“But I don’t want to feel that way, not anymore.” I walk over to her and sit down on the bed next to her. My sister, this woman I love and need in my life. I take her hand and our fingers intertwine.
I’m struck by a vivid memory of us, hand in hand, skipping along in our white dresses, our hair shiny in the sun. “I want us to be close again, but I don’t know how.”
Her eyes turn bright and she nods. “Me too. I miss my sister.”
“I miss you too.” I swallow, my chest heavy with the emotions that have been weighing me down. “I’m not sure I can go back to the person I was before.”
Her fingers squeeze mine. “You don’t have to, I just want you to talk to me again.”
“It’s been hard, April. So hard.”
“I know.”
I glance at the bedroom door that leads down the stairs to the man that’s been my salvation. “But, Michael, he’s helping me.”
“Then I will love him forever.”
I will too, just as completely, and devotedly as I loved John. It turns out my heart is big enough for the two of them. I look at April and there are tears in her eyes that match my own. I croak out, “Do you want to do lunch next week?”
She laughs. “I’d love to.”
And, just like that, we’re sisters again.
Michael is on call and I’m going to a hot new club with Ruby to dance the night away. I haven’t gone dancing in forever and when she asked me, I jumped at the chance. More than ready to experience life again.
I could have gotten ready at my house, but I didn’t because it would be time away from Michael. And I like it, the comfort of getting ready while he lounges on the couch with Belle’s head on his thigh. Neither one of us says it, but we are practically living together. My clothes are draped over the chair in Michael’s bedroom, my toiletries are in the bathroom. It’s the future I’m not quite ready to discuss, but that I roll around in like a glutton.
I slip on my black sky-high heels, smooth my hands over my new electric-blue dress, and appraise the results in the mirror.
I look good. Like, really good. I practically glow with good health.
Gone are the haunted shadows under my eyes, the pasty skin, and the hollowed-out jut of my bones. The silky fabric of the dress flows over my body, stopping at an indecent length at my thighs. The top scoops down low, revealing the swell of cleavage, and the thin spaghetti straps crisscross over my bare back.
It’s like wearing sex.
While my body has come alive, it’s my face that holds my attention. My eyes are bright, my lips a glossy pink, my hair a wild mess of waves down my back. And she’s there, staring back at me, the girl I used to be. The one I’d been so sure I’d never see again. She’s more a woman now, but she’s there, a part of me. Like the wounded, scarred girl that mourns the loss of her beloved will always be a part of me. Only, I’ve learned they don’t have to be mutually exclusive.
I pick up my purse, straightening my dress one last time before making my way out into the living room. Michael is lying on the couch, just as I’d left him, reading a book. At the click of my heels on the hardwood, he raises his head, and I come to a stop at the foot of the couch.
He gives me a long, slow once-over before lifting one brow.
I know, for a fact, I’m rocking this dress, and I’m ready to own it. I put a hand on my hip and give him a cocky smirk. “What do you think?”
His eyes darken as he closes the book and puts it on the table. “I think you’re lucky I’m not a jealous man.”
“Not even a little?” I hold my finger and thumb an inch apart, full of sass.
He crooks a finger.
My blood heats. No matter how many times we have sex my desire for him is like a live, needy thing. I smooth my hands over the silky fabric and frown. “You’re not going to ruin me, are you?”
He chuckles. “Like you wouldn’t be disappointed if I let you walk out of here untouched. Who do you think you’re dealing with?”
I know exactly whom I’m dealing with.
He’s right, of course. If he lets me walk out looking like this without a word, I’d be supremely disappointed. Not like I’m going to admit it. “I spent a lot of time getting ready.”
“I can tell.” His gaze hot as he looks over my body.
“So I don’t want you to ruin me.” I sweep a hand down my frame. “’Cause this took a lot of work.”
He sits up, leaning his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers in front of him. That stern, evil expression that makes me crazy, settles into his features. “I suggest you don’t make me get up.”
