by Donna Hill
He took her mouth then, possessed it, capturing and savoring its sweetness. His teeth grazed her bottom lip before he slipped his tongue inside her mouth.
Layla moaned. The icy front that she tried to put up melted away and the mix of his heat and her liquid desire steamed the room.
She arched her neck to give him full access and clasped the back of his head to hold him in place.
“That. Is. Not. A. Reason,” she said, hot and breathless.
Slowly Maurice raised his head from the tender cord of her neck. He looked into her eyes. The corner of his sweet mouth lifted ever so slightly. His dark eyes sparkled.
“All right. I’ll tell you.” He took a step back and kept his eyes locked on her. “I didn’t have any protection.”
Layla blinked in disbelief. She lightly flung her head back and forth then focused on Maurice. “You’re serious? You wanted to stay and make love to me, but you didn’t because you didn’t have protection?”
He nodded slowly.
She pushed out a breath and shrugged out of her robe. It dropped to the floor. “What about now?”
Maurice ran his tongue across his bottom lip. A dangerous smile reached his eyes. He stuck his hand into his pocket, pulled out two small packets and held them up in front of her.
A slow seductive smile moved across Layla’s mouth. “I think you’re going to need more than two, Mr. Lawson.”
They tumbled into Layla’s bedroom in a tangle of arms and legs and mouths, and fell onto the bed amidst sighs, groans and wet kisses.
Layla grabbed the hem of Maurice’s white T-shirt and tugged it over his head. His mouth and tongue were everywhere, stoking her heated skin. With one pull, the drawstring in the waistband of his gray sweatpants was loose and access to the treasure that she sought was fingertips away. Her hungry hand wrapped around him and the sound from the recesses of his throat was the low growl of a tiger. She vibrated with it like a guitar string that had been plucked.
Maurice flipped their side-by-side positions and pinned Layla beneath him. He cupped her face in his hands. Her lashes fluttered. He braced his weight on his arms.
“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he whispered. “So, I hope your clients don’t mind if you’re a little late for work.”
Slowly he lowered his head and kissed her with such tenderness that her insides sang. She linked her fingers behind his head and pulled him deeper into the kiss, taking his tongue into her mouth, savoring his taste, doing a slow dance.
Maurice’s hands and mouth moved in harmony along her body, igniting every inch until she was a bed of sensation.
“You’re overdressed for the occasion,” she managed.
Maurice grinned. He raised up and pulled off his sweatpants and boxers. “Better?”
Layla rose up on her knees and scooted closer. “Very,” she purred, running her short nails across his broad, bare chest then slowly downward toward the thin trail of silky hair that led to a world of ecstasy.
She encircled his erection in her hand, stunned again by the satin feel of him wrapped around rock hard power. Maurice groaned deep in his throat as she began to stroke him up and down, intermittently giving a little squeeze. She leaned forward while continuing to stroke him and flicked her tongue across his nipple then nipped it ever so lightly. His erection pulsed in response. She did it again and again, and the pulse grew more intense until it beat like a heart. Maurice sucked in air from between clenched teeth. He gripped her wrist.
“Enough,” he ground out and pushed her onto her back before she could blink. He knelt between her parted thighs then ran his hands slowly up her legs, behind her knees and down the inside of her thighs.
Her stomach fluttered and her breathing rapidly escalated. His fingers grazed the eager lips of her sex and her hips rose in response. He cupped her with his large hand and ran the pad of his thumb across her awakened clit, teasing and taunting it out of its protective sheath.
Layla gasped in pleasure. She bent her knees to give herself more leverage and pressed against his palm wanting more, and he gave it to her in maddeningly slow increments until she was wild and whimpering, held captive on the precipice of release.
Layla’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of something ripping. Maurice had the condom packet between his teeth. He pulled the condom out and tossed the packet on the floor. She followed his every move while he erotically put on a condom.
He placed the thin rubber on the moist tip and rolled it down his considerable length. She reached for him the instant he was done.
“No.” He shook his head slowly as he clasped her hands, linking his fingers between hers then coming slowly forward until he was inches above her and her arms were stretched and pinned over her head.
“Spread your legs, and bend your knees,” he said, his tone hard and soft at once. “More,” he hissed until her feet nearly reached either edge of the bed. He pressed the pulsing head of his erection against her wet opening. She lifted her hips in response and he pulled away.
“Don’t move.” He pressed down again, pushing in a little further this time, just beyond her opening.
“Ohhh…”
“Ssssh.” He pulled out.
Her limbs trembled.
Maurice eased in again…and out…and deeper…deeper…almost all the way…
Layla cried out and he pulled out. Her eyes flew open and she saw the wicked light of lust and something else in his dark eyes, and she realized that he could easily torment her like this for as long as he chose and the only way to find relief was to follow his commands. She was trapped in a vortex of sensation. The sounds that she couldn’t make aloud played a maddening symphony in her head. Her body that instinctively needed to respond to what he was doing to her was held motionless, which only elevated the torrent of sensations that ripped through her, rising and falling and rising until she was sure she would burst.
