Ayla’s at the door, her eyes going wide when she sees my get-up. It’s not overly sexy. But it’s not something that a woman who has an arrangement with a stand-offish neighbor would wear to bed.
She grins, not even attempting to hide her glee. “Here you go.” She hands over a bottle of prescription strength pills and an empty glass. “Have a good evening,” she sing-songs.
“Thanks, Ayla.” I would say more. But no more needs to be said.
She, like her brother, has that whole safe harbor thing down to a science.
I’ve almost shut the door when she moves close. “Thank you.”
And I swear there’s depth and meaning to it aside from an expected response.
Liam
My wife putters around in the world’s shortest shorts, ass cheeks clearly on display with another top with those tiny straps. This one is a coral color and has no lace, just satin or silk or some shiny shit that will surely feel like water under my hands.
“Who was that?” It comes out as a bark of accusation. What I want to say iswho saw you looking like that because I’d hate to have to kill someone in my family.
“Ayla.” She heads my way, extending a putrid orange bottle and a glass. “You looked like you were hurting.”
I was.
I am.
There’s no getting around it with what happened this weekend. The bruises on my knees are swollen and annoying. Gunshot wounds get all the attention.
I reach up and trace the pad of my index finger across the purples around her eye. “Yeah, Wifey, shit hurts.”
The slinky thing cascading over her body is calling my name, but I can’t take my eyes from hers. Ever so slowly, I dip my face to hers, stopping a whisper away from her lips.
There’s something to be said, but I’m at a loss. Instead, she licks my lips in an attempt to lick her own.
Game fucking on.
My mouth takes hers, dominating, possessing, as my arms slide around her body. One hand goes to her hair to tug, positioning her face where I want it, allowing me deeper access, folding her backward as I drink deeply. The other goes down inside her shorts, cupping her bare ass cheek, kneading.
There’s no doubt through the thin clothes she tempts me with that she can feel what’s between us. And I don’t mean the emotions. My cock is thick and hard, seeking her out.
Her moan slides down my throat, and I release her enough to lift her under her armpits, hoisting her legs around my waist, forcing the towel to fall to the carpet. I should get a medal for this shit with what’s happening in my shoulder.
She shimmies, her heat seeking my own and I groan.
“I told you I don’t care about the neighbors. I don’t. But I give a shit about my family, and I’d never hear the end of it.” I lay her back on the bed, looking down at the feast being served to me. “I’ve changed my mind. Those moans are for me. Your cries of ecstasy are mine and mine alone.”
Her eyes dilate and the look on her face is something I’m not ready to face. She’s not agreeing with me for the sake of me getting my way. She’s giving me what I need,becauseI need it. She reaches up, combing her fingers through my beard, watching their trek. When her gaze hits mine, she nods. “You’re jealous?”
“Of your pleasure. Of your orgasms.” I run a hand over her nightie. “Of anything that touches you.”
I lift the top over her head and drop my mouth to one perfect breast, trailing my fingers up the inside of one thigh.
“Wait.”
I look up from my damn near perfect vantage point. My brow furrows and my lips purse. “Yeah?”
“Well, do women get to…” She clears her throat as her eyes pinch shut. “Do I get to be that jealous too?”
I grab her hand and pull it between us, wrapping it around my shaft. “Feel that?”
Her eyes spring open and she nods.
