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The minute I open the door to the cute little single-family home I’ve been renting and let her in, I reach for her hand and pull her close to me so that I can kiss her.
She rises up onto her tiptoes and puts her arms around my neck, kissing me back with a passionate fever pitch. I could easily take her, right here in the middle of my living room. And damn if I don’t want to.
But I somehow decided in the time span since I left the restaurant and her arrival that we should take things a little slower tonight. I felt like I owed her that much after I fucked her on the floor for the very first time. I’ve got an entire king-sized bed with thousand thread count sheets that Layla deserves to be pleasured in. And we’d get to that, eventually.
I want to savor every moment with her, work our way up to the grand finale tonight.
It almost physically pains me to break our kiss and put a tiny bit of space between us.
“Can I get you a drink? I’ve got some wine if you want. Beer. Soda. Water. Tea. Coffee,” I find myself rambling as she takes a cursory glance around.
I’m not really sure what it is about her that somehow knocks me so off-kilter, but I absolutely feel like I’m off my game.
Is this what she felt like when I came to her apartment? Was she nervous about what I might have thought about her living space? This is all so weird to me. Probably because I can count on one hand the number of women who have come to my house, and three of those were family.
What can I say? I prefer to keep my personal space…personal.
Which means Layla is the only woman who’s stepped foot inside my home here in Indy.
“Maybe later,” she replies with a seductive smile then bites her lip.
Fuck me.
“Lays,” I hiss.
“We both know why I’m really here,” she purrs.
Hell yeah, we do. She’s here because I can’t get her off my mind. Because I’ve been dreaming about Layla in my bed since the moment I saw her in the coffee shop weeks ago.
And with her looking at me like that, there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to keep my self-imposed ideal about taking it slow.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do since the other night.” Layla licks her lips and her eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Oh,” is all I can manage.
“Mmhmm,” she hums and closes the space between us before she kneels at my feet.
I swallow hard when she looks up at me under her long lashes and licks her lips.
“Turnabout is fair play and I want to taste you this time.”
Oooh, fuck. My heart rate picks up and my cock throbs beneath my jeans.
How many times have I fantasized about her mouth on me?
Dear Lord, please let me last long enough to enjoy it. The last thing I need is to blow the minute she wraps her lips around me.
Layla pops the button on my jeans and slowly tugs the zipper down, torturing me nearly every step of the way.
The minute my pants are loose enough, I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers and push them, along with the denim down enough to free my length.
Layla moans in appreciation and wraps her hand around me, stroking me. Once. Twice. On the third pass, she sticks out her tongue and licks the crown.
“Lay…la,” I pant. My hips jerk forward with a mind of their own.
She doesn’t miss a beat. Layla parts her lips, opening for me like the goddess that she is.
I gather her brown locks into a makeshift ponytail with my hands and hold on as she sucks me like her life depends on it. When I hit the back of her throat, I let out a string of curses, which only spurs her on. Layla’s hands work in time with her pretty little mouth, driving me closer and closer to the ledge that I’ve been hanging on since I saw her earlier.
