyond frustrated when I think of how long it's been, that none of these men have been able to give me what I want and need.
