by Kendall Ryan
I don’t know what’s happening, but I know I have to be careful. “It was hot in there, anyway. Have I told you how great you look?”
Layne throws her head back with a hearty laugh, stealing a smile from me. “Yes,” she says with a chuckle. “You did mention that. A few times.”
“I mean, I had to. I look like a total frat boy next to you,” I say, pulling at my vintage print tee with mock disgust.
“Hardly.” Her eyes narrow at me again, but her face still glows with that gorgeous smile. “The only difference is that I tried extra hard to look nice tonight, and you didn’t.”
This body needs no extra effort, I almost joke. This isn’t the time for jokes, though. If I’ve learned anything from being with Layne, it’s to read a room. Or, in this case, a street corner.
I lean against the wall next to her, our bare arms only separated by a few inches of cold brick. “What made you try extra hard tonight?”
I have a gut feeling that it’s something to do with her therapy session earlier today. It’s fresh in her mind, considering she brought it up while we were inside. Layne isn’t exactly an open book, or at least she isn’t the kind of person to bring up her mental health so flippantly in the middle of a bar. Something’s obviously eating at her.
“I just wanted to put myself out there tonight. Try and have some fun or something,” she says, air quotes and all. She shakes her head with an empty laugh. “I’m just so unmotivated.”
“Why’s that?” I look down at her, unable to see her eyes anymore, just those lush dark lashes.
“Because . . . well, all I want to do is hang out with you.”
My heart leaps. Okay . . . I didn’t see that coming.
“So, let me get this straight,” I say after a few moments of weighted silence. “You want to meet someone tonight, put this dress to work . . . but you only want to be with me.”
Layne turns away with a shrug, her expression unreadable. “I know, it’s silly. It’s just so easy to be with you, and so hard to . . . always be on the lookout.”
“Okay,” I say, flipping a mental coin. Heads, I take the safe route. Tails, I go for it.
Who am I kidding? It was always going to be tails.
“I think I have a solution for that,” I say, nudging her with my elbow.
She rocks slightly on her heels with a giggle, meeting my eyes with an uncharacteristically shy look. “What?”
I step forward and position my body directly in front of hers. If I raised my arms and placed my hands on the cold brick, I could lock her against my body and . . .
Patience, Griff. You’ve come this far.
“You could work on both of those goals tonight, you know?”
“How?” She sounds slightly breathless.
“Come home with me.”
Layne stares at me in a way she hasn’t ever before. Several silent seconds tick past, and I’m sure she’s going to shoot me down. Just like she has every other time.
“Okay.” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but her gaze is hot on mine.
Wait, what?
I blink, and my mouth hangs open. Finally, I ask, “Okay?”
“Yeah..”
I squeeze my eyes closed and then reopen them, testing the reality of this situation. Layne watches me with something like amusement woven into her smile.
Yep, still real, still happening.
“Okay, I’ll get a car,” I say, pulling out my phone.
I remember to text my sister and send her a brief, perhaps cryptic message. Something about a migraine and calling it a night. By the looks of it, she’ll be too preoccupied with being in love to spare a second thought for my whereabouts.
“One thing,” Layne says, and my heart braces for impact. “We’re going to my place.”
My dick throbs painfully against the zipper of my jeans, and my mouth lifts in a smile. Layne in charge is the hottest Layne.
It’s a quick eight-minute drive from the bar to Layne’s house . . . some stroke of luck. Is God rewarding me for my year of celibacy? Did some higher power finally decide to throw me a bone?
Speaking of which, the appendage trying to pound through my jeans is actually painful enough that I have to discreetly adjust it while Layne talks to the driver. I feel like I’m lost in a dream when I step out of the car, following the sway of Layne’s hips as she leads me up the stairs of her porch.