I gulp and my nipples bead into hard, almost painful points. Even though I’m going to end up right where he wants me, I have to make a big show of it. I sigh, and huff before rolling my eyes. “Are you sure you’re not jealous? Because this sounds jealous.”
“You’re already going to be sorry, Layla, I suggest you don’t make it any worse.” His voice reaches inside me like a vise, pulling me close. The line of his jaw tightens. “I’m not telling you again.”
He’s different from John this way. John would have come got me, thrown me over his shoulder and had his way with me. We would have laughed, and play fought, until things turned serious and he got down to business.
But Michael isn’t like that. Every day he finds ways to remind me that this, and him, are a choice I’m making. He always makes me take the steps that lead to him so I never forget the power he holds over me.
It makes me stubborn, but not stupid.
I walk to him.
His big hands curl around my knees, and he strokes over the soft, sensitive skin there. “You look like a girl that needs to be fucked, and I always give you what you need, don’t I?”
Throat dry, my pulse kicks into over drive. “Yes.”
His palms skim up my legs, over the swells of my thighs, before his fingers wiggle under the edge of my panties. My breath catches in mid intake and hangs there, suspended.
Those hazel eyes roam all over me as he squeezes the curve of my ass. “Let’s get rid of these.”
My panties slide down my legs.
He taps my thighs. “Open.”
I do as I’m told but he’s not satisfied. “Farther.”
I splay my legs farther apart, so far it’s uncomfortable, but it doesn’t stop my nipples from beading or the welling desire.
He runs his knuckles over my inner thighs before brushing my soft, moist flesh.
A tiny moan escapes my throat.
He cocks a brow. “Already wet, I see, why am I not surprised?”
“Because I’m always wet for you?”
“You are.” He shifts the hem of my dress until it gathers at my waist, leaving me bare. “I think it’s only appropriate you have a proper reminder of who you belong to before you go, don’t you?”
Pulse hammering away in my throat, I nod.
“And why’s that?” He slides a finger inside me while his thumb makes slow maddening circles around my clit.
I lick my lips, tasting the gloss there. “So I can think of you all night.”
“And?”
He rarely lets me go with my first answer.
I gulp. “So I can be marked by you.”
“How?” He pumps in and out, apparently in no rush.
I know what I want. What I crave from him, but it’s still hard to say the words. To ask. My mind searches for a way out, but with the cool air brushing my ass, my need only builds. I break, unable to help myself; the words tumble from my lips. “A spanking?”
His lips curve into an evil smile. “You want the brand of my palm on your ass all night while you make men sweat, is that it?”
“Yes, please.” My voice is hoarse and whispery with lust.
“How are you going to earn it?”
“What do you want?” Michael makes me work for everything. But the truth is, secretly I love it. It’s a challenge.
And I’ve discovered I need challenge in my life
.
“Make me an offer.” His thick voice is the only evidence of my effect on him.
Well, that, and the hard bulge in his jeans. “I could suck your cock.”
“You are good at that.” He tilts his head to the side, as though considering. “But that seems a little easy.”
In sheer frustration, I growl. He just laughs and shakes his head.
“I could beg.” Another offer that’s hard for me, I like to cajole, but that doesn’t work on him. The bastard.
He pulls away and I immediately miss the heat of his big palm. He reaches up and slips the straps of my dress down my shoulders until the fabric dips below my breasts. He rolls my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, gradually increasing the pressure until pain pricks and I let out a gasp.
“That’s a good sound,” he murmurs, before nodding. “On your knees.”
I drop like a stone.
“Good girl.” He unbuttons his jeans, slowly unzipping before pulling down his boxer briefs.
My mouth practically waters at the sight of him, and I lean forward.
He shakes his head. “Tell me how you feel, Layla.”
