Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Her back hits the wall, and with my free hand, I’m pulling my cock out of my pants.
I am a man possessed.
I need the oblivion only she can give me.
Seeing her at the park brought out the monster in me, and only sinking inside Layla will quiet the beast.
Once my dick is out of my pants, I use my hand to push the lace aside.
“Wait. Cond—”
“Nothing,” I grit. “I want nothing between us.”
I feel fucking possessed. I should get a condom, but I can’t find it in me to care. I need to feel her. All of her.
“I’m cle—”
“I know you are.” I take her lips in mine.
“Are yo—” she tries to say as I line myself up, teasing her entrance.
“Yes.” And with no other words needing to be said, I thrust inside her.
Once I am fully sheathed, I let out a long breath. I hold myself still, not moving an inch until the need to thrust forward is overwhelming. So, I do. I pull out. Then I slam back in.
“Fucking perfect. You are fucking perfect.”
She’s so tight and wet. I can’t slow down.
“Oh, God.”
I pick up my pace at her words, dragging my cock in and out of her greedy pussy at a punishing pace. I can feel her tightening and clenching every time I push back inside. She’s close and so am I.
Reaching up with one hand, I can’t stop myself from wrapping my fingers around her luscious neck. Just a little bit. Just a little bit tighter.
I take out my frustration on her body. I pour my emotions into each thrust of my hips.
My body says all the words I can’t say. I start pulsing my hand tighter around her throat.
Layla gasps, her hands on my shoulders trying to give equal compression, but she’s no match.
“Please.” There’s that magic word from her pouty lips. What I’m not expecting is what she says next. “More.”
And then, with that word, the sounds of Layla coming apart, and a final thrust, I purge myself of the day. Of the woman. Of everything but the feel of her tightening around me. Of the series of pulses her body gives me, and when I can’t take much more, I feel my own orgasm rushing to a head, and then with Layla, I tip over the edge. Falling over the abyss, finding my release.
My monster has met its match.
24
Layla
He’s like an animal. I don’t know what set him off, but I would be lying if I didn’t admit, if only to myself, that I love the way he touches me, the way he fucks me.
Because that is what this man does. There is nothing sweet about him right now, and I don’t even care.
When both of us come down from our high, he pulls out of me, and the moment he does, I miss his presence right away.
Then he moves his hand from my throat, unwraps me from around him, and brings my feet back down to the floor. They aren’t there long as he picks me up bridal style and makes his way down my hall, into my bathroom, and turns the shower on. Once he does that, he sets me down, and I work to remove my clothes that he left on, and so does he, and then we are stepping into the hot water.
I expect for him to say something, maybe explain to me why he took me so savagely against the foyer wall, but instead, he grabs the shampoo from the wall.
“Can I?” he asks.
“Yes.” I watch as he lathers it in his hand and then steps up to me.
“What are you doing?” I ask dumbly as he starts to wash my hair.
“Taking care of you.” His voice is low, and I can almost not make out his words over the sound of the water pounding down on us.
“Why?”
I tilt my head up at him. His eyes seem different now. They are no longer heated with passion but rather sadness.
Is he regretting what happened? “I was rough,” he mutters.
I lift my hand and place my hand on his chest. He looks down at where my hand touches him.
“I liked it.”
“I hurt you.” He touches my neck, and when he does, I feel the tender skin.
In the moment of passion, his hand was wrapped around my neck.
“I’m okay.”
“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”
“Yes,” I say with a force I didn’t know I was capable of.
His face grows more serious, if that is even possible, and he continues to stare at my neck. A bruise must be forming. I lift onto my tiptoes, suds of soap running down my face, and place a kiss on his lips.
“I promise you. I’m okay.”
Lifting my hands, I wrap them around his torso, and he must believe me because I feel his body relax into mine.