Inside, the lights are off, and I can hear the distant hum of the dishwasher. Immediately, I’m comfortable and at ease. I love this house, and I rarely get to see it these days. Everything has its rightful place . . . from the modest drink cart to the faux alpaca rug sprawled in front of the fireplace. I don’t waste much time admiring her living arrangement, however. The soft sound of Layne’s voice snaps my attention back to her as she stands at the end of the hall.
“Do you need anything? Water? A beer?” she asks, her heels hanging in one hand as the other rests lightly on the door frame of her dimly lit bedroom. Her silhouette strikes me as heavenly, all curves and natural grace.
I lick my lips. “No, I don’t need anything.”
“Then get in here,” she says, stepping into her room and dropping her heels on the soft shag rug just inside.
I follow her inside as if in a trance. Layne stands with her back to me, unzipping the back of her dress, almost urgently. I catch her hands before she gets it free.
“Let me,” I murmur, brushing my fingertips against the soft skin of one exposed shoulder blade.
Faint chill bumps rise on her back as she shivers from my touch, and I’m suddenly thrust back into the memory of our first meeting, that fateful day in her office when my hands touched her back for the first time.
I press my body against hers, my erection nestled firmly against her backside. As I slowly draw the zipper of the maroon dress down, Layne melts into me. Her hands find my thighs and squeeze, hard, as I press the softest kisses onto one slim shoulder. She tastes sweet and practically melts into my touch.
Once the zipper is low enough, I kneel behind her, pulling the fabric down with me until it pools around her bare feet. I run my hands from the dip in her lower back to her sexy little thong, loving the way her soft skin feels beneath my fingertips.
Layne turns around, gazing down on me with hooded eyes. Her fingers brush over my shoulders, trailing up to dig fingernails deliciously into my scalp. I plant open-mouthed kisses against her hips and waist, nipping at the sensitive flesh above the line of her underwear.
“Griffin,” she says on a moan.
It’s too much to hear my name on those lips, like that. I rise to my feet and cup her face in my hands, fitting my mouth against hers. Our kiss is slow, hot, and wet, like water finally brought to a boil. Jesus. I can feel all the pent-up sexual tension that we’ve been stockpiling for years, echoing between our buzzing bodies.
Gently, I change the angle of our kiss, deepening it with a soft push of my tongue against hers. Layne presses tightly against me, her half-naked body hot against my clothes.
“Take off your shirt,” she gasps between kisses.
“Anything for you,” I murmur, ripping it over my head with one swift motion.
I draw Layne back against me, our bare skin lighting a fire between us. Her hands massage the exposed muscles of my shoulders, and I moan into our kiss.
“Fuck, Layne . . .”
Step by step, she leads me to the side of her bed. She gently pulls me down with her, and I follow, greedy for the taste of her neck on my tongue. My hands find her breasts, squeezing gently at first, and then harder when she arches her back and grinds her pelvis into mine.
So, Layne likes it a little rough. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t taking notes.
But when she pants out, “Condom,” my heart stops and my brain scrambles in sixteen different directions.
Fuck. This can’t be happening.
“I don’t have one. Do you?” I ask, praying to that higher power for just one more favor.
> “No.” She groans, and her hands fall from my back, bouncing against the mattress.
Is she pouting?
“We don’t need a condom to have fun,” I say before pulling the cup of her bra down to reveal one perfect pink nipple.
She yelps as I lick a wet path across her breast with my tongue. My fingers find the edge of her underwear, dipping beneath the fabric to discover even more silky skin.
“Can I take these off?” I murmur against her rising and falling belly.
She nods, making a desperate little sound that tells me, yes, for God’s sake, yes.
Drawing myself up onto my knees, I pull her panties down her legs and am completely awe-struck. Layne is perfectly clean shaven, pink and wet. My mouth waters.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, my breath tickling the skin of her inner thighs.
I lick and nip my way up her legs until I reach her beautiful, precious cunt. With soft, chaste kisses, I elicit needy whimpers from her.