I’m greedy and hungry and needy. I want my ass smacked, his cock at the back of my throat, and then to be fucked so I can feel it for days. But all those thoughts clog in my throat and I blink up at him. “What do you mean?”
“How do you feel?” he repeats.
“Like I want you. Like I’ll do anything.”
He curls his strong fingers around his shaft, and slowly strokes up and down as I watch, hypnotized. “Good. Keep begging, girl.”
I lean forward, ready to take him in my mouth, but fast as lightening, he reaches around and jerks me back by the hair. “I said beg.”
“Please let me suck your cock?”
“And then what?” His lids hood and that mean expression fills his face.
I’m so wet it trickles down my thighs. “Then please spank me and fuck me.”
“Why?”
“To remind me that I’m yours.”
“Good girl.” His voice is tinged with dark, hungry lust. He releases his hold on his cock and still gripping my hair, tugs me forward. “I’m going to fuck your throat. You just sit there and take it. Understand?”
I nod, so eager my mouth opens. I can’t explain it, the why, but I love being treated this way. I need it. Need him.
He guides my head and fills my mouth, holding me still so I can’t move. He lifts his hips, pushing in deeper until I’m stretched full. And then he begins.
In and out.
Over and over again.
Until my mind empties and my only base desire is to please him.
It’s messy. I gag. Struggle. Dig my nails into my thighs to keep from reaching for him.
At last, he pulls out. When he speaks his words are edged with the same dark need that drives me. Opposite sides of the same coin. He tugs my hair. “Over my knee.”
I scramble from the floor and fall helpless over his lap. He shifts my hips until my legs splay open over his thigh, and I rub against his jeans. In a sudden frenzy, I groan. I grind my clit against him and he strikes me hard. Delicious, fiery pain explodes over my skin.
“Stop.” With that one word I freeze.
He does nothing, just allows my desperation to fill the air between us, mixing with his iron will. The room practically crackles with the tension.
His palm presses against my back. “Stay still.”
I bite my lip. It’s so damn hard. I’m so needy and the denim against my sensitive, aroused skin is so tempting.
He slaps me and I jerk.
He rubs my ass, and then slaps me again.
Each time he does, my clit presses against his thigh, and it’s electric. The pain mixes with the pleasure and transforms it into something right and perfect. I close my eyes and give in.
Surrender until I’m nothing but need.
Everything falls away but the sounds of his palm striking my flesh, our heavy breaths, my pounding heart.
And I can feel it, the orgasm building inside me. Waiting to explode.
Just as I’m about to go over he stops. There’s no fight left in me, no sass, or stubbornness. I am his to do with as he pleases.
He moves, and pushes me to the floor, jerking my hips up, he positions his cock to enter me. In a gruff, rasp, he asks, “Who do you belong to?”
My answer is automatic. “You, Michael.”
And then I am claimed, and he’s pounding into me. A rough, angry rhythm that has me screaming and moaning his name. His fingers dig into my ass, setting off a new, different pain.
It pushes me over the edge. My release shakes my entire body as waves of pleasure crash through me, blinding in its force and power.
He’s right behind me. On a feral growl, he comes, pushing deeper and deeper until I can no longer tell where he ends and I begin.
Panting for breath, I collapse in a heap on the floor, my muscles still quivering.
A soft kiss brushes my shoulder, and then my neck as he murmurs against my skin, “I’ve ruined you.”
A soft laugh bubbles from my lips. “You have. Forever.”
He moves, and rolls me over, and I lay sprawled obscene on the floor. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
I blink at him, taking in his gorgeous face, and I can’t help reaching for him. I trail my finger over his jaw and suddenly, from out of nowhere, I can no longer hide my feelings from him. Can no longer deny him what is rightfully his. When the words come, they are a whisper, “I love you, Michael.”
His expression softens, and he kisses me. A deep, soul-changing kiss that promises everything I never thought I’d have again.
He lifts his head and whispers back, “I love you too. I’ve been waiting.”
