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“Like that,” she says, and I seek her mouth with my fingers and my lips. I kiss her, then dip two fingers into her mouth and groan when she sucks on them.
“Oh fuck, Layla.” Her pussy is tight around my dick, her lips locked around my fingers, and I’m one second away from blowing my load. “Fuck.”
I slide my fingers out carefully and kiss her again, our tongues twisting together. Hell yeah, this is perfect. I rock into her heat, licking up her mouth, and slide my wet fingers down the crease of her ass.
I slip the tip of one finger into her back hole and stroke in and out in time to my cock thrusting into her.
“Oh God,” she gasps against my mouth, drawing back for breath. “Hawk.”
“You like this,” I murmur. I know she does.
“Yes.” She shivers when I push my finger deeper. “Ah.”
Her pussy pulses, muscles rippling, massaging my dick in a way that turns my vision white. “Damn.”
Feels like years since we last did this, since we last let go in a safe place, and God, I love it.
I love her.
And then I explode inside her, still not understanding what I just thought, what I just felt, what hit me straight to the brain, straight to the chest like a bullet.
I love this girl. Love her.
She’s not only mine. I am hers, too.
Chapter Sixteen
Layla
Slipping out of bed at some indefinite point during the day—marked as such by the faint sunlight filtering through the window slats—I stagger into the bathroom to pee. My stomach isn’t very happy with me again today, but I’m starving and am probably dehydrated.
I gulp down water from the sink tap and splash my face. My skin feels too warm, as if I’m running a fever.
No wonder I feel like crap. Probably caught a bug with all the stress and the cold of the warehouse.
I shudder at the memory, shove it deep into my mind.
Returning to the bedroom, I stare at Hawk. He’s sprawled on the bed, one muscular leg thrown over the covers, one tattooed arm thrown over his eyes. My gaze snags on the tent made by his semi-hard cock. With his smooth, strong body on display, that pale hair fanning around his head and that short, blond beard he’s just… lickable. All over.
I lean against the door frame and rub a hand over my hot forehead. God, I feel icky. And so hungry.
Surely somewhere in this mansion I can find food? And clothes? And some ibuprofen? Maybe not in that order. Even though the housekeeper saw me naked and pressed to Hawk’s equally naked body, I don’t feel brave enough to wander the house in my birthday suit.
I glance around the room and discover some folded clothes on a stool. It turns out there are clothes fo
r Hawk and for me. Powder-blue draw-string pants and a T-shirt for me. Even a pair of black panties. No bra, though.
Everything’s baby soft, I discover when I pull it on, and I sigh at the novel feeling of freshly laundered clothes. Clean clothes.
Next priority: food.
Sending Hawk’s slumbering form one last lingering look, because honestly I’d love to crawl back under the covers and cuddle to his warm body, I set out to explore.
Beyond our room there is a TV room with comfortable looking sofas and a low coffee table, stacked with gaming magazines.
No food here.
My bare feet make no sound as I go down a wide passage with huge bay windows on one side, giving onto a small garden with bushes and flowers.
