Layla Leif orders tiramisu for dessert and we get a couple of coffees to finish the meal. He insists on pretending like nothing is wrong, and I end up in a weird limbo between enjoyment and white-hot anger. So, when we leave the restaurant and Leif walks me to my building, I turn to face him and give him a curt nod. “Thank you for dinner. Goodnight.” I turn away, but Leif isn’t having any of it. He grabs my hand and spins me around, tugging me until I crash into his chest. “Layla,” he growls. “Let go of me,” I say, but it comes out breathy and needy. “No.” Then he slides his hand over my jaw, tilts my face, and kisses me—and damn me, but I melt into it. I want this. I want Leif’s arms around me, the smell of him surrounding me, the warmth of him protecting me from winter’s chill. Even through my anger and outrage tonight, I couldn’t hide the truth from myself—that I felt grateful he broke up my date. I wanted it to be him I shared a meal with. Whenever Leif is near, I feel safe. I’m no longer standing in a hurricane, trying to ke ep my life together with sheer force of will. I’m no longer the only person that can provide for my sister and ke ep my grandparents in their house. When Leif is beside me, I finally, finally have someone to lean on. And how stupid is that? I know he’ll leave. He’ll get bored of me. He’ll move on. Men like Leif Sorensen—heirs like Leif Sorensen—don’t end up with working-class women like me. I don’t have a college degree or a retirement account or anything even vaguely resembling an asset. I’m perpetually on the edge of financial disaster. But maybe for right now—for tonight—I can pretend I’m the type of woman Leif could want. I can tell myself he enjoys taking care of me as much as I enjoy being taken care of by him. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, something softens inside me. Leif growls in response, de epening the kiss and pulling me impossibly closer to his hard, hot body. My new designer puffer jacket condenses under his hand, my arms moving to circle around his neck. “Open the door, Layla,” Leif says against my lips. “I’d take you to my place, but I need you right now. I can’t drive like this. You make me lose my mind.” I do? I do that to him? “Yes,” I answer, because of course I want to open the door and take him upstairs immediately, right this second, without delay. My hands shake, but I manage to get the front door open. I don’t even see the stains and wear in the stairwell and hallways before getting to my apartment. Within moments, we’re tumbling through the door. Leif kicks it closed behind me and reaches back to turn the deadbolt, then his lips are on mine again. He strips my jacket off and tosses it carelessly onto my worn, hand-me-down sofa. Then his hands are on my arms and he’s kissing my neck, my shoulders, all the way down to the Bardot neckline of my bodysuit. The long sleeves are tight to my arms and I know it’s molded to my body like a second skin. Leif’s hands move to my hips, then slide up to cup my breasts.
He groans. “I wanted to rip his head off,” he growls, lips tracing my collarbone. His hands knead my breasts as he backs me toward the nearest wall. “It took every ounce of self-control for me to walk toward you and sit down instead of pulling him up from that chair and pummeling his face in.” Leif’s voice is a rasp, and it makes my skin prickle with awareness. It shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. My back hits the wall and my hands fly to his shoulders. He shoves a knee between my legs, grips my hips, and hikes me up so my core is pressed up against his thigh. I’m on my tiptoes, pinned against the wall, feeling like I’ll die if he decides he wants to stop. Heaven help me, but I might come right now from being manhandled like this. Being possessed like this. My hips start moving without me realizing, my body searching for the friction I need. Leif makes an appreciative noise at the back of his throat, his hands moving to my breasts as he kisses my jaw, my cheeks, my lips. “The only man you should be dating is me.” He kneads my breast, sending electricity sizzling through every nerve ending. The tips of his fingers touch my bare skin above the neckline of my top, that slight touch almost enough to make me lose my mind. “You’re an arrogant asshole,” I gasp, hips grinding, mind reeling. Leif moves a hand to my hip, guiding my movements to be rougher, harder. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he tells me in a voice that promises sin and danger. “You’re going to ride my leg until you come. Right here.” He punctuates the words by moving my hips to grind harder against the solid muscle of his thigh. “Then I’m going to use my hands and my mouth until you forget about every other man apart from me. Then, I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to scream my name. Understood?” His eyes are dark. Stormy. But his hands—oh, his hands are magic. With one hand on my hip, guiding me inexorably closer to orgasm, his other hand tugs my top and bra down. He palms my breast, burying his head in the crook of my shoulder. My nipple is hard against his palm and I gasp when he tweaks it between his thumb and forefinger, heat flooding every sense. “Leif,” I gasp, the tight knot in the pit of my stomach growing tighter, hotter, more insistent. He growls in response, pinning me harder against the wall. Moving both hands to my hips, he rocks me against his leg, pulling his head back to watch me through heavy- lidded eyes. I should resist this—right? He marched into my life like he owned it, and now he’s acting like he owns me. But oh, it feels good. My orgasm rushes toward me as my core grinds against the hard plane of his leg, the friction of lace and the seam of my jeans hitting exactly where I need it. I can’t think about anything exc ept how good it feels to be surrounded by his heat and his scent and the feel of his body pressed up against mine. And it feels dirty, somehow, to be fully clothed and feel like I’m having sex. To have Leif’s eyes on me, knowing exactly how close I am to orgasm. “Come for me, Layla,” he orders, and I do. My orgasm rips through me like a bolt of lightning, arching my back as my hips rock faster, my body searching for every last bit of pleasure. I fly apart in his arms, fully clothed, pinned against the wall with nothing but his thigh shoved between my legs.
