When I finally crush my lips against Layla’s, my mind wipes itself blank. All of my thoughts dissolve. All that’s left is feeling. I breathe in her sweet scent. Feel her warm, soft body yield against mine. Blood thumps through me as I crowd her backwards, pushing her against her living room wall, kissing her hard.
I always thought kissing Layla would be a little like fighting; she’s so sharp, I thought we’d be wrestling for dominance. But instead, she softens, practically sinking into me. I twist my head, starting to kiss my way down her jaw. She makes a small gasping noise, trying to pull back, and without thinking, I wrap my hand around her ponytail, yanking her back into place.
She freezes, breathing hard, and my brain finally flicks back on. For a second, neither of us move. I close my eyes as realisation floods through me.
What the Hell am I doing?
I swore I wouldn’t give in to my attraction to Layla. I’ve managed to stick to that promise for years. And now she’s come out here and told me that I essentially abandoned her during high school, and my response is to kiss her? And I’m not just kissing her — I’m pulling her hair, for crying out loud. No wonder she looks so shocked. She’s never seen this part of me before. Few people have.
I don’t mean to get so controlling in bed. I try to be gentle and respectful, but whenever I’m turned on, I just turn into this commanding, authoritative prick. Zack insists that I’m a latent Dom. Amy preferred to say I became a caveman as soon as I got hard.
“Layla.” I drop my hand, taking a step back. “God. I’m so sorry. Sorry.”
Layla just looks at me for a few seconds, panting, her green eyes wide and dark. Then she pushes into me, crushing her chest against mine. “More,” she orders. Before I can protest, she grabs the hem of her shirt and tugs it over her head. I stare, dazed, at her chest.
She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. Soft pale skin, gently curved waist, teardrop-shaped breasts.
My last thread of self-restraint snaps. Without a beat, I bend and catch one of her tits in my mouth. She cries out, running her hands through my hair as I lick her hard, roughing my tongue over the sensitive skin. God. How many nights have I laid awake, hearing her making these noises through the walls and wondering what Josh and Zack are doing to her?
I want to hear all her noises. I want to drag them out of her. I wrap a hand around her throat, keeping her pinned in place to the wall, and slide my free hand down over her trembling stomach, trailing it under the waistband of her pyjama shorts. Layla gasps, her body jolting in shock.
“Please,” she says again, as I tease my fingers under the delicate lace of her briefs.
Dimly, at the back of my mind, I know I should be a gentleman. I should carry her into the bedroom, and lay her down, and make this special for her.
But I can’t make myself stop.
I slip a hand between her warm, smooth thighs. They close around me, trapping my wrist in place as I cup my fingers over her damp pants, rubbing her through the lace. She squirms over my hand, choking for air, and I speed up my movements, drawing little circles right where she needs them. I don’t tease her. I don’t drag it out. I can’t. Need is thrumming through me. I need to see her come. I need to feel her fall apart over my hand. I’m moving solely on instinct.
I bend and catch her breast in my mouth again, right as her release hits her. She gasps, flinging her hands out, clawing at the wallpaper with her fingernails as she soaks my palm. I don’t relent, massaging her even harder as she shudders and gasps, climbing the wall. “Luke,” she chokes out, accidentally kicking me. “Oh, god, Jesus—”
“Shh.” I catch her mouth with mine, kissing her even harder. I can feel her fluttering against my fingers, and it’s driving me crazy. She fists her hands at my shoulders, gasping.
When the spasms eventually fade, she immediately lunges forward, grabbing for my belt buckle and yanking it open. I groan as she tugs down my fly and shoves her hand down the front of my pants. Her small hand cups over my painful hard-on, and she freezes in place, her eyes widening. I fight the urge to laugh, rubbing my leaking cock into her palm.
“You don’t wear underwear?” She squeaks.
“I thought you listened to the podcast,” I murmur, wrapping my hand in her ponytail again, tugging to bare her neck. “You didn’t hear my speech on the health benefits of going commando? It was only a couple of episodes ago.” I bend to kiss under her ear.
Her cheeks are bright red. “I thought you were talking in theory.”
“Oh.” I nip at her cheek. “No. I wasn’t.”
She gives me an incredulous look, her fingers tightening slightly around my length.
I clear my throat. “Sweetheart,” I say softly. “If you just keep your hand down there, this isn’t going to last very long.”
She blinks back to reality. “Oh,” she murmurs, pulling her hand free. “Take them off.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you telling me what to do?”
She swallows. “Please.”
Chuckling, I obediently shuck off my jeans, then grab a fistful of my shirt and tug it up over my shoulders. As soon as I’m undressed, she turns me around, changing our positions and pressing me up against the wall. Her fingers are wrapped around my hot, swollen shaft before I even know what’s happening. I shudder as she starts to stroke me, her touch light.
God. I don’t remember the last time a woman touched me. I barely even remember the last time I touched myself, for God’s sake. Getting myself off hasn’t been a priority of mine in a very, very long time.
But it looks like that’s finally changing. Layla pumps me a couple of times, her eyes intent on my face, then lets me go and drops to her knees.
My eyes widen. My hands fly to her hair as she leans forward, licking a long, hot stripe up my shaft. “Sweetheart,” I start. “Are you sure—”
She shuts me up by taking me into her mouth. I shout, my head thudding back against the wall as her warm lips stretch around my tip.
Suddenly, Layla’s bedroom door flies open. Zack stalks out, a hand over his eyes. Layla makes a noise of protest that vibrates straight through my balls.
“I ain’t looking,” he promises. “Just let me know if you’re shagging him or murderin’ him, L. I don’t really wanna find a new co-host at this short notice, but I get it, he’s really annoying.”
Layla just sucks at my head in answer. I can’t choke back my groan, twisting my fingers in her hair and tugging her further onto my dick.
Zack peeps out from behind his fingers. “Oh, good. They’re just shagging, J!”
Josh appears in Layla’s bedroom door and leans in the doorframe, watching silently as Layla tongues my slit, completely ignoring the other two men.
Zack clears his throat, pointing between us. “So, like, I’m well glad that this is happening, but like… is it a couple thing? Or can we join? ‘Cause if not, I’ve got to go back to our flat. Like, right now.” He cups a hand over his crotch, adjusting himself through his jeans.
Layla finally pulls away from me, letting my dick go with a wet popping noise. I look down at her, my heart thumping. She looks ruined. Her lips are swollen and pink, her colour is high, her hair is ruffled.
I cup her chin, pulling her face to look up at me. “What do you think, sweetheart?” I ask. “What do you want?”
She licks her lips, glancing between the three of us. “Are you all clean?” She asks. “If I’m having a four-way, I want to go all in.”
All of the blood rushes out of my brain.
