Faking with Benefits : A Friends to Lovers Romance(61)

“If you let yourself what?” I prompt.

His lips part. I can see the struggle in his eyes. We’re both breathing hard. The moment seems to balance in the air between us, like we’re standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall into the unknown.

Then Luke makes a strangled noise and reaches for me. My eyes fly open as he wraps a hand around my throat and tugs my mouth to his.





THIRTY-EIGHT





LUKE





When I finally crush my lips against Layla’s, my mind wipes itself blank. All of my thoughts dissolve. All that’s left is feeling. I breathe in her sweet scent. Feel her warm, soft body yield against mine. Blood thumps through me as I crowd her backwards, pushing her against her living room wall, kissing her hard.

I always thought kissing Layla would be a little like fighting; she’s so sharp, I thought we’d be wrestling for dominance. But instead, she softens, practically sinking into me. I twist my head, starting to kiss my way down her jaw. She makes a small gasping noise, trying to pull back, and without thinking, I wrap my hand around her ponytail, yanking her back into place.

She freezes, breathing hard, and my brain finally flicks back on. For a second, neither of us move. I close my eyes as realisation floods through me.

What the Hell am I doing?

I swore I wouldn’t give in to my attraction to Layla. I’ve managed to stick to that promise for years. And now she’s come out here and told me that I essentially abandoned her during high school, and my response is to kiss her? And I’m not just kissing her — I’m pulling her hair, for crying out loud. No wonder she looks so shocked. She’s never seen this part of me before. Few people have.

I don’t mean to get so controlling in bed. I try to be gentle and respectful, but whenever I’m turned on, I just turn into this commanding, authoritative prick. Zack insists that I’m a latent Dom. Amy preferred to say I became a caveman as soon as I got hard.

“Layla.” I drop my hand, taking a step back. “God. I’m so sorry. Sorry.”

Layla just looks at me for a few seconds, panting, her green eyes wide and dark. Then she pushes into me, crushing her chest against mine. “More,” she orders. Before I can protest, she grabs the hem of her shirt and tugs it over her head. I stare, dazed, at her chest.

She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Soft pale skin, gently curved waist, teardrop-shaped breasts.

My last thread of self-restraint snaps. Without a beat, I bend and catch one of her tits in my mouth. She cries out, running her hands through my hair as I lick her hard, roughing my tongue over the sensitive skin. God. How many nights have I laid awake, hearing her making these noises through the walls and wondering what Josh and Zack are doing to her?

I want to hear all her noises. I want to drag them out of her. I wrap a hand around her throat, keeping her pinned in place to the wall, and slide my free hand down over her trembling stomach, trailing it under the waistband of her pyjama shorts. Layla gasps, her body jolting in shock.

“Please,” she says again, as I tease my fingers under the delicate lace of her briefs.

Dimly, at the back of my mind, I know I should be a gentleman. I should carry her into the bedroom, and lay her down, and make this special for her.

But I can’t make myself stop.

I slip a hand between her warm, smooth thighs. They close around me, trapping my wrist in place as I cup my fingers over her damp pants, rubbing her through the lace. She squirms over my hand, choking for air, and I speed up my movements, drawing little circles right where she needs them. I don’t tease her. I don’t drag it out. I can’t. Need is thrumming through me. I need to see her come. I need to feel her fall apart over my hand. I’m moving solely on instinct.

I bend and catch her breast in my mouth again, right as her release hits her. She gasps, flinging her hands out, clawing at the wallpaper with her fingernails as she soaks my palm. I don’t relent, massaging her even harder as she shudders and gasps, climbing the wall. “Luke,” she chokes out, accidentally kicking me. “Oh, god, Jesus—”

“Shh.” I catch her mouth with mine, kissing her even harder. I can feel her fluttering against my fingers, and it’s driving me crazy. She fists her hands at my shoulders, gasping.

When the spasms eventually fade, she immediately lunges forward, grabbing for my belt buckle and yanking it open. I groan as she tugs down my fly and shoves her hand down the front of my pants. Her small hand cups over my painful hard-on, and she freezes in place, her eyes widening. I fight the urge to laugh, rubbing my leaking cock into her palm.

“You don’t wear underwear?” She squeaks.

“I thought you listened to the podcast,” I murmur, wrapping my hand in her ponytail again, tugging to bare her neck. “You didn’t hear my speech on the health benefits of going commando? It was only a couple of episodes ago.” I bend to kiss under her ear.

Her cheeks are bright red. “I thought you were talking in theory.”

“Oh.” I nip at her cheek. “No. I wasn’t.”

She gives me an incredulous look, her fingers tightening slightly around my length.

I clear my throat. “Sweetheart,” I say softly. “If you just keep your hand down there, this isn’t going to last very long.”

She blinks back to reality. “Oh,” she murmurs, pulling her hand free. “Take them off.”