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Her voice trails off, and I arch a brow. “You wanted me for release. If I’m not mistaken—” I lift two slick fingers to my mouth and take a long, luxurious taste. “—that was your release. You don’t need me anymore. Unless…?”
Something sparks in her eyes. A recognition of the dangerous game we’re playing. An acceptance of it. A desire to keep on playing.
Slowly, achinglyslowly, she slides a hand down her body, touching herself everywhere I want to touch her.
“But I want more,” she purrs.
Again, miracles abound. The fact I don’t lunge across the room and drive every inch of myself into her is a feat of human willpower that will never be repeated.
“We shouldn’t make this something it isn’t.” I wield her words against her like a weapon, and I savor the moment they land.
Her lips purse. Brow furrows. Fuck, this entire thing could go sideways in an instant. There’s every chance I end up back in my room, finishing in my own damn hand to the image of my wife falling apart beneath me.
But if Laila is going to look into my eyes and lie to me again and again, I need her to know it’s a lie.
I’m not just here to be her release. I’m not just here for the sex. She was crying my name before she even knew I was in the room, and that fuckingmeanssomething.
Carefully, Laila slides to the end of the bed and stands up. Her body is sheened with sweat, all of her lean, tight curves glistening as she walks towards me.
“What thisis,” she breathes, walking a slow circle around me, her hand trailing lazily from my chest to my shoulder, down my spine, “is sex. Good sex, if we’ll let it be that. And nice as that little appetizer was, I’m not done yet. Neither are you, by the looks of it.”
She stops in front of me and palms the bulge in my jeans.
I press against her palm with a growl, because even miracles have their limits.
She stretches onto her toes and unzips my pants, working her hand under the waistband of my boxers until she’s gripping me. Stroking to the rhythm of my ragged breathing.
Her mouth curls into a satisfied smirk. “I know you want it.”
In a flash, I rip her hand out of my pants and spin her around. I crush her back against my chest, my lips brushing against the curve of her ear. “I know exactly what I want. It’s no secret, Laila. You’re the one who won’t admit the truth.”
She’s breathing hard, shocked by the abrupt switch in control. “I want sex.”
“Then say someone else’s name when you touch yourself,” I growl. “See someone else’s face. I dare you.”
“Fuck you.” She tries to pull away, but I hold her tight. She’s not going anywhere yet. I walk us forward until she’s pinned between my body and the plate-glass window. “Let me go!”
I drop my arm from her waist, but before she can take a step, I palm her breast. I slide a hand over the swell of her hip and dip between her legs, and she grinds to a halt right there so she doesn’t lose that tiny point of contact.
“Leave if you want.” I massage a circle over her clit, and she gasps, dropping her head back on my shoulder. “No one is stopping you.”
Her body melts against mine. I kiss a line down her neck and the slope of her shoulder. I touch her until she wraps a hand around my neck, clinging to me to keep from sinking to her knees.
Finally, she reaches behind her and frees my aching cock from my jeans. I spring free, settling against her ass with a groan.
When she tries to position me between her legs, I arch away. “Who do you belong to, Laila?”
“Arsen,” she complains. “Don’t.”
But it’s not good enough. I band a hand loosely around her throat. “Who the fuck do you belong to?”
She hesitates, but we both know I won’t touch her the way she wants until she tells me the truth.
“You,” she finally whispers.
I reward her with an inch. “Say it again.”
“I belong to you,” she whines, planting her hands against the glass as I give her a little more.