“I know,” my voice soft. “Thank you.”
“I want it all with you, Layla.”
“Me too.” There is no more pretending, no more walls between us.
I am finally home.
The music pulses through me and I’m happy. Really happy. I feel safe. Alive.
And I’m in love.
Ruby and I dance to the blaring beat of techno music in the packed club and I let it all go. My muscles ache from the exertion but I’m having too much fun to stop.
That sassy, flirty Layla is back and I let loose on the dance floor.
Ruby shakes her hips with abandon, and she looks like a rogue pixie princess in a short, black dress. She waves a hand over her sweaty face and screams over the crowd and music. “You ready for a break?”
No. Never. But I nod and we make our way through the dance floor. The night is young and I have all the time in the world.
As we weave through the crowd, I can feel the eyes on me, the slow perusal of my body. Maybe, if I was another type of girl, I’d be demure about the looks I’m getting, but I’m not, and never will be, so I smile and let my hips sway.
A man grabs my wrist, and I meet his heavy gaze. His eyes flick over me. “You want to dance?”
Laughing, I pull Ruby close, letting my arm drape over her shoulders. “Sorry, I’m taken.”
Ruby giggles and we flit away, finding a quiet place in the corner to catch our breaths. She shakes her head. “You’re the worst.”
I wave, and take a sip of my drink. “It’s easier than explaining I have a boyfriend.”
For a moment I pause, realizing how easily the word boyfriend slips over my tongue.
Ruby points at me, waving her finger up and down. “Speaking of your boyfriend, I’m surprised he let you out of the house in that dress.”
I laugh, after our hard, furious fucking, he’d put me back together again. Taking his time to lick and suck my nipples, squeeze my ass, and generally make me crazy all over again. His last act before he sent me on my way was to pull up my panties, and grind the heel of his hand over my clit wearing that dangerous expression as he growled, “Consider yourself properly marked.”
I wink at Ruby. “He
thought I looked nice.”
She looks me up and down. “Nice?”
I shrug.
She rolls her eyes. “Come on! I want to know!”
As our friendship has strengthened, Ruby has taken quite the interest in my relationship and as a result become more and more bold in her questions.
I smirk. “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” Her eyes are excited, and she leans forward, expectantly.
I blow out a breath. “Well, if you must know, he said, I needed to be marked. So he spanked me until my ass burned, took me on the floor, and sent me out with come dripping down my legs.”
Ruby’s mouth falls open and she blinks in rapid succession. “Wow.”
“I can assure you it was very wow.”
“Can you still feel it?”
“Oh, yes.” And it’s delicious torture, the constant reminder of him branded on my skin.
“Laylay, that is kind of hot.”
I laugh, as my phone buzzes in my small purse. “It was hot.”
I reach to grab it, and look down to see a text from a number I don’t recognize. I frown and flip open the lock screen on my phone. Layla, this is Jillian, Michael’s sister. Can you call me?
The icy dread, so familiar, rushes through me, and I can feel my skin pale. Panic makes my heartbeat pick up and I gulp it down. There are other reasons she could be calling me. It doesn’t mean anything happened. The reassurances don’t work though.
My gaze flies to Ruby. “It’s Michael’s sister, she wants me to call.”
Ruby blinks, her heavily mascaraed lashes fluttering. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
But she looks as uncertain as I feel. I point to the door. “I’ve got to call.”
She nods. “I’ll come with you.”
We make our way to the door, my stride no longer seductive, but purposeful. My pulse is hammering in my throat as my palms turn sweaty.
It will be okay. It has to be okay.
It’s nothing. It has to be nothing.
The second we step into the cool Chicago night, I press the call button. Emotions clog my throat as the phone rings and then Jillian picks up. “Layla.”
Her voice. I’ve heard that voice before; it’s burned into my brain and heart and follows me into my nightmares.
I can’t speak. If I don’t answer, maybe she’ll never say the words.
Crave Page 24
