by Eden Summers
“Matthew, please.” Her hands snatch at my wrists.
“Breathe.” I kiss her shoulder, the back of her neck. “Relax.”
We’re barely getting started. And to be fair, I warned her. I told her she wasn’t ready.
The rattle of the trolley continues down the hall, making her nails dig into my skin.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper. “You can trust me.”
The door is pushed wider by a kid barely in his twenties, his eyes bugging at the sight of us before quickly lowering to the tiled floor. “Umm. Where would you like your order, sir?”
Layla remains stiff against my chest, her fractured breathing brushing my ears.
“You can bring it over here.” I relax my legs around her and loosen my hold on her thighs, gently running my fingertips in circles a bare inch from her pussy.
She flinches, her spine snapping rigid.
I grin into her hair, loving her unease, as the trolley is wheeled closer.
“Here?” The kid stops a foot away from the tub, his gaze cautiously flicking from me to Layla then back to the floor.
“Yeah, that’s perfect.” I trail my touch closer to her heat, over the smooth softness of flesh leading to her pussy, as I murmur against Layla’s neck, “Would you like him to open the champagne?”
She moans and shakes her head. Fast. Fucking rigid.
It’s a chore not to laugh.
I kiss her shoulder and tilt my hips, nudging my cock against her ass. “You sure? It will only take a second.”
She remains quiet, her chest rising and falling in a rolling wave.
“Just open it.” I meet the guy’s gaze. “It’ll save me having to get out of the water.”
The kid nods and reaches for the bottle seated in a metal bucket, the slush of ice filling the energetic silence.
Layla’s breathing quickens, the rapid cadence shifting to a gasp when my touch skims her pussy lips.
Her virginal jitters are a drug. The tension. The sharp nails piercing my skin. I close my eyes and press my face into her hair, focusing on those breaths, letting them fuel me as I trail a teasing swipe right down the middle of her sex.
She shifts against my cock, and I could groan from the exquisite friction.
I could fucking come.
I’ve imagined this for weeks. Pictured every scenario. Daydreamed a bucket list of sordid ideas. But they didn’t live up to this. They weren’t even close.
The pop of the champagne startles us both, the bath bubbles slushing against the upper curve of her breasts.
“Matthew,” she whispers, her legs clenching.
“Mmm?” I inhale the floral scent of her shampoo. The sweetness. The purity.
She doesn’t respond, not with words, only fractured inhales as she remains statuesque, not portraying the depravity going on below the surface.
“Would you like the bottle down there?” the kid asks. “Glasses, too?”
I tease a fingertip around Layla’s opening, circling wider and wider. “What do you think, amore mio?” I edge deeper, gliding slowly inside her, that delicious pussy clamping down around me in an instant. “Do we need glasses?”
“No.” The response is nothing more than a rushed breath while she shakes her head. “Nothing. We don’t need anything.”
“It sounds like we’re all good here.” I jerk my head at our guest. “If you check the pockets of my pants on the floor you’ll find a tip.” I sink my digit all the way inside her, making her shudder as I smirk into her hair.
“Ahh… Sure thing.” He backtracks toward my clothes, chancing a glimpse at the beauty in my arms, before snapping his attention away. He rummages through my pants while I slowly twist my finger inside her. Teasing. Dragging out her pleasure.
Her fingers claw at me. Her core clenches. And those hips I love so much, they fucking jolt oh so slightly. Not once does she protest my advances. Her digging fingers are a pleading sign for more.
“Want me to get him to hang around?” I whisper in her ear.
She whimpers as the guy straightens from bending over to pull the clip of cash from my pants pocket, his attention returning to the bath.
“Excuse me, sir, how much would you like me to take?” He stares at Layla, his Adam’s apple bobbing with an arduous swallow.
He envies what I have. And so he should. The woman in my arms is beyond compare. Not only in appearance. In class, too. In seduction, and sensuality, and above all else, the trust she’s placed in me.
“That depends.” I slide another finger inside the most perfect pussy, and her body rolls in the subtlest of waves, her back arching, her chest stretching. “What’s the going price for discretion?”
His lips part, his skin turning a paler shade. “There is no price, sir. I would never—”
“Then take it all, my friend. Enjoy yourself.”
“All of it?” He gapes. “Are you sure?”
I slide another finger inside her. “Positive. I’m always happy to reward loyalty.”
The guy pauses a moment, watching as Layla’s head rests back against my shoulder, her teeth buried in her lower lip as she nuzzles shyly into my neck.
I slowly pulse my digits, enjoying how he watches her. How he wants her.
She needs to bear witness to that. To how she’s desired. Adored. This gorgeous woman may be confident in battle, but right here, gloriously naked and wanton, she seems far from empowered.
“Like what you see?” I ask.
The kid nods.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” I want him to say it. To tell her how perfect she is. How revered.
“She’s gorgeous,” he murmurs.
Layla moans, the sound seeming born from pained modesty and heightened pleasure while she hides her face deeper against my neck.
I need her to know she’s hungered for. Treasured.
“Matthew,” she whispers against my skin. “Please ask him to leave.”
