Chapter Twenty

Eamon

Layla was late. She should’ve been here more than an hour ago yet here I sat on the sofa with a heavy crystal glass half full of whiskey in my hand. It was my third glass and so far, it hadn’t done shit to calm my nerves or soothe my anger.

Not that I would blame Layla if she didn’t show up. She’d found out a lot of shit about her father’s problems and it surprised her. Terrified would be a more apt description, since I couldn’t seem to forget the despair in her eyes or the way the tears she fought so hard to keep restrained hovered on the edge of her eyelids. She’d been devastated to find out that this wasn’t the first time Peter had gotten himself into a deep hole he had no way in hell of getting out of. Surprisingly, I felt bad.

Not for Pete, but for his clueless daughter who didn’t think twice about stepping in to help a man who didn’t fucking deserve it. Not one fucking bit. I didn’t deserve it either, but goddammit, I planned to reap all the benefits of having Layla in my bed, giving me the best, most enthusiastic sex of my fucking life.

I was no better than her father, the only difference was that her curves and her sweet, hot cunt was my vice. Not gambling or booze or drugs, though I dabbled in all of them on occasion. But women. They were my vice. When I’d had a bad day or an especially brutal one, I’d find a woman and fuck her for hours and hours until the bloody faces stopped appearing every fucking time I closed my eyes.

Some people might say I used those women, and I did, but there were no innocent victims in my bed. They all knew what they were getting into and what they could and couldn’t expect. Even Layla, for all her legitimate complaints was no innocent. She went into this arrangement for a very specific reason. She wasn’t being used here either. She was trying to be a fucking hero.

And she was ninety fucking minutes late.

We had a goddamn deal, four days and the debt was clear, and if I didn’t get my days, the debt would stand and Peter Michaels wouldn’t like what he’d have to do to pay it off. So I wasn’t worried.

Anxious? Yeah.

Pissed off? Damn straight.

Worried? Fuck no.

My dick though, he was getting a little worried because just like me, he couldn’t get enough of Layla and those sinful fucking curves that dared a man to give in to his most primal desires. When the security cameras showed the limo driving up the path I was on my feet, pacing the living room like a damned teenager.

“What the fuck am I doing?” My desire for this woman was worrisome. I couldn’t remember the last time I wanted a woman the way I wanted Layla, my insatiable need for her driving me to do things I normally wouldn’t.

The bell sounded and I stopped in my tracks and took two deep breaths before polishing off another glass of whiskey. Only when I had my shit under control did I pull open the door.

“Thought maybe you changed your mind.”

It was a piss poor excuse for a greeting, I knew, but I had to know.

Layla shrugged and walked right by me in a pair of skintight jeans that showed off an ass she worked hard for, and thighs that were perfect for wrapping around my waist and sexy as fuck stilettos that I could only picture digging into my ass cheeks as I fucked her long and hard and deep.

“I needed to clear my head.”

“Did you?”

“Mind making me a drink?” she asked instead of answering my question. “Whiskey neat is fine.”

She eyed my glass and licked her lips, and just like that my feet were on the move and headed to the bar.

“Got a preference?” I looked over my shoulder and sucked in a breath at the sight that greeted me. Fuck those skintight jeans that I ached to pull off because under that black leather jacket she wore a lacy pink top that cupped her tits magnificently. It was practically see-through, showing off a black bra, tons of cleavage, shoulders and chest. “Damn, girl.”

“I prefer something strong. Make it a double.”

“I don’t fuck drunk chicks,” I told her honestly.

“And you won’t tonight, either.”

The tension in the room was palpable. It was a living, breathing thing that sat in the room between us and made it impossible to even get a conversation started.

I poured two and a half fingers of whiskey into another glass, refilled mine and handed one to Layla. “Rough day?”

“Aren’t they all?” She accepted her drink and took a long sip as she went to the wall of windows that showed nothing but the dense darkness of the wooded area behind my house. A weighted sigh blew out of her and Layla took another sip. And then another.

I couldn’t put my finger on what it was exactly about Layla that got my heart rate accelerated and kept my dick hard all night long, but fuck it was addictive. I went to her, standing behind her without touching. Something was different about her tonight and I couldn’t put my finger on it, but even her scent was different, lavender mixed with something, smelling of pure woman and sex.

“You always smell so good.”