Maurice pushed halfway inside of her and slowly rotated his hips. She bit down on her lip to keep from screaming, just as his mouth came down and captured a hard nipple that was thrust up at him. He sucked ever so gently while he wound his hips in a slow circle. Her fingertips dug into his hands. Tears hung in the corners of her eyes.
“I want you,” he murmured between the heavy pillows of her breasts. “So bad…” His voice sounded choked.
She needed to touch him, but he had her hands pinned. She needed to give herself to him, but he would deny her satisfaction if she moved. It was an incomprehensible turn-on that aroused and scared her.
“I want you,” he ground out again and thrust hard and deep all the way inside her, forcing the air out of her lungs. He plunged into her again and stars exploded behind her lids. Again and again. “I want you,” he kept repeating over and over with each thrust and circle of his hips.
Her entire body shook.
“Put your legs around my back,” he commanded.
She was nearly limp with need and barely able to lift her legs up to wrap them around his back. She locked her heels, binding him to her and the sensation of him pressed so hard against her swollen clitoris forced a strangled cry from her throat.
But this time he didn’t pull away and her hungry hot, wet tunnel eagerly wrapped around him and her mind-altering orgasm began at the tips of her fingers. It moved down her outstretched arms, across her taut breasts, then up from the soles of her feet, the back muscles of her calves, the softness of her inner thighs and settled deep in her womb, then like a bomb erupted in white hot light and took everything with it. And Maurice poured the essence of his hopes, fears, and happiness deep within her.
Chapter 16
By degrees their breathing returned to somewhat normal. Layla lay spooned with Maurice, her back to his front, still trying to come to grips with the awesomeness of the experience. Even as a former journal
ist she was without words. There was nothing worthy of describing what he had done and how he had made her feel. A delicious shiver rippled up her spine.
Maurice drew her closer and kissed the top of her head. He managed to grab the edge of the sheet and cover her and then returned his hand possessively between her legs. His other arm was wrapped around her, his palm splayed across her left breast where he intermittently gave a tender squeeze or brushed his thumb across her sensitive nipple that shot electricity straight to her center.
“How much time do you have?” he whispered into her ear.
She felt his erection press and grow against her. She moaned softly. “Not long.”
“I promise I won’t be long then.”
As if she weighed no more than a loaf of bread, he turned her onto her belly and rose up on his knees to roll on the last condom.
Maurice slid his arm under her stomach and pulled her up so that her luscious behind was high in the air and her wet opening an easy mark.
He rained hot kisses along her spine and taunted her wet cat with his fingers until she literally purred while she gyrated her hips in a sexy tease. His muscled arm tightened around her waist holding her immobile and in one swift motion he thrust into her, pushing a cry of agony and ecstasy from her lips.
He held her firmly in his grasp as he plunged in and out of her, gritting his teeth as the sensations built, filling him, stiffening him until he felt as if he would snap if relief didn’t come soon. Faster, deeper, harder he moved, seeking the hidden treasure buried within her.
Layla’s moans grew in intensity. Desperately she wanted to move against him so that he could hit that spot, and as if he read her mind and body, he loosened his hold. Freed, she lifted her rear higher. Maurice let out a low groan. His thighs shook. She felt like a missile was moving in and out of her. Her orgasm was building. She felt it everywhere. Her temples pounded. The sounds of Maurice’s ragged groans fueled her. She wound her hips hard and fast and banged against him. Their worlds converged and exploded.
Layla’s legs were so weak, she could barely walk Maurice to the door. Her insides still fluttered and her cat kept winking, making it hard to concentrate. Talk about aftershock.
“Guess I owe you lunch since we missed breakfast,” he said.
She looked up at him standing in her doorway. His dark eyes had a lazy, satisfied expression.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
He leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips and then tenderly stroked her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered. He turned from her and walked away, his limp barely noticeable.
It took a moment for Layla to snap out of her daze and close the door. Slowly she turned away, forced herself to think about what she needed to do. It was nearly ten and her first client was scheduled for ten-thirty. What she really wanted to do was crawl back in bed, sink into her pillow, inhale Maurice’s scent on her sheets then curl around the memories of her mind-blowing morning. She blew out a breath of amazement, padded back to her bedroom to get dressed while every sinew in her body hummed a little tune.
* * *
Maurice reclined on a lounge chair on his back porch, sipped some orange juice and enjoyed the view of the ocean. A soft smile rested peacefully on his expression. He felt good, really felt good. Humph, how long at it been since he’d been able to even imagine feeling good again?
For more than a decade his every action had been dictated by anger and hurt. His emotions were fueled by wanting others to feel the pain and the loss that he did when his father’d died. So, he’d joined the Navy in the hopes of traveling so far away from the things that were familiar that he would eventually forget them. But he didn’t. So, he turned his anger and feelings of loss into training for the SEALs, rising up the ranks to lead a team of fearless men who were willing to risk anything for the mission.