My lungs restrict at her polite plea. The delicate cadence. The charm of her voice. “Of course. Anything for you.” I nuzzle her hair, working my thumb over her clit as I meet the guy’s gaze. “You can leave now.”
He blinks. Once. Twice. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He backtracks, stumbling to the hall, disappearing into the shadows, his footsteps retreating until the suite door squeaks closed in the distance.
“You okay?” I keep gliding my fingers inside her. Punishingly gradual. Torturing us both.
She doesn’t respond. Not in words. She keeps those claws embedded in my wrist, her pussy clenching with each new slide of penetration.
“He wanted you,” I utter against her ear. “Anyone who could see you like this would want you. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
She pants. Mewls. Scratches.
“You’re breathtaking, Layla.” I increase the pulse of my fingers. “So fucking breathtaking.”
“Don’t… stop.” Her core clenches, her nails breaking through skin to bring the most gratifying burst of pain. “Please.”
I plunge deeper inside her. Press harder against her clit. With my free hand, I grab a fistful of her hair, guiding her neck to the side so I can devour her throat.
“Matthew,” she wheezes.
I kiss.
Lick.
Suck.
“This is just the beginning, amore mio.” I feast on the flesh below her ear as she shudders in my arms. “Wait until I fuck you. Wait until my cock is buried so goddamn deep you can’t remember what life was like before I was inside you.”
Air leaves her lips on a rapid rush. Her pussy flutters around my fingers. She comes undone, grinding into my touch, one hand reaching behind my neck to tear at my hair.
She cries out in orgasm, riding me, fucking killing me in the best possible way as her back arches, her breasts breaching the surface to give me the perfect view of her ruby pebbled nipples.
She whimpers. Whispers my name.
Then finally, she collapses against my chest, the arm around my nec
k slithering back to her side.
I slide my digits from her core, but don’t stop touching her. I trail my fingertips around her pussy lips, straight up her center, and over her clit, the leisurely path lasting long minutes as she regains level breathing.
“I can’t believe that just happened.” She retracts her claws and slumps farther against me, sinking lower until the water is at her neck.
“Did you enjoy that little bit of fun?”
“Little bit of fun?” She glances over her shoulder, eyes wide. “I’ve never done anything like that before… In front of someone, I mean… It was…”
I’m about to grin at her purity when she turns back away, the faintest glimpse of shame flashing in her gaze before her face is no longer in view.
“Hey.” I grab her jaw in gentle fingers and guide her stricken expression to look at me again. “You didn’t enjoy yourself?”
“I did.” She swallows and licks her lips. “But I’m…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know who that woman was. All I know is it wasn’t me.”
Shit.
I release her jaw and inch back, extricating my softening dick from her tailbone.
I told her I’d push.
I warned her this would happen. I warned us both. I thought that had been enough to prepare her.
“Forgive me.” My apology is unwittingly growled, my tone laced in self-loathing.
“No.” She turns her entire body toward me, a wave of water escaping the lip of the tub to patter to the tiles. She’s trembling again, the swelling on her cheek now darker and beginning to bruise. “I didn’t want you to stop. I just…”
Just what? I want to beg her to continue but she’s skittish. One wrong push and she’ll run. I can see it in her eyes.
“You don’t need to explain. I’ll give you privacy to get out on your own.” I lean forward, poised to stand when her hands clamp down on mine.
“No. Don’t go.” She gives a bashful smile as she lowers her attention to my chest. “I’m sorry… I’m just shocked. That was the most thrilling thing I’ve ever done.”
Her expression undoes me. The modesty that stands meekly in the shadows of a woman who seemed fearless last night.
“Tell me which part was thrilling, Layla.” I settle back against the tub, relief pumping through my veins. “I want to know every little detail.”
“All of it.” Her teeth rake her lower lip, her attention still on my chest. “I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I?” She glances up through dark lashes. “I feel like a virginal teenager.”
I reach out, gliding a stray strand of hair behind her ear, then gently brush my thumb over her damaged cheek. The bruising is deep, almost as deep as my anger toward the person who inflicted that pain.
“You’re far from foolish.” I guide my touch to her lower lip, grazing the soft flesh as I grin. “And don’t worry. I like my women confident on the streets, and easily scandalized between the sheets.”
Her laughter is instantaneous. Melodic.
Something about her finds a home inside me. Something that meshes without flaw.
I don’t know how she came to be so perfect. But she is. Her courage and determination out in the real world is remarkable. Then the contrasting meekness once she’s naked and vulnerable is enough to have me entirely hooked.
I envisaged her being a tigress in bed. Sure and poised and bold.
This modest kitten is far more detrimental to my composure.
“You’re the devil.” She holds my gaze, the bubbles licking over the tops of her breasts. “But do you know what?”
“What?”
Her face flushes as she whispers, “I’m starting to think I might really like you.”
I snicker and push to my feet. Water and bubbles rush down my abdomen and thighs as she quickly glances away from my exposed dick. “Well, welcome to the party, amore mio. You arrived late, but I guess it’s better than nothing.”
14
Layla
I keep my gaze averted as he dries himself, my hands clinging to the rim of the tub, my heart wildly fluttering.
He likes me.