That sharp intake of breath hit my ears with delight and I smiled. “Thanks.”

She jerked a little when one hand fell to her shoulder and slid up the side of her neck until it tangled in her hair.

“So soft,” I moaned in her ear. I set my glass down to free my other hand, taking the same path from her silky bare shoulder to soft blonde waves. My fingers sifted through her hair, making Layla putty in my hands as she elicited little moans of pleasure. “Everywhere I touch you are so fucking soft.” From her scalp I went to her shoulders, lightly massaging them until she could barely stand up on her own.

“Eamon,” she moaned and tilted her head back, giving me perfect access to the gentle slope of her neck. Warm skin blended with sexy earth aromas that worked like a fucking aphrodisiac on me.

“Again,” I growled. “Say it again.” My teeth skid across the back of her neck and she shivered.

“Eamon. Please.” Her plea was throaty and deep and the time for games was over. I spun her around and backed her up until she hit the cool glass window she was just looking out of. I slammed my mouth against hers. The kiss was a slow burn, heating up by degrees before it turned into a raging inferno of want and need, of lips and teeth and tongue, all fighting to get a better taste, a deeper kiss. More.

I gave her more of me and she took it, offering more of her mouth as I went deep and tasted every inch of her lips and tongue until she pulled back, panting with wide eyes that registered shock. And heat.

“Too much?”

A slow grin curved her lips. “Fuck no.”

Thank fucking goodness for that. I slipped two fingers under the strap of her shirt and slid them both down until the black bra was revealed to me.

“Fuck me, Layla.”

“On the agenda,” she whispered with a little laugh.

She mumbled something else, but I didn’t hear it because I was too fucking captivated by her lingerie. Black leather and lace with a ribbon tied behind her neck and nothing else to conceal her gorgeous cleavage. The lace fell over the swell of her breasts and when she turned, her whole back was on display, the contraption held together with a few more ribbons of fabric.

“Fuck this is hot.”

She laughed again and looked up at me through thick, dark lashes, blue eyes sparkling with desire. “Glad you approve.”

I more than approved but I was done talking. It was time to peel off those jeans and get a full look at the lingerie before I ripped it from her body and spent the rest of the night buried deep inside her. Tonight wasn’t about taking it fast, at least not for me. My only plan was to keep Layla here all night. When she was in nothing but her sexy lingerie and those wickedly hot heels, which I put back on after I removed her jeans, I took a step back and watched.

“Sexy.”

Layla’s response was to lick her lips and cup her tits. “You think?”

“I know,” I told her and closed the distance between us until she was once again pushed up against the window, shards of moonlight peeking through the only real light other than a few candles. Then I dipped low and found the stiff peak of her nipple and flicked my tongue against it through the fabric.

“Eamon,” she moaned and arched her back into me.

I took everything she offered and then some because I was a greedy fucking bastard and I couldn’t get enough of her. The more she cried and moaned and mewled her pleasure, the more I was so damn desperate to give to her. The taste of her through the sexy lingerie was intoxicating. I was tipsy from the whiskey, but I was drunk on Layla and I hadn’t even tasted her sweet pussy yet.

“I need you. Just you.”

The words were ripped out of me on a growl and I didn’t give a damn how it sounded because all I gave a fuck about was getting my mouth on her. But first I had to strip the lace off her. Slowly.

With my teeth.

Finally she was naked but for those fucking heels that made her legs seem endless. On my knees in front of a woman was a place I rarely found myself, even when eating pussy but I was too fucking eager to get up close and personal with all of her.

“Eamon.” She purred my name as her fingers tangled in my hair. And tightened. Her gaze so intense I didn’t know whether to thrust into her or reach for my gun, she licked her lips so slowly my cock began to leak.

“Please.”

I smiled and grabbed her ankle, never taking my eyes off her as I placed open mouth kisses from her ankle up to the center of her thighs. Then I did it to the other leg.

“So soft.” I inhaled the new scent of her, lavender and arousal, and something flowery that was all Layla.

“You wet for me Layla?”

I knew she would be, the air was thick with her scent but I wanted to hear her say it.

“I don’t know, am I?” She hissed out a breath when slid my thumb between slick, swollen lips. “Ah!” She quivered.

“Soaked.”

She wanted this as much as I did and nothing was hotter than a woman who knew what she wanted, especially in bed, and wasn’t afraid to ask for it.

