Bungalow Nights(46)

“No—” she started, but then her mouth and eyes closed as he bent to trace the stripe with his tongue. He followed it to the side of her body, lifting her arm to not miss an inch of it. Layla was breathing hard, her fingers curled around the waistband of his jeans. “I’m going to fall,” she whispered. “You’re making my knees melt.”

He straightened to pull her close then, groaning at the goodness of her soft breasts and hard nipples meeting the hot plane of his chest. His arms held her tight, and she pushed her hips into him again, ratcheting up the crazy.

“Bedroom,” he said, suddenly remembering Baxter and Addy. They could have company at any moment.

Their fingers tangled, he drew her toward the hallway and the master bedroom. At the threshold, he hesitated. The room was unlit, and he imagined them in that darkness, bodies writhing on the bed. His blood was pulsing close to the surface of his skin, the head of his cock was beating as if it had its own heart. When he got her flat he was going to be all over her.

“Are you sure?” he whispered. Even to his own ears his voice sounded smoky and hot, like his desire. A dragon wanting to devour.

In answer, Layla pulled up their linked hands and rubbed his knuckles against her swollen breast, over her beaded nipple. Vance squeezed shut his eyes, waiting for the words. “Sure,” she said. “Very sure.”

He didn’t remember getting her to the bed. But she was on it, her back to the mattress, his fingers already fumbling on the clasp of her jeans. He muttered a curse, the cast always in the damn way, so she took it over herself.

The zipper was loud in the quiet, and he was already yanking the material down her long legs. Then he crawled between them, the denim of his pants sliding against the silkiness of her panties. He stroked there, a teasing rhythm, as he bent to take her mouth again.

She wound her hands in his hair and opened for him. Their tongues tangled, eager friends, and then she sucked on his, her fingernails tight against his skull. Vance pushed into that sweet heat at the juncture of her thighs, grinding hard into her softness as she continued to feed on him.

He broke away from her mouth, needing air, and sucked in oxygen, staring down. The darkness was so absolute she was just a deeper shadow in the shadows, but he didn’t need to see her to see her. Like the scents of this summer month, she was etched in his brain. There would be no freedom from the memory of her frilly lashed brown eyes, her oval-shaped face, that mouth with the upper lip just made for sucking.

He did so now, finding it with his own and tugging at it rhythmically. It had her pressing her hips to his, her whole body writhing when he gave that lip a delicate bite. The friction against his cock made heat flare up his spine.

“What do you like?” he heard himself demand. The beast was clamoring for action, and it certainly didn’t want to pause for direction, but Vance suddenly needed to make her feel the crazy as bad as he did.

Her hands clutched his shoulders. “You...” she moaned. “Your skin, your mouth. Your voice.”

His voice? He smiled, and it felt feral. Did Layla Parker like a little dirty talk in bed? His skin shivered at the thought, then tightened against his bones, making it that much more sensitive. He licked her bottom lip and felt her quiver.

“I thought you were sugar and spice and everything nice,” he said, then kissed his way down her neck. She turned her head to give him easy access and she undulated as he sucked on her again. “But maybe you have a naughty side.”

Her body stilled, but under him he felt the temperature of her flesh spike. He chuckled against her throat, the sound almost devilish in the heated darkness. “Let’s see if I can find it.”

Her breath was ragged, and her breasts rose and fell against his cheek as he rubbed his evening whiskers across them. “I love your nipples. They’re such a pale pink but they blush to red when I suck them into my mouth, when I tongue them all shiny.” He touched the tip of one, lapping at it until she made a frustrated sound and buried her hands in his hair.

“Greedy girl,” he whispered, then opened to take a soft bite of her areola, his teeth pulling up to scrape the jut of flesh.

Layla groaned and he did it again, the lap, the bite, the scrape. Her lower body pushed against him in slow rolls, and her taste, her body, her need, they all enticed the beast, teasing it without mercy. But Vance held on and moved to the other breast, playing with that one, too, listening to her little cries.

Finally, he needed something more. “Greedy girl probably wants something hard inside her,” he said. “I’ve got it pulsing and ready right here.”

