Layla’s cheeks pinked. “I’d like that.”
He leaned in and gave her a feather-light kiss. “You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you, baby.”
She let out a shuddering little sigh. “Oh?”
Jack nodded. He’d been going exquisitely slowly with Layla, mindful of how skittish she was. He wanted to let her set a pace she’d be comfortable with, and so all of their encounters had been heavy on the kissing, and he’d made her come with his hand, but they hadn’t gone further than that.
Obviously that was too slow of a pace for his greedy, perfect girl. God, he loved this woman. Even as he thought it, he pushed the thought back out of his head. It was infatuation, he told himself. It was far too soon for love, no matter how right she might feel in his arms.
Maybe if he told himself that often enough, he might even believe it. Because he could see Layla with him ten years from now, or fifty. He’d still find her adorable and sexy and smart even when they’d gone gray together.
Definitely too early to declare something like that, he figured. So he kissed her enthusiastically, loving the way her mouth went soft under his, like his kiss was the best thing she’d ever had. Like nothing existed outside of their locked mouths. He loved the way she felt in his arms as much as he loved her enthusiastic reactions. Every time he gave her pleasure, she made him feel like he was a damn king.
Her tongue brushed against his, and Jack groaned. A king with a hell of a lot of patience, he decided. A king who had spent the last week with night after night of blue balls and cold showers.
A king who would happily do so for another week or ten if it was what his queen needed.
But Layla was an impatient sort, which was adorably cute given that most of the things she chose to work on were detail oriented. She’d sit for six hours and cross-stitch, but when it came to him, she was possessive and grabby and impatient . . . and, god, he loved that.
“I get to go first,” Jack murmured between kisses.
“Like hell you do. I’m the one in the panties here.” She slid out of his arms with a little wiggle. “If I take them off, then you don’t have anything good to look at when I’m kneeling in front of you.”
Jack groaned and raked a hand down his face. He wanted to point out that her naked ass would make him just as happy, but she was so clearly thrilled with the lingerie—and so brave for showing up in nothing but a coat—that how could he possibly refuse? “You drive a hard bargain.”
“Oh please. I do not.” Layla gave him a cheeky look and grabbed his hands, dragging him toward the bed. “You might want to put our son in the bathroom, though. I think he’s too young for what’s about to happen.”
He’d forgotten all about the dog. Jack looked over at Oscar, and the small tail wagged happily. “Right. Give me two minutes to get him situated.”
“You have two minutes on the clock,” Layla agreed, and sauntered away with an exaggerated sway of her hips that made her rounded ass look like a gift-wrapped peach. God, that underwear was sexy. With the stockings and heels, she was a walking dream.
Jack had never moved so damn fast in his life. He scooped up Oscar and his low-sided laundry basket, made a nest for the dog in the bathroom, and then stuffed Oscar’s favorite hollow toy with peanut butter as an offering. Then he washed his hands, shut the door, and looked over at Layla.
His girl was on the bed, still wearing her heels and lingerie, stretched out on her side in a pose that was probably supposed to be sexy but looked far too tense. She squinted up at him, and he realized she’d taken off her glasses.
“Can I make a weird request?” he asked, sidling back over to her.
“Of course.”
“Can you put your glasses back on?”
She tilted her head, looking up at him in surprise. “Really? I thought I might look sexier without them on.”
“Really. I think you’re always sexy but I love the way you look in your glasses. Plus, don’t you want to get a good look at the goods?” He winked at her, teasing.
Layla rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling. “I’m not that blind without them.”
“Can I help it if I think you’re cute in glasses?” Jack sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her as she reached across to his nightstand, her breasts straining against the festive bra.
“Those aren’t my eyes,” she teased as she put them on and caught him staring.
“I know. But I just like looking at all of you.” He grabbed her leg and tugged her toward him on the bed, noticing that her hair was up in another loose bun, held together with a pencil that was just begging to be pulled free. She knew just how to work him. “You sure I can’t go first?”
Her breath caught in her throat, and then Layla chuckled. “Something tells me if I let you go first, I’m not going to get my turn.”
“Oh, I’d absolutely let you have your turn.” If she wanted to suck on his cock, he was extremely willing and enthusiastic.