“Hold yourself open for me.”

She held my gaze, a smile shining in her eyes as her hands slid down her body until they reached between her legs and exposed her hard clit to me. “Bon Appetit!”

I chuckled and she smiled along with me until my tongue flicked out and sent her head falling back against the window with a thud. My mouth took over and Layla kept my cock hard with a steady stream of moans and cries, “oh fucks,” and my personal favorite, “fuck yeah.” I lifted one curvy leg over my shoulder and her gaze found me again, dark and hungry.

“Don’t come,” I warned her when I felt her legs start to tremble.

She let out a strangled groan. “Are you crazy? I’m about ten licks … nine licks away. Eight,” she moaned, panted and reached a hand to grip my hair. “Eamon, oh!”

“Don’t. Come.”

I knew she wouldn’t listen when her hand tightened around my hair hard enough to sting but when she began to grind her pussy back and forth against my lips and my tongue, I didn’t give a shit. Watching her from below as she took her pleasure, eyes glued to mine as she fucked my face, watching her come apart nearly had me coming in my jeans.

Nearly.

But there was no fucking way after Layla fucked my face that I would come anywhere but in her tight, wet cunt.

“You’re so good at that,” she whimpered.

I laughed, still licking her as I unwrapped her leg and set her foot on the floor. “Thanks. Come here.”

I wasn’t in the mood to talk, not with my cock so hard all I could hear was blood pumping in my ears.

“I’m here,” she purred and wrapped an arm around me. “Now what?”

I gripped her hips and lifted her in the air and spun in a circle two or three times in search of a flat surface for what I had in mind. I fucking hated the decorative tables planted all around the room full of little tchotchkes, but right now I might give my decorator a raise. Layla hissed out a breath when her back hit the cool surface of the table, arching into me. I pulled a nipple in my mouth and sucked. Hard.

“Fuck!” Her nipples were bright red, slick and swollen and I only wanted to go back for more.

“Eamon,” she moaned and tightened her legs around my waist, grinding her pussy against my denim covered cock. “Fuck me.”

I nibbled my way down her body, scraping my teeth across her nipples, ribs, hipbones until I was far enough away to get undressed. Layla sat up on her elbows and watched liked it was a goddamn striptease.

“Enjoying the show?”

“You know what you look like without clothes.”

“But I don’t know what you think about how I look without clothes.” I smiled at her and she spread her legs barely an inch, just enough for the moonlight to catch a sliver of moisture on her lips.

She sighed. “I think you look damn good naked. The rare man who looks better without clothes.”

My cock sprang free at her words, straining and jerking toward her and she laughed.

“Happy?”

“Fucking ecstatic,” I told her and gripped my cock, running the head up and down her pussy, letting her juices coat my cock. “So, so wet.”

“That’s on … you.”

She said the last word on a moan as I slid slowly into her, pausing after every inch to look at her simply because I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

“More,” she begged.

One jerk of my hips and my cock was buried deep with no air between us. Layla cried out and her pussy clamped around me.

“Shit,” I hissed. I couldn’t stop touching her, even as I touched her in the most intimate way possible. My hands skated up her legs and over the curve of her ass, the dip of her waist and up to those fantastic tits. Every inch of flesh my hands touched turned my dick to steel until it was agonizing.

“Fuck. Layla, fuck.”

“More, Eamon. Fuck me. Harder.”

I let out a low groan and pounded harder into her, letting my hand slide up to her throat for a small squeeze. I watched as her hooded eyes flared wide for a split second but more importantly, I felt the way her pussy crushed my cock, pulsing quickly all around me. “Oh fuck!” I cried.

Layla grabbed at my wrist and I prepared myself for her to shove it away but she didn’t. Her grip tightened on my wrist and my grip tightened just a hair. She pulsed around me again and I snapped.

My hips took over, pumping in and out of her, one hand fondling her breast while the other held her throat. I couldn’t look away because every emotion, every expression of pleasure was written all over her face and telegraphed to my cock. Tighter and tighter she gripped me and I knew she was close.

“Yes,” she squeaked out unnecessarily.

Her legs tightened as her pleasure took over and I continued to pump into her, hard and fast, until pleasure snaked up my spine and my orgasm was yanked from the depths of my nutsac. It was rough and vicious, and long, pulling every ounce of pleasure from me it could.

“Fuck yeah, baby.”