Layne’s fingernails drag almost painfully through my hair, telling me to make my move already. When I caress her with my tongue, Layne bucks against my mouth, so I hold her hips in place with my strong hands. I suck and lick and kiss her pussy until I feel her quivering with pleasure. Then I draw one finger into my mouth, making it warm and wet.
With my lips tight around her clit, I press in one thick finger, then two. Her inner walls throb and constrict, signaling her orgasm rolling in. With steady strokes of my tongue and rhythmic pumping of my fingers, I pull her orgasm out of her. Her body rocks against my mouth like she’s riding a bull at the rodeo. I freaking love it.
A minute or two passes before she finally settles, the last waves of her orgasm lapping against her as I leave soft kisses on any surface I can reach. I crawl up her body, nestling into the crook of her neck with a sigh.
“Your turn,” she whispers against my neck.
Layne gently pushes one of my shoulders until I lose my balance. Before I know it, I’m on my back, and she has her mouth on my skin, leaving languid kisses down my chest and abs. The palm of her hand finds purchase on my balls, and my hips thrust involuntarily.
“Fuck,” I murmur with a hiss of breath.
She chuckles as she massages them in her hand, casually sending fireworks up my spine and straight back into my rock-hard dick. I don’t think I’ve ever been this worked up before. I lift my upper body from the bed, finding her neck and shoulders with my hands. Layne meets my eyes, just as the tip of her tongue touches my cock. I shudder, overcome with the sensation of her soft kisses against my hardness.
She closes her eyes and opens her mouth, completely enveloping me in warmth and slickness, taking me fully and then sucking softly as she eases back. The second time she takes me, she meets my eyes. My head spins.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” I say, letting my head fall back on the bed. I can’t keep watching her . . . I don’t want to blow a load too quickly when it feels this good.
Because Layne is damn good with her mouth.
“Fuck, Layne,” I murmur, and she hums in appreciation. The vibrations almost set me off right there. I take a handful of her hair, careful to only hold it back and not force a rhythm. This woman knows exactly what she’s doing.
Layne speeds up, applying more suction and uses one hand to cup my balls.
God bless America. She’s a multi-tasker.
I feel my orgasm coming, barreling toward me like it never has before. “Fuck, Layne—fuck. I’m going to—”
I groan out the words, giving her the chance to release her lip lock on my cock and finish me off neatly, with a simple hand job. But, no. She only takes me deeper into her throat, rubbing the vein of my cock with her tongue.
Stealing a glance at her beautiful face, her mouth so full of me, I can’t hold back any longer. I come hard and long into Layne’s hot throat, and she swallows me down with the ease of an experienced lover.
Fuck. I inhale sharply, exhaling in shaky bursts. My head is still spinning.
Did that actually happen?
Holy shit.
It did. And it was better than I could have ever imagined.
13
* * *
LAYNE
All those times I imagined what Griffin’s body looks like through his T-shirt, based on the outline of his rippling abs, firm pecs, and defined biceps? Yeah, whatever I came up with doesn’t hold a candle to what he actually looks like naked.
And I can’t fucking believe I’m lying here naked next to him.
If someone had told me only six months ago that I’d be hooking up with my best friend’s younger brother, I would have said they were dead wrong. If they’d told me I’d be hooking up with him and not worried about my jiggly ass or slight muffin top, I’d have said they were fucking insane. And yet here I am, climbing all over his ripped, absolutely perfect body, and the only thing on my mind is how natural this feels—and why the hell didn’t we do this way sooner?
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, rolling over onto his side and brushing a stray hair from my cheek. His fingertips wander down my neck but his eyes stay on mine, and his soft touches send goose bumps racing down my spine.
“Nothing, really. I’m just happy,” I say, propping myself up on my side to mirror him.
Without thinking, I move closer to him, our legs intertwining, our faces inches apart. Everything with him is instinctual, almost animalistic in how easy it is. Like our bodies know what to do, even if my mind might be a few steps behind.