It was enough for a while. Most days he was too busy to think, and at night too tired to dream—until that last mission. And it all came back, tenfold. But now he was unable to ever resume his place with the SEALs, the only outlet that had been the balm for his soul, had resuscitated and escalated the emotions that he’d kept at bay. Then he’d met Layla.
His cell phone vibrated and shimmied across the glass table. He reached for it and half smiled when he saw the caller ID.
“Hey, Doc.”
* * *
It took all Layla had to stay focused on her work. Every time she rubbed oil on her hands and placed them on waiting skin and tight muscles, her thoughts flew to Maurice and what he felt like beneath her fingertips. She could hear the sounds that he made as the heat and healing vibes from her transferred to him; the way his muscles tightened and eased. But OMG, what that man could do to her body…
“Finished?” her client murmured.
Layla blinked. Damn. She had totally zoned out. “Just a few more minutes.” She drew in a shaky breath and put her all into finishing up.
Layla closed and locked the door behind her last customer. It was nearly two and her next client wasn’t scheduled until three. She rolled her neck to loosen her stiff shoulders. Maurice said he owed her lunch. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation. But he didn’t say where. Did he plan to stop by the spa or did he expect her to come by his place? Or did he even mean today?
She went about reorganizing the space and replacing towels and colleting used items for the laundry pick up. By the time she was done nearly an hour had passed and still no sign of Maurice.
Fine. He apparently didn’t mean today. She took a quick look around. Everything was in order. She got her purse from the desk drawer, locked up and headed over to the café to get something to eat.
Layla walked along the path leading to the main building and vaguely noticed two people standing near the slope leading to the beach. At first she thought nothing of it. But her chest tightened when she stopped and looked closer. It was Maurice and Kim Fleming. She had a grip on Maurice’s arm and it was clear they were in a heated discussion. Then suddenly Kim spun away and ran in the direction of the beach. Maurice watched her go.
Layla’s heart pounded. What was that about? She watched Maurice from her vantage point. He stood there, lowered his head a moment and then turned and walked away.
Chapter 17
He knew who she was the moment he’d set eyes on her that day in the spa. Jason Fleming’s wife. He leaned his head back against the cushions of the couch and closed his eyes. His jaw tightened as images of Jason lying in that heap of rubble and hot twisted metal flashed in front of him. He should have left The Port then before she had a chance to put it together, but he’d stayed because of Layla.
When Kim confronted him on the slope he so wanted to tell her about that night, about what happened. But he was bound by secrecy, even now. So he’d lied. He told her that she was mistaken even as she insisted that she knew it was him from the photo of the team that her husband had once sent to her. She’d thought that her recollection was limited to his connection to Rafe. But then she’d put it all together. Jason had served with a Maurice Lawson. She’d looked through her cell phone at the photos that Jason had uploaded and although it wasn’t crystal clear, she knew that it was Maurice.
“Were you with him on that mission?” she’d wanted to know. “Did he say anything? What happened that night?”
And like Judas, he’d denied everything, even after she begged him for the truth, a truth that haunted his every hour.
* * *
Desiree found Layla seated in a corner at the outdoor café.
“Hey, done for the day?”
Layla barely glanced up. She lifted her glass of iced tea and put it back down.
Desiree sat. “What’s wrong?” She studied Layla’s tight expression. Finally, Layla looked up.
“I saw something today.”
Desiree frowned. “Some
thing? Something like what?”
Layla pushed out a breath and told Desiree what she’d witnessed on the slope.
“It could have been anything,” Desiree said, not too convincingly.
Layla’s brow rose. “Anything like what?”
“Ask him, La. If it bothers you that much.” She reached across the table and covered Layla’s hand with her own. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe she was trying to make a play for him. Anyway, even if it was something, it’s a moot point.”
“Why is that?”
“She checked out about a half hour ago, anyway.”
“Checked out? Was it sudden or…”
“Today was her last day. Nothing mysterious.” She offered up a smile.
Layla looked away. “I wonder if he’ll say anything to me about it,” she murmured, half to herself.
“Sometimes, you have to pick your battles, La.”
“There were signs with Brent,” she quietly admitted.
Desiree flinched.
“I didn’t want to see what was going on.”
“Layla, what do you mean, what signs? We were all under the impression that it was sudden.”
She slowly shook her head. She wrapped her fingers around her glass. “I didn’t want to say anything to you and Mel.”
“Why, sis?”
Layla glanced up from beneath her long lashes. “You and Mel had it all together; great lives, wonderful men, flourishing businesses, successful marriages. And my life was coming apart at the seams, one stitch at a time.” She sputtered a derisive laugh.
“We’re your friends, Layla. You could have told us what was going on.” She squeezed Layla’s hand.