Through the bright intensity of my pleasure, I realize I’m chanting his name, and he’s making a harsh, approving sound that makes another thrill of pleasure gush through me. “Good,” he says, his tone almost businesslike. He extracts his thigh from between my legs and my feet hit the ground again—because apparently at some point, he hiked me up so high on his leg that I wasn’t even touching the floor. I collapse against him and his arms come around me softly, almost tenderly. Bending over, Leif swe eps me into his arms, and it’s all I can do to rest my head against his shoulder. He walks across the apartment, and the sound of his shoes against the floor makes me realize that Leif is still fully dressed. He hasn’t even removed his jacket. He places me down on the bed and I watch him through heavy eyelids as he peels off his jacket and lays it down across my chair. There’s no hurry in his movements. As he unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, he glances sideways at me and clicks his tongue. “Don’t think I’ll let you fall asle ep on me tonight, Layla. I’m not done with you.” With his cuffs undone, Leif pulls the bottom of his shirt out of his pants. Instead of unbuttoning it all, he just undoes the top two buttons and pulls the whole thing over his head, shaking the shirt out and laying it on the back of my chair. It’s a bid to maintain control, I realize. It’s like the slow walk into the restaurant or the deliberate way he removed his gloves. He moves slowly because if he lets himself go as fast as he wants to, he’ll snap. The realization makes a hot, heavy awareness knot in my stomach. My breasts feel heavier and my nipples peak beneath my bra. Leif is very, very close to losing control. I watch the muscles in his chest and shoulders bunch as he moves, and I know I’m at no risk of falling asle ep now. My body is coming to attention again, breath catching at the sight of all that beautiful male flesh on display. Crawling up the bed to sit up for a better look, I yelp when Leif grabs my ankles and pulls me back down. “Don’t move,” he rasps, watching me, his thumbs sliding under the hem of my jeans to touch the soft, sensitive skin behind my ankle bone. It sends a jolt of pleasure traveling up my leg. “Hurry up, then,” I say, curling an arm behind my head. My other hand moves to the button of my jeans, and Leif’s eyes follow the movement like a predator watching its prey. Just because I’m feeling dangerous, I circle the edge of the button with my fingertip—then pop it open. Leif’s hands are on me in an instant, unzipping the jeans and tugging them off my hips. He tosses them unceremoniously aside, that precious control disintegrated. His hands slide up my legs to the edge of my bodysuit, and a line appears between his brows. He traces the edge of the bodysuit over my hips and down between my legs, the touch making me shiver. Because I’m done pretending I’m not as desperate for this as he is, I spread my knees wide. “It’s a bodysuit. There are snaps in the gusset area.” With one harsh movement of his hand, the snaps fly open. He covers the space between my legs with his palm as my breath catches, my greedy hips once again rocking against the touch.