“Me too.”
Griffin’s mouth meets mine in a long, slow, lingering kiss, one that sends shock waves straight to my core, lighting up every single nerve ending in my body.
Where the hell did he learn to kiss like this? For all the shit I used to give him about being a player, in this moment, I totally get it. If he has skills like this, then for the sake of all women everywhere, he needs to use them.
Lucky for me, right now he’s definitely using them.
“How are you so sexy?” Griffin murmurs, kissing my neck as my breath catches in my throat, all the blood in my head rushing to my center.
“How are . . . you so . . . good at this?” I ask, slightly breathless, but enjoying every touch of his lips to my skin.
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he guides me onto my back and slips a hand between my legs, his fingers moving gently as though he’s testing the limits, checking to see if I’m ready for more. For the record, I definitely am, even if I’m not sure I’ll be able to have another orgasm after the way he devoured me.
“Griffin. Shit.” I curse as his fingers find a perfect rhythm, and his lips trail over my neck and down one shoulder.
My hands grasp at his firm, muscular back, fighting for purchase. Any awareness of what I look like or even what my fucking name is fades away, leaving nothing but white-hot pleasure in its wake. With every move he makes, something swells inside me, and I can’t help the moans and sighs that escape from deep within.
Just as I’m about to reach my peak, he pulls me on top of him without missing a beat. I’m about to protest until I realize this position has its advantages. My center aligns perfectly with his thick manhood, and I shamelessly grind myself all over him.
A deep groan vibrates in his throat as he watches me with a dark, hooded gaze.
His hands skim up my sides, and he palms the weight of my breasts, pinching one nipple. All at once, an orgasm crashes over me. Arching my spine so my hair falls back over my shoulders, I inhale sharply and plant my hands against his firm abs to ground myself.
Coming down from the natural high with a groan, I slide off of him and onto my side, my back to him. He chuckles into my shoulder—which somehow turns me on even more. Without saying a word, he spoons me in a way that makes me feel calm and safe and protected, his arms encircling my body as his hand explores the terrain.
We lie like that for a little while longer while my breathing slows.
“That was amazing,” I say,
breathless.
“We’re just getting started,” he whispers, one hand dipping between my legs while the other massages my breast. Pleasure riots through me, making my heart pound. He works his fingers over my needy center until my breath grows ragged and I’m practically begging him to let me come again.
“Griff . . . please,” I whisper, turning and crushing my mouth to his over my shoulder.
Reaching behind me, I take him in my hand, my fingers barely meeting around his shaft. He groans as I begin my mission of making him feel as good as he’s making me.
“Fuck, that’s so good,” he murmurs, clearly enjoying himself, but his fingers don’t waver for a second.
He pushes one thick finger inside me, and I shudder around him, doing my best to stay focused. He pushes in a second, and I yelp as he begins pumping, timing his movements with mine. With his free hand, he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, reducing me to a moaning, whimpering mess.
Griffin thrusts into my fist, his hot breath on my neck. There’s sensation everywhere.
Suddenly, I can’t take it—another orgasm rips through my center at the same time his erupts from him. Our bodies quake together as wave after wave of pleasure consumes us until we collapse onto the bed, chests heaving, beads of sweat dotting our foreheads.
We lie there in silence for a while. Our breathing evens out, and he tucks his arm under my head as I curl up next to him.
I haven’t had sex like that since . . .
Who am I kidding? I’ve never had sex like that, let alone sex like that without penetration.
Sure, I’ve been with guys who were good in bed, but no one has ever come anywhere close to what just happened. I didn’t just feel cherished . . . I felt fucking worshipped. No man has ever been so attentive to my needs before, so careful and controlled while still being totally wild.
Griffin shifts behind me and pulls a few tissues from a box beside the bed, and then I feel him wiping away the mess he made on my lower back and butt. When he’s done, he tugs me close again.