Page 111 of Fighting Chance

I put my arms on my knees purely to hide the bulge in my pants.

“That’s…exciting to hear, to say the least.” Her chuckle slithers down my back. “That’s good that you want that. It means we can take things slow.”Take my time is more like it.“No one just jumps into sex straight off the bat and I know you’re eager to get on with it, but I want your first time to be special.”

“Slow.”

“Slow,” I parrot.

Layla nods, her thoughts right there in her eyes for me to read. “I don’t know how to ask for what I want.”

Her quiet confession has my heart melting just that little bit more for her.

“That’s okay,” I reassure her. Moving closer, she’s forced to tip her head back as I say, “Just one thing. Tell me one thing you read about that you want to do.”

Her eyes close as her chest rises and falls in quick succession. “Talking.”

“You like dirty talk, sunshine?”

She blinks at the deep timbre of my voice. “I think so,” she murmurs.

Reaching up, I slowly move her hair off her shoulder, my fingers trailing down to her pulse point where it hammers wildly in her neck. “Tell me,” I drawl. “How does this make you feel?”

She’s all but panting. “G-good.”

I cup her jaw gently, my thumb brushing back and forth across her bottom lip as I lower my head, hovering my face an inch from hers. “And how would it make you feel if I told you to part your lips and suck?”

A small noise escapes her, part shock and part moan. Her hand darts out to grip my shirt. I don’t think she knows if she should pull me closer or push me away.

She does neither as she holds me where I am.

“More than good,” she confesses.

I smile against her ear as I drawl, “Then you like talking, sunshine.”

I knew that would be the case, there was far too much dirty talk in that favorite book of hers. And by the way her legs are pressed together, Layla more than enjoys it.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint to pull away from her. Removing my hand is like a punishment straight to my soul, especially as she sits there panting, her eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted.

Her hand is still fisting my shirt.

She wants me.

And fuck does that feel good.

“What else do you want?” I ask.

My question pulls her from her thoughts and she ever soslowly lets go of my shirt. Her eyes flit from mine to the floor to the windows at the front. She’s quiet for a moment, pensive.

“There’s one thing that I seem to enjoy.”

Even talking about sex, she sounds sophisticated and elegant.

Smiling to myself, I ask, “And what is that?”

“I’m not sure what it’s called because I’ve researched both voyeurism and exhibitionist and it doesn’t quite fit.”

Every nerve ending in my body sparks to life.

My blood rushes in my ears, my heart all but leaping from the confines of my rib cage.