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I trail down her leg to the ankle, massaging lightly before I make my way back up her inner thigh. Spreading her wider to give me better access to her sweet little cunt. She’s already wet for me and I work a finger inside of her, crooking it and stroking her inner walls until she moans.
It’s a sound of obedience.
One she hardly realizes she’s made until it breaks off into a whimper and her muscles clench around me to keep me in place. I slide a second finger in to join the first before stroking against her swollen clit with my thumb.
“Make me come, Gabriel.” She’s not used to begging. “Please. Finger me, fuck me, make me forget.”
I want to so badly.
I shake my head. Taking further advantage of her might be my usual mode, but part of me knows it’s unforgivable. “Right now you need rest.”
“Unless you trust me to play with my gun and drink, then sex is the only escape I know. I want to escape with you,” she murmurs.
Despite my good intentions, I have too little control left. I tighten my circles around her clit to give her a little more friction and time the movement with the thrust of my fingers. She’s even wetter now, panting, and a few more strokes has her breathy moan catching and her pussy clamping with her orgasm.
The water has gone cool and both of us shiver as she comes down from the edge. I grip her chin with my opposite hand and gently turn her face to the side to kiss her. I need to taste her. I need to bury myself in her and keep her here with me.
My ability to protect her depends on me being able to keep my reputation. But right now, with her?
I’m just a man. Too scarred on the inside to be anything better than what I am.
Kissing Layla is like opening up a vein and shooting lava into my system.
She is hotter, sweeter, more alive than any kind of drug or alcohol.
I’m used to submissive women bending to my whims and trusting me with their pleasure. Yet there’s something about Layla that separates her from the usual type. Maybe because she’s fashioned herself as a Dominant. She’s never played in the club and only cultivated her individual scene with whatever partners she deemed appropriate.
I’ve kept to the stage.
Layla is the only Sub I’ve ever brought back to my home.
Which means something. Something big. But I’m not in any way able to interpret the twisting sensation in my heart at the realization.
I break the kiss and rise slowly to my feet in the tub, towering over her. My dick jerks in anticipation and I’m already hard and dripping precum down the length of me.
She lets me draw her into my arms and carry her to the bed, resting myself between her thighs. There’s enough space for her to reach between us and give my dick light strokes. At least the fire is back in her eyes. Whatever had been turned off in the shower, inside of her, is on again.
I draw my hand down her flat stomach to part the folds of her pussy and flick against her clit once again. “You want to be fucked raw, Layla?”
She presses her breasts against my arm. “Come on. Are you chicken? Afraid you can’t make me come again with your mediocre cock?”
“Pretty soon I’m going to have to punish you if you keep calling it mediocre.”
“Maybe I deserve a little punishment.”
I draw my middle finger through her wetness before pressing the finger to her mouth. “Taste yourself and tell me what flavors are there,” I demand.
She peels her fingers away from my cock and does as she’s told, sucking on my finger. We both know there’s nothing mediocre about my cock. Not when her pussy is still clenching with need.
She sucks on me the same way she did my dick and her eyes go molten. “What am I supposed to taste?” she asks. “What answer do you want?”
Anything that will show a little bit of grief has faded from your eyes.
“Just remember your taste now. Because once I fuck you, you’re going to taste likeme. And nothing is going to erase my flavor from your body.”
I grab my dick and stroke myself, spreading precum over every inch of me.
Her gaze drops to my erection and she lets out a ragged laugh.
