“You’re so sensitive.” I bring her down slowly, pumping my fingers slower every time, and I move away to stare at her blissful, glowing face. “Get on your hands and knees.”
She cocks an eyebrow but obeys, rolling onto her stomach before she gets onto all fours, her hair draped over one shoulder, exposing the nape of her neck. I lean over, my cheek against hers, one hand snaked around collarbones, the other on the mattress, supporting my weight.
I bite her earlobe, slipping inside slowly, dizzy with the heat radiating from her body. Layla arches back, touching her head to my shoulder, her lips parted, eyes closed, hands fisting the sheets.
The most arousing sight of all—my girl in my arms, in ecstasy, inlove.I let the primal hunger have its way, driving into her like I’m on a fucking mission. I am. On a mission to see her lose herself time and time again. It doesn’t take a lot to have her writhing with my name on her lips. I already know I’ll be spending a lot of time making her come on my fingers in the most unusual places just to see how fast I can get her there under pressure.
“Oh, God,” she gasps, clawing at my hand when I knot our fingers. “Don’t stop, I’m-I’m...”
“You’re almost there. Let go, Layla. Don’t hold back. Let yourself feel.”
She bites the pillow, coming so hard her knees buckle. Her orgasm triggers mine, exploding from the base of my spine, through my shaft, and into Layla. We’re both breathless when I collapse beside her, resting on my elbow to kiss her nose. She smiles, cuddling into the pillow with a soft sigh.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I tug on the sheets when she covers herself up. “You think I’m done with you? I’m not. You’re in for the most exhausting night of your life. You’ll be too fucking weak to crawl out of bed tomorrow.”
“I need to be at college by ten.”
“You need to open your legs for me, baby. You’ve got a lot to learn tonight.” I move to the edge of the bed, hooking my elbows under her knees. “Lesson one: in bed, I make the rules.” I lick her, bottom to top. “Lesson two: when I want this sweet pussy... you better give it to me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dante
Istopped at nothing for two weeks to make sure Layla didn’t find out about what happened at Delta. I bribed people daily, isolated her from the news, and broke a few jaws. Just when I thought the whole thing had blown over, and she’d long forgotten about it, a bold title appeared on the first page of the newspaper—A mob hit gets out of control.
Fucking assholes printed it on the day we’re supposed to fly to New York. As if they couldn’t have waited one day extra. On Fridays, the newspaper is handed out for free everywhere in the city—including Layla’s college. There’s no way she missed the article written by Max Grover, who relayed the statement presented in court. Then, he spewed his own truth, relying on anonymous sources as he speculated that the dead man was the same one who hit Layla.
It doesn’t matter who helped him write the article. The article itself doesn’t fucking matter. Johnathan’s been locked up for over a week. The case is closed. The problem is that the only person who wasn’t supposed to know a thing now knows everything. I’m faced with a massive moral dilemma: to lie or not to lie.
It’s almost five o’clock, and Layla’s due home any minute. I didn’t have time to take her to college this morning, so she took her car instead. The flight to New York leaves in three hours, and I wonder if I’ll be boarding the plane alone.
The sound of the alarm being disarmed rumbles through the quiet house like a clap of thunder when Layla enters the room. She rounds the bar in silence, a folded newspaper in hand. I watch her every move, muscles in my neck and shoulders painfully tense. The ringing silence doesn’t bode well. I’m growing painfully aware that she’s fucking brainwashed me. Before I met her, I would’ve screamed at or dismissed a girl who’d dare question my ways, but I can’t yell at Layla. I’m physically incapable of raising my voice after the outburst two weeks ago that almost cost me our relationship.
Now, she’s upset again. Guilt prickles at my eyes like an allergy. I should’ve seen the article coming. I should’ve known someone would try to uncover the truth, and I should’ve stopped it before it saw daylight. But I failed.
I failed to protect my star.
She places the paper on the countertop, letting it roll out, the bold title like a slap on my cheek. Layla turns to fill a glass with wine and swallows half in one go.
Not good.
She turns my way again, her eyes glistening with fresh tears, chin quivering as she holds her finger up, refusing to admit her weaknesses. Despite having a valid reason to be upset, she’s embarrassed about not handling the news better, making me realize once again that she’s too strong for her own good. Stronger than she fucking should be.
She wasn’t able to be weak around Frank. He doesn’t respect that. Layla’s one of the toughest people I know, but it fucking kills me that standing three feet from me, someone she should feel one hundred percent comfortable with, she fights to prove she’s tough.
“Is it true?” she asks, wiping the tears away.
There’s only so much a person can take... Layla can’t take much more, but it doesn’t stop her from trying. A rush of inordinate protectiveness spreads inside me like a contusion below the skin. I round the bar to pull her into my arms, but she steps back.
I expected many things: screaming, arguing, and punching, to name a few, but not this. I fist my hands, unsure if she’s afraid or just angry. Her sadness, coupled with not knowing, shatters my composure.
“Layla...”
“Don’t lie.” It sounds like a plea, but her attitude changes, anger replaces sadness as if it’s easier to control. “You had himkilled? He didn’t do anything...” She’s not shouting, not raising her voice, but I feel her rage. “How could you?”
“I didn’t have him killed, star. I didn’t even want to punch him.” My teeth clench because that’s a fucking lie... I won’t do it to Layla. “Okay, I did, but I wasn’t going to look for him.” of course, I wanted to punch the fucker. I wanted to break his hands ten different ways.
“So what happened to him? Why is he dead?” Fresh tears dance in her gray eyes. “He’s dead because of me.”