“I told you flesh and blood was different, Layla,” he said, his voice in my ear as he caressed my chest and stomach. On impulse, I covered his hands with mine, loving the feeling of it.
“That’s right, show me what you like,” he said.
I didn’t hesitate. I took his right hand, gliding it down my body, over the swell of my stomach and into my leggings. I was hot and wet there for him, and I felt his arm go rigid along my own when he felt that. His long fingers buried between my legs, fingering and exploring my secret folds, deft and gentle. My long, ragged moan as he found my clit and rubbed it told him what he needed to know.
“You want me this much?” he said, wonder in his voice.
It took more will power than I thought I possessed, but I managed to pull away from his hand and turn around. I looked in his face, his fevered eyes, his lips parted. I let him see. My flushed face, my open mouth, my eyes glazed with want, the tears on my face. They were partly tears of frustration, wanting him so much, and partly tears of grief and joy that I’d never been touched with such tenderness or such affection in my life. I gave a soft sob. Before it was out of my mouth, he had me in his arms. Not just hugging me, picking me up, carrying me to the bed, masterful and commanding.
He sat down, held me in his lap, trapped in his arms. He kissed me, tasted my tears, his tongue in my mouth, questing gently, giving and giving so much tenderness and so much bliss that I sobbed again.
“No,” he said, “I won’t hurt you. Tell me why you’re sad.”
I shook my head, looking away, “I’m not sad, not really. I’ve never had anyone touch me this way. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Jesus, Layla, no one’s made love to you? Not once?” he said.
I shook my head.
“It should feel like this,” he said, “let me show you.”
“Does it always feel like this?” I said, not wanting the answer.
“Never. But I know it can. I know because of this.” He took my hand and laid it on his chest where ink lay between my palm and his heart that hammered against my fingers. “Let me make it unforgettable. You were made to be cherished like this. Any man who didn’t was a damn fool.”
I shook my head, “Maybe they were just the wrong man.”
“Maybe I’m the right one,” he said, bumping his lips against mine. “Maybe I want to be the right one. The only one. The man who makes you come alive. So no one else can ever touch you the way I do.”
I shivered all over from his words. I was sitting on his lap, topless on his single bed at seven thirty in the morning. Nothing in my life had prepared me for Tyler Leeds. He kissed me so slowly, so thoroughly, locking our lips, that I gave a little cry.
“Let me give you what you need,” he said. Turning, he lay me back on the bed and eased my leggings down as I kicked off my shoes. Laid bare before him, I looked away shyly.
“You’re beautiful. I shouldn’t have a chance with a woman like you, Layla. Don’t you see that? Whoever told you that you’re too much, too smart, too tall, too anything—they were scared and they were wrong. You’re fucking perfect,” he said. I felt a flush of pleasure at his words. He parted my legs with his hands. Instead of stripping off his shorts and settling between my legs, he moved down the bed.
“Give me those long legs,” he said, draping them over his shoulders. He kissed the inside of my thigh. My leg jerked of its own accord, “Easy now. Let me,” he said, his voice brooking no argument.
Tyler buried his face between my legs, hot and cold chasing each other up my legs as his warm breath, his wet mouth kissed my sex the way he kissed my mouth, fully and with tongue. I rose up off the bed at the first stroke of his tongue flicking the sensitive underside of my clit that was used to a silicone vibrator, not the fiery, wet touch of a man’s mouth. Jerking and writhing, I knew why he had to hold me by my hips to keep me still, to bring me up to his mouth for a better angle. He lapped at my clit and teased it making tight circles with the tip of his tongue. Then he started to suck and I started to moan and beg and say stupid, porno-sounding things. The scrape of his teeth drove me mad, made me scream and fist the bedsheets.