“No, Grant, it’s aplea.” She grabbed me by the collar, tugging me down.
I pried her phone out of her fingers. “All right. Which spicy book scenes do you want to reenact?”
That’s what we did. We went through the books on her phone, the ones she read for her book club, and reenacted the spicy scenes to see if they made sense. Forty percent of the time, they didn’t, but we still had fun trying. It was like playing Twister in bed.
“No, not this time.” She tossed her phone to the couch.
“Not this time?”
“This time, I want it to feel real.” She fingered the collar of my shirt. “Even if it’s a lie. I want to feel ... I don’t know,loved.”
And it should have alarmed the heck out of me. How easily I knew what she needed, and what to do to her. I buried my fingers in her hair, digging the pads into her skull, and brought her to me.
Our lips crashed, our tongues finding one another, and she was always a good kisser, but now there was a note of desperation in the kiss. Something hungry and unsure from a woman who was always collected and self-assured.
I walked her backward, toward my bedroom, crowding over her, trying to rein in my desire to erase this Connor prick from her mind. I was glad there wouldn’t be any props or special positions this time. No lollipops or ice or whipped cream or straddle splits or masks. Jesus, the fuckingmasks. I was never going to look my Amazon delivery guy in the eye again. He’d probably put me on an FBI watch list or something.
There was just us. And for the first time, that was enough for her.
She kicked her heels off, threading her fingers into my hair, scraping my skull with her fingernails. Goose bumps pebbled my skin. I roamed my hands along her dress, trying to find the elusive zipper. Was it a Madison Goldbloom design? Probably. She wore her best friend’s dresses all the time. Madison always put the zipper on the side, because my savage, psychotic best friend—her husband—always managed to rip the zipper off when it was located at the back.
I found the zipper. Tugged it down while undoing my belt without breaking the kiss. Layla laughed into my mouth, stumbling backward, pulling me with her.
Once we got in my bed, I kissed her everywhere. Face. Neck. Chest. Belly. Pretended to love every inch of her. We’d never done this before. Took our time to explore. There wasalways something impersonal in our hookups. An invisible wall that didn’t allow time to linger and cherish.
I nibbled on her sensitive spots. Wrapped her legs over my neck and ate her out like she was my favorite meal until she writhed and panted and tugged me up by the hair. “My turn.”
“You don’t have to do that just because I—” I started, but the rest of the chivalrous sentence died in my throat when she slithered down my body and fastened her hot mouth over my erection.
This, too, felt different.
Layla was always a generous, confident lover in bed. It was one of the reasons our arrangement had worked for so long. But she never held my gaze when she went down on me.
She did now.
I didn’t know what about it undid the very fabric of my soul. I just knew something about the way she slid her mouth over my dick in a pumping motion, again and again, while her eyes communicated every sad moment she’d ever experienced, made me defenseless.
And horny.
Definitely horny.
I didn’t want to come in her mouth this time. Wanted to prolong this moment as much as I could. This spell. And with the base of my spine tingling in warning, I knew I was reaching the point of no return.
“I don’t wanna come.” I reached for my nightstand drawer for the condoms, but she pushed back up, kissing me desperately, the taste of my flesh in her mouth. “I want to feel you. I’m on the pill and haven’t been with anyone else since our last time. Is that ... okay?”
Normally, it wasn’t okay.
I’d never done it without a condom, apart from my college days with my extremely steady girlfriend, and even then, she had an IUD.
But there was something in this moment between me and Layla that made the decision an easy one, even if I couldn’t fully rationalize it to myself. I answered her by sliding into her, finding her hot and wet and ready for me.
We’d always been sexually compatible, but this time, there was something more to it. Not just carnal impatience and lust. That invisible wall between us was gone. We maintained eye contact as I entered her. As she clawed my back, her nails dug into my skin. Her teeth scraped my lips, and I had a feeling she was hungry for something no food or orgasm could satisfy.
And still, I tried.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop ...” she kept chanting.
I didn’t.