He actually likes me.
It’s pathetic, but after a childhood when I was constantly watched by overbearing males who didn’t allow boys near, then being forced to spend years with a man who found it hard to love me, all while being the daughter to a monster who used me for his devious games, the confounding exhilaration of someone actually liking me—me, Layla Hart—is such an incredible relief.
“You okay?” Matthew pulls on his suit pants in my periphery, then yanks at the zipper.
“I’m better than okay.” I meet his gaze and the collision has his face falling.
“No, you’re not.” He frowns. “Something has upset you.”
I shake my head and smile. It’s a forced expression, but only due to the overwhelming whirlwind of sensation taking over my insides. “I’m perfect.”
I really am.
For the first time in more than a decade something other than my daughter has brought joy to my life, and it’s come in the form of a muscle-etched, stubble-ridden, gorgeous human whose eyes are currently scrutinizing mine.
“I’m going to give you space to clear your head.” He snatches his shirt from the floor and slides his arms into the light material. “Have a glass of champagne. Call out if you need me.”
“You don’t want to stay?”
His grin returns. “I don’t want to leave, but you need a moment to breathe. I’ll come check on you soon.”
He grabs his jacket and belt from the tile, and walks toward me, grabbing the ice bucket to place it closer. “Are you hungry? Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Just you.
Only you.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” The sound of my own fragility tightens my throat. I’m not going to be this woman—this needy, pathetic excuse for a full-blooded Torian. “Ignore me.” I cringe. “I’ll be out soon.”
He leans down and kisses the top of my head, his fingers trailing along my shoulder in the briefest tease of contact. “I’ll be waiting in the living room whenever you’re ready.”
He straightens and I feel the loss immediately. His steps toward the hall are torture. The isolation once he closes the door behind him is hell.
It takes all my self-control not to chase after him and finish what we started.
He didn’t get a release.
He didn’t ask for one, either.
Benji would never have let that happen. He didn’t do selfless acts. Not in the bedroom. And—shit. I need to stop this. I have to quit comparing Matthew to my late husband because it always ends in guilt.
I’m not doing it anymore.
Benji is gone. And Matthew is only temporary.
I need to start enjoying this for what it is and leave the comparisons behind.
What I need is champagne.
I grab the bottle, pour myself a glass, and sip what has to be excessively expensive alcohol. And all the while, Matthew’s touch haunts me like a ghost.
The memory of his lips on my neck.
The tingle from where his firm hands spread my thighs.
The more I drink, the more he fills my head. Not only sexually, but how he rescued me, too. The way he cradled me in the back of his car. The cadence in his words as he promised to look after me.
I push to my feet, wobble with the sudden shot vertical, then place my glass on the floor and grab a towel.
In less than two minutes I’m cocooned in a plush hotel robe, the champagne bottle in my hand along with the glasses as I pad to the end of the hall and find Matthew on the sofa.
He’s hunched forward, elbows on knees, his back to me as he talks on his cell in snarled tones. “Tell him this is unacceptable. We had an agreement.”
I wait there, not wanting to interrupt, not willing to get in the way of his work.
“I don’t give a fuck,” he snaps. “I think you know me well enough to und
erstand I’m livid right now.”
I stiffen at his vehemence, never having heard it before, and the glasses clink in my hand.
“I’ve gotta go.” He straightens. “Layla is out of the bath.”
I wince, wishing I’d been more discreet even though I refuse to be a snoop.
“She’s doing well.” Matthew glances at me over his shoulder, his annoyance nowhere in sight as he takes me in with appreciation. “The swelling is getting worse on her cheek, and there are marks on her arm, too. But she’s strong.”
My stomach warms with the compliment. With resurging lust and need, too.
I approach, placing the bottle and glasses on the table in front of him, remaining a foot away. I take him in while he leans back, relaxing into the sofa like a king atop his throne, one arm stretching along the headrest, an ankle crossing over his knee.
“Handle the situation, Bishop. Thoroughly.” He rakes his gaze down the length of me, his eyes hungry. “I’ll be ready to fly out at five.” He disconnects the call and places the device on the far cushion. “You’re flushed.”
“It’s the champagne,” I lie.
It’s definitely him. All him.
He leans forward, reaching out to grab the front of my robe to pull me closer. “I promised myself I’d give you space.” He drags me down onto his lap, his hands fisting my lapels. “You’re turning me into a liar.”
I grin at our similarities and settle against his thighs, my palms finding his silk-covered pecs. “I don’t want space.”
“No, but you need it.” His lips brush mine, once, twice, the kisses commanding but oh, so gentle. “Yesterday, you wanted nothing to do with me.” He lowers his hands to seize my hips and guides me to move onto the cushion beside him.
“That’s not true. I’ve wanted more from you since the moment we met. It’s the complications that kept me away.”
“And have those secretive complications changed since you were mugged?” He stands and stalks to the kitchen to grab a drinking glass from a cupboard, then fills it with water from the fridge. “I think I can answer for you in saying they haven’t. The only difference from last night to today is a chemical imbalance brought on by shock.” He returns, holding the chilled water out to me. “Drink. You can’t live on alcohol alone.”
