I’m suddenly wetter than I can ever remember being. His br eath is so close to my face, he’s resting against the couch, legs out stretched under the table, a large tattooed arm stretching behind my head. Why do I want him so badly? God.
“Maybe one kiss,” I mumble out, lip trembling.
Taylor smirks, and grabs my waist dragging me on top of him, to where I’m straddling him on the floor. “One kiss,” he says into my mouth.
Waiting, I part my lips desperately wanting his lips on mine. If it’s just for two seconds, I wouldn’t mind. I just want to feel him again. I couldn’t stop thinking about it as he made dinner, sat and watched The Campaign with me. I want him, now. I want his lips on me.
Never get too close, Layla. I shake my head. Dad’s final words, the night he lay dying . No, don’t think about it.
I close my eyes and bite my lip. Just one kiss, that’s not getting too close, is it?
His lips touch mine, soft and sweet. He wraps his fingers in my nape and drags me closer, gripping my hips and grinding me down on his erection. It startles me, but I grind back with him. He feels so good.
A moan escapes my lips, and he groans back, plunging his tongue into my mouth. His teeth nibble at my bottom lip, and my stomach tightens. Shit. Taylor’s fingers grip underneath my shirt, his calloused hands traveling my flat stomach until he has my breast in his palm. Sliding the strap from my shoulder, his thumb scrapes across the pebbled tip of my nipple. “Fuck,” I whimper out, trying to keep my head straight. He’s breathing hard now. My inner muscles clench as his gray eyes focus in on mine. My center presses against his growing cock, making me shiver.
“I want you naked,” he whispers in my ear.
“Taylor, I’m not sure I can,” I say back, breathless. “It’s not right. I’m putting you in harm’s way.” It’s the first time I’ve said this, indicated why I can’t be close. He stops, breathing into my neck but he continues to rub along my nipple, and suck on my lip with his full lips.
“I can take care of myself…and you,” he says. I’m about to protest when he says, “Do you like when I do this?” he asks, rubbing his calloused palm against my breast.
“I love it,” I say.
“You like when I fuck your mouth with my own?” he asks.
I’m so turned on talking like this. I nod into his neck. “Yes.”
His hand travels down my side to the top of my jeans. “You like when I touch you there?” he asks, voice low but cutting edge.
“Yes,” I desperately say, because I want him to touch me. I want him. All of him. I’ve been fighting it only a few days, but it seems like a year. My dad is probably shaking his head. He fell for my mother, couldn’t not be with her. Is this how he felt? All the pain I have inside of me for him letting her die vanishes. I screw my eyes close tight, thinking about it makes me squirm. I haven’t thought about it in years, I don’t like to. I shove it aside, letting myself drown in the light trying to consume me.
I’m shaking with anticipation, while he unzips my jeans. His fingers reach under my white cotton panties and stroke me. I’ve just died. “Say my name, Layla,” he whispers, as his fingers search downward, slipping his finger into me.
“Taylor,” I mumble against his chest, grinding against his finger.
“Layla,” he whispers, sliding one thumb over my nipple, his other hand pressing against my sex. “If you’re not ready, it’s fine. But, I want to make you come.”
Heat pulls at me. “Tell me I can and I’ll take care of you,” he says, pressing further into me. I’m closing my eyes, wanting more than I want him to give me.
I nod.
Taylor plunges his tongue into my mouth, and stands up with me wrapped around his waist. He doesn’t stop nibbling at my lip as he walks us back toward his room. I haven’t been in
“Maybe one kiss,” I mumble out, lip trembling.
Taylor smirks, and grabs my waist dragging me on top of him, to where I’m straddling him on the floor. “One kiss,” he says into my mouth.
Waiting, I part my lips desperately wanting his lips on mine. If it’s just for two seconds, I wouldn’t mind. I just want to feel him again. I couldn’t stop thinking about it as he made dinner, sat and watched The Campaign with me. I want him, now. I want his lips on me.
Never get too close, Layla. I shake my head. Dad’s final words, the night he lay dying . No, don’t think about it.
I close my eyes and bite my lip. Just one kiss, that’s not getting too close, is it?
His lips touch mine, soft and sweet. He wraps his fingers in my nape and drags me closer, gripping my hips and grinding me down on his erection. It startles me, but I grind back with him. He feels so good.
A moan escapes my lips, and he groans back, plunging his tongue into my mouth. His teeth nibble at my bottom lip, and my stomach tightens. Shit. Taylor’s fingers grip underneath my shirt, his calloused hands traveling my flat stomach until he has my breast in his palm. Sliding the strap from my shoulder, his thumb scrapes across the pebbled tip of my nipple. “Fuck,” I whimper out, trying to keep my head straight. He’s breathing hard now. My inner muscles clench as his gray eyes focus in on mine. My center presses against his growing cock, making me shiver.
“I want you naked,” he whispers in my ear.
“Taylor, I’m not sure I can,” I say back, breathless. “It’s not right. I’m putting you in harm’s way.” It’s the first time I’ve said this, indicated why I can’t be close. He stops, breathing into my neck but he continues to rub along my nipple, and suck on my lip with his full lips.
“I can take care of myself…and you,” he says. I’m about to protest when he says, “Do you like when I do this?” he asks, rubbing his calloused palm against my breast.
“I love it,” I say.
“You like when I fuck your mouth with my own?” he asks.
I’m so turned on talking like this. I nod into his neck. “Yes.”
His hand travels down my side to the top of my jeans. “You like when I touch you there?” he asks, voice low but cutting edge.
“Yes,” I desperately say, because I want him to touch me. I want him. All of him. I’ve been fighting it only a few days, but it seems like a year. My dad is probably shaking his head. He fell for my mother, couldn’t not be with her. Is this how he felt? All the pain I have inside of me for him letting her die vanishes. I screw my eyes close tight, thinking about it makes me squirm. I haven’t thought about it in years, I don’t like to. I shove it aside, letting myself drown in the light trying to consume me.
I’m shaking with anticipation, while he unzips my jeans. His fingers reach under my white cotton panties and stroke me. I’ve just died. “Say my name, Layla,” he whispers, as his fingers search downward, slipping his finger into me.
“Taylor,” I mumble against his chest, grinding against his finger.
“Layla,” he whispers, sliding one thumb over my nipple, his other hand pressing against my sex. “If you’re not ready, it’s fine. But, I want to make you come.”
Heat pulls at me. “Tell me I can and I’ll take care of you,” he says, pressing further into me. I’m closing my eyes, wanting more than I want him to give me.
I nod.
Taylor plunges his tongue into my mouth, and stands up with me wrapped around his waist. He doesn’t stop nibbling at my lip as he walks us back toward his room. I haven’t been in
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