But Leif moves his hand away, tracing the edge of the panties I wore under my bodysuit. A thong, which I wore in a bid to avoid double panty lines. “You wear such tiny panties,” he says, fingertip sliding under the elastic of my thong to snap it against my hip. I gasp at the small hurt, pleasure quick on its heels. “You wore this for him.” “I wore it for me, you thickheaded jerk.” With one curled finger, Leif runs a knuckle along my seam. I close my eyes and gasp, wondering if this teasing and waiting is better or worse than the mindless lust I felt when he had me pinned up against the wall. Yes, this man is trouble. He’s reeling me in, making sure I’ll never forget what it’s like to be in bed with him— because no other man has ever turned me on this much. His knuckle moves over and back along the gusset of my panties, circling my clit before moving back down. It’s not enough and I whimper, but Leif doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. He continues to make those maddening strokes, slow and steady, over and over again. “Leif,” I beg, hips jerking as he oh-so-gently touches my clit over my panties. It’s not enough. It’s too much. “Tell me what you want.” “You,” I gasp. “I want you.” He meets my gaze, a slow smile spreading over his lips. Then his hands are scooping under my waist to flip me over before tugging me up to my hands and knees. He uses one strong hand to push my chest back down to the bed, the other hand pulling my thong down to mid-thigh. Then his hand is right where I want it, stroking through the wetness of my arousal up to the sensitive bud at the apex of my thighs. He kneels behind me, his belt buckle cold against my ass, one hand holding me down while the other wreaks havoc in the space between my legs. He slides a finger inside me and I want more. Mindless, I tell him exactly that, so he gives me another finger, stroking me until I’m at a fever pitch. I’m grunting, groaning, moaning, gripping the sheets as my hips search for more, Leif giving me rough words of encouragement. It’s shameless. Wanton. Completely lewd, and I love every minute of it. I come harder than the first time, crying out his name in a breathless chant as my body clenches around his fingers, wanting something bigger. When he pulls his fingers out and lets them drag up to tease my rear, I arch into the touch. He groans, sliding his fingers over and back along the puckered entrance. No one has ever touched me so intimately, so brazenly. Everything is turning me on. My body is out of my control and my brain has left the building. Vaguely, through the haze of my lust, I hear the sound of a belt buckle, followed by a zipper. “I need you, Layla,” Leif says, his voice harsher than I’ve ever heard it. “I need you, please.” “Me too,” I gasp. I move my hips toward him and try to spread my knees, but my panties won’t let me get any wider. My brain is a haze, a great muddle of lust and hormones and desires. There’s something I’m forgetting. Something important. Leif’s cock slides against my wetness and I let out a moan. I want him inside me now. My hips rock against him and he lets out a harsh groan, then swears. His wallet hits the bedside table a moment later.
“I don’t have a condom.” The words are guttural. Condom. Right. That was the important thing. Okay, no condom. I try to think it through. I don’t have any, because I haven’t had sex in ages and it’s not like I bring anybody home to the apartment I share with my little sister. I blink, fingers twisting into the sheets as my body ke eps moving over and back, his cock stroking up and down my slit. It feels so good, but not good enough. My brain is mush. All I know is I want him inside me like I’ve never wanted anything before. “Um,” I say, mindless with pleasure, his cock rocking against my clit in a way that makes me lose the ability to speak. “Uh...” “I’ll pull out,” Leif says, his breath harsh as his hands tighten on my hips, his cock speeding up to a maddening rhythm between my legs. “Okay? I’m clean.” I should protest and stop this, because I’m responsible. I know where babies come from. But the velvet-covered steel of his cock is sliding through my arousal and I haven’t had sex in ages and he made me come so hard, twice, and how good is it going to feel to be filled up with him? I’ve never felt so safe and loved and cherished and turned on, and don’t I deserve a bit of pleasure in this drudgery I call a life? “Layla?” He pulls back, his cock moving away from me. Between one moment and the next, I can no longer feel his zipper against my skin. I can’t feel his thighs against mine, I can’t feel his cock against my swollen lips. His hands start sliding off my hips, and I can’t help the sob that es capes my lips. “Come back,” I cry. “I want you inside me. Please. Now.” “Fuck,” Leif groans, hands tightening on my hips again —and then he thrusts inside me. His cock splits me in half as he buries himself to the hilt. We both freeze, in surprise or pleasure or both. “Oh,” I breathe, a mix of wonder and shock. I’d forgotten how good it felt—but I don’t think it’s ever felt this good. And then he starts moving. Hard, sharp thrusts that make me bounce against him, letting out little gasps with each penetration. He grunts with every thrust, as if the two of us are so far beyond words we turn into something feral, something animal. His hand slides up my spine to grip my shoulder and he uses the leverage to thrust de eper, harder. It’s intense and fast and it feels so fucking good I can’t do anything but grip the sheets and hang on. I realize I’m screaming when drool drops from my mouth to my hand, but I can’t wipe it away because I’m flying up to the stratosphere. It’s more intense than anything I’ve ever felt. Heat explodes in my body as I convulse, unable to breathe, to think, to do anything but ride out the pleasure that lashes my body. Leif’s hand tightens on my shoulder, his grunts turning rougher as he grinds out my name—and then I cry out in disappointment and surprise as he pulls out of me a moment before his seed lashes across my behind, my core, the backs of my thighs. Then I collapse, dazed, stunned, with the sinking realization I’ll never, ever recover from this.