into her spasming pussy. His palm massaged her throbbing clitoris.
“I need . . .” Her words came slurred with pleasure. “Oh God . . . Fuck me. Please. Now.”
Cupping her between the legs, Brian began to shaft her tender rear with smooth measured strokes. His hips worked like a welloiled machine, pounding against the curve of her buttocks, his steelhard cock caressing nerve endings only he’d ever touched.
Layla sobbed, her blood raging. The sounds he made spurred her dark hunger—the rough growls and muttered curses, the desperate groans of pleasure. The heel of his palm nudged her clit with every thrust, pushing her closer and closer to an orgasm she knew would destroy her. She’d have no defenses left against him by the time he was done with her, nothing to shield her from the pain of losing him all over again.
“I love you, Layla.” His voice was a harsh rasp in her ear. “So damn much.”
He pushed her forward slightly, gaining purchase with his knees. His strokes came faster, deeper ... his fingers sliding in and out with the same perfect tempo.
“Love you.” She gasped the agonizing truth, coming in a brutal rush. Her body seized, clamping down on his shuttling cock, tightening as he climaxed with heated spurts deep inside her.
Brian gripped her tightly. Holding her together. Holding her to him. For a moment the desperation melted away, leaving them alone with each other. The closest they’d ever been, while also the furthest away.
Layla awoke before Brian. She roused from sleep to the feel of his heavy arm draped over her and his leg tangled between hers. His face was buried against her nape, his rhythmic exhales soft against her skin.
Tomorrow she’d be in San Diego and Brian would go his own way. Again. It was a small comfort that he regretted allowing her to leave him that long-ago day. If they had a second chance, she knew they’d both do things differently.
She’d been so young when she left him. Barely nineteen. For all intents and purposes, Brian had been her first relationship. How childish she must have seemed to a mature twenty-five-year-old man, demanding he choose between her and the livelihood he’d worked so hard for. He’d chosen not to reenlist in the Navy because of her need to keep him close to home.
What had she sacrificed for him ? Not enough. She’d been dizzy with adolescent yearning and seeking a Grand Gesture to prove his love for her. She had lacked confidence in her ability to keep Brian’s interest and to satisfy his sometimes-dark, often-demanding appetites. And she’d mistaken his care and consideration as babying, feeling as if he was treating her like a child instead of the truth—he indulged her because he loved her and wanted her to be happy.
Now, it was too late.
She sighed. Brian tugged her closer.
“Don’t think about it,” he said gruffly, pressing his lips to her shoulder.
“I’m trying not to.” She started thinking about running away instead, thinking about the viability of leaving the country and being on the lam together, and never letting him go. But neither of them could do that. Agent Sandoval had died saving her life; it was her responsibility to help bring to justice the men who’d killed him and Steph.
Lifting his hand to her lips, Layla kissed his knuckles, then rubbed her cheek against them. She felt his breath catch, then quicken. His embrace tightened.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.”
“No, sweetheart. I fucked it up. I was the one who should have known better. You needed reassurance and I didn’t give it to you.”
She turned in his arms and snuggled into his hard chest. “I was worried that I was too inexperienced and undereducated to keep you from getting bored.”
His smile made her chest tight. “You’ve always been a handful. Boredom has never been a concern.”
“I was sick with jealousy whenever a woman nearer to your age flirted with you or gave you a please-fuck-me look. I felt
“I need . . .” Her words came slurred with pleasure. “Oh God . . . Fuck me. Please. Now.”
Cupping her between the legs, Brian began to shaft her tender rear with smooth measured strokes. His hips worked like a welloiled machine, pounding against the curve of her buttocks, his steelhard cock caressing nerve endings only he’d ever touched.
Layla sobbed, her blood raging. The sounds he made spurred her dark hunger—the rough growls and muttered curses, the desperate groans of pleasure. The heel of his palm nudged her clit with every thrust, pushing her closer and closer to an orgasm she knew would destroy her. She’d have no defenses left against him by the time he was done with her, nothing to shield her from the pain of losing him all over again.
“I love you, Layla.” His voice was a harsh rasp in her ear. “So damn much.”
He pushed her forward slightly, gaining purchase with his knees. His strokes came faster, deeper ... his fingers sliding in and out with the same perfect tempo.
“Love you.” She gasped the agonizing truth, coming in a brutal rush. Her body seized, clamping down on his shuttling cock, tightening as he climaxed with heated spurts deep inside her.
Brian gripped her tightly. Holding her together. Holding her to him. For a moment the desperation melted away, leaving them alone with each other. The closest they’d ever been, while also the furthest away.
Layla awoke before Brian. She roused from sleep to the feel of his heavy arm draped over her and his leg tangled between hers. His face was buried against her nape, his rhythmic exhales soft against her skin.
Tomorrow she’d be in San Diego and Brian would go his own way. Again. It was a small comfort that he regretted allowing her to leave him that long-ago day. If they had a second chance, she knew they’d both do things differently.
She’d been so young when she left him. Barely nineteen. For all intents and purposes, Brian had been her first relationship. How childish she must have seemed to a mature twenty-five-year-old man, demanding he choose between her and the livelihood he’d worked so hard for. He’d chosen not to reenlist in the Navy because of her need to keep him close to home.
What had she sacrificed for him ? Not enough. She’d been dizzy with adolescent yearning and seeking a Grand Gesture to prove his love for her. She had lacked confidence in her ability to keep Brian’s interest and to satisfy his sometimes-dark, often-demanding appetites. And she’d mistaken his care and consideration as babying, feeling as if he was treating her like a child instead of the truth—he indulged her because he loved her and wanted her to be happy.
Now, it was too late.
She sighed. Brian tugged her closer.
“Don’t think about it,” he said gruffly, pressing his lips to her shoulder.
“I’m trying not to.” She started thinking about running away instead, thinking about the viability of leaving the country and being on the lam together, and never letting him go. But neither of them could do that. Agent Sandoval had died saving her life; it was her responsibility to help bring to justice the men who’d killed him and Steph.
Lifting his hand to her lips, Layla kissed his knuckles, then rubbed her cheek against them. She felt his breath catch, then quicken. His embrace tightened.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.”
“No, sweetheart. I fucked it up. I was the one who should have known better. You needed reassurance and I didn’t give it to you.”
She turned in his arms and snuggled into his hard chest. “I was worried that I was too inexperienced and undereducated to keep you from getting bored.”
His smile made her chest tight. “You’ve always been a handful. Boredom has never been a concern.”
“I was sick with jealousy whenever a woman nearer to your age flirted with you or gave you a please-fuck-me look. I felt
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