And she stilled again, shocked, he thought, then aroused, because her hands shot down to his pants to divest him of the confining denim. He laughed, low and uncivilized, and rolled away to take care of the issue.

She made another of her frustrated noises, an appetizer that fed his animal as he struggled with the jeans. His erection wasn’t making things easy.

“Vance,” she breathed, anxious.

“Shh,” he said, and rolled his head on the pillow to kiss the warmth of her cheek. “Settle down. I’ll fill you up soon enough.”

Her mutter sounded like a curse and a plea.

Vance threw his pants over the side of the bed, then yanked at his boxers. Again, the cast and his cock made the process more labor-intensive than it should be. Suddenly Layla’s hands were on him, and she was tugging at the material, too, shoving it down his legs.

Then he was naked and Layla was on her knees beside him. “Oh, I like this,” he whispered, touching one flank with his knuckles. “Straddle me, sweetheart. Put your breast to my mouth.”

Her breathing hitched, but then she obeyed. With a knee on each side of his hips, she leaned toward him. He lifted his head and caught her nipple, feasting, suckling, hard and deep. His hands found her hips and he held her there, drawing her in to slake his hunger.

“Vance,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Now the other,” he instructed, and she shifted her weight. “Offer it to me, Layla. Let me have you.”

She was shuddering as he pulled on her second breast now, and her glorious bottom dropped so that the juncture of her thighs kissed his cock. She was wet there, hot and wet, and the moisture bathed his shaft.

He sucked harder on her, ravenous for her taste. But when her wetness slid over him again, his mind clicked. “Condom,” he said, releasing her nipple. “We need a condom.”

His hand reached blindly for the bedside table. Now it was his turn to curse as the drawer’s knob eluded him. Every moment of delay aggravated the raging appetite inside of him. His cock was throbbing, his pulse was pounding, the blood racing around his body was scalding and he was primed to go off. So ready to shoot.

Sweet Lord, he tried telling himself as the drawer squeaked open. Take it easy. The beast was on a short chain and despite the warnings he’d given Layla, he didn’t want to scare her. But then his fingers found a foil square. When he lost it again he almost screamed.

“Can you reach into the drawer, honey?” he asked, his voice tight. “I’m a little desperate here.”

“You’re desperate?” Layla said, the edge to her voice making him laugh despite his urgency. “Let me get it.”

She was more efficient than he. A triumphant sound and the tearing of foil. He meant to protest but from his mouth came only inarticulate sounds meant to represent words—I can put it on oh my God your touch is going to send me over sweet baby what are you doing now oh yeah oh yeah like that. Just like that. What she was doing now was sinking down on him.

His head pressed back into the pillow. “You’re so slick inside,” he muttered. “So damn tight.”

And then she had taken all of him in. He was rooted deep and they both stilled, absorbing the sensation. His hands were on her hips, the sleek insides of her thighs on either side of his.

She shivered and then he felt her muscles gather. His fingers tightened on her. “Don’t move,” he said. “Give me a minute.”

Another shiver ran over her skin. “Have to move,” she said, her husky voice breathy. “Have. To. Move.”

Then she did, rising off his cock. The beast inside him groaned, but Vance managed to let Layla set the rhythm. Her hips rolled as she rode, her sweet bottom high in the air as she came down on her elbows in order to kiss him. Vance went full crazy on that kiss, the meeting of their mouths and tongues carnal and wicked.

He caught her nipples between his fingers as her plunging hips became more frenzied. She broke their kiss, her breath frantic as he pushed into her wet warmth and said, “Touch your clit, naughty girl. Touch yourself and come for me.”

The dirty words put a hitch in her pace.

“Lick your fingertips,” Vance encouraged, his voice low and deeper than the dark. “Get them nice and wet and then circle yourself, honey. You know what to do.”

And she did it. He could make out the gleam of her arm in the dark, imagined the swipe of her tongue against skin. Her hand moved low and she hesitated. “Ride me,” he said, and he reached to the place where they were joined, farther spreading the soft layers to expose the small bud above. “Touch yourself right here and ride me. I want to feel you come all over me.”