She pretended to consider, then shook her head as she crawled across the bed to him. “Ladies first.”
“I like how confident you are,” he murmured. “It’s gorgeous.”
“I’m hiding my terror well,” Layla admitted, moving to kneel on the bed. She reached for his T-shirt and tugged on it. “I felt incredibly silly all the way here, but then I saw the look on your face when I took my coat off, and I got my second wind.”
“You’re stunning,” Jack promised her. “Absolutely fucking stunning.”
“Ooh, an F-word. That’s how you know it’s serious,” she whispered, pulling his shirt over his head. He lifted his arms to help, and when she tossed it aside, she stared down at his chest and sighed. “It’s a good thing you weren’t shirtless at the auction. I might have tossed them my entire wallet at the sight of this.”
He was glad that she liked what she saw. “Not too flabby?”
“Flabby?” She squinted up at him in that adorable way of hers. “Jack, I swear you have an eight-pack. You look like you could give Aquaman a run for his money in the sexy department.” Her hands went flat on his pectorals and then she smoothed them all the way down his chest. “There’s not an inch of fat anywhere.” Her voice turned soft, reverent.
And damn if that wasn’t making him hard as a rock. His cock ached in his jeans, but he held still as Layla ran her hands up and down his chest, exploring him with curious fingertips. She outlined his abdomen with her fingers, then touched the swirls of hair dotting his chest and down to his navel.
“You even have a happy trail,” she said with fascination, touching the line of hair that disappeared under his belt. “I’ve been wondering for days now.”
“Were you thinking about my cock a lot, then?”
Layla bit her lip again. “Far, far too much.”
He groaned, flexing his hands so he’d resist the urge to just grab her and kiss the hell out of her. “Where do you want me?”
Her tongue swiped over her pink lips, fascinating him. God, he was obsessed with her mouth. “I think standing up? Can we do that?”
“We can do anything you want, baby.” He loved that she smiled back at him. That she looked so eager and aroused all at once. “You just tell me where you want me.”
“Stand up,” she repeated, and steered him toward the foot of the bed. He stood there, watching as she sat on the edge of the bed and slid her legs between his. “Can I strip the rest of you?”
“I would love it if you did.”
Layla took in a deep breath and peeked up at him as her fingers went to his belt. “I feel like I’m going to unwrap the naughtiest Christmas present ever.”
“I don’t think this present has ever wanted to be unwrapped more.”
She chuckled, her hands undoing his belt. “I just hope this isn’t one of those Christmases where you really want a PlayStation and instead you get underpant
s.”
“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” Sure, it was arrogant to say, but he’d never had complaints in the past.
“So confident.” Her lips curved. “That makes me feel good about my present.” Her hand boldly slipped down the front of his jeans, feeling him, and her eyes widened. “Okay, that’s a bigger . . . bow . . . on my present than I expected.”
He just grinned. “Told ya.”
The urge to grab her hand and pump into it was overwhelming, but Jack forced himself to remain still, to let her explore him as she wanted. If she was a virgin, the last thing he wanted to do was paw at her and make her feel like she wasn’t in control of the situation. So as her fingers explored him through the front of his jeans, tracing his outline, he tried to think about other things. Things like the upcoming calving season. Saddles that needed repair. The cost of horses if he bought breeding stock, pedigreed cutters who’d—
Jack sucked in when her hand delved lower, cupping his sac. The touch of her was just enough to be teasing through the denim, but it also wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy. When she gave him a delighted smile, he couldn’t resist adding, “I’d feel a hell of a lot better out of my clothes, just so you know.”
“That’s the plan.” Layla moved her hands back to his belt, pulling it free of the loops and tossing it onto the floor. She undid the buttons on his fly and then wiggled the waistband of his pants lower. She hummed a little at the sight of his plain black boxers. “Step out of your boots for me?”
“Gladly.” He took a step backward and pulled his boots off, tossing them aside, and then went ahead and removed his pants, leaving only his boxers on. He noticed her cheeks pinked up as his pants came off, so he left the boxers for her. She could leave them on for as long as she was comfortable, that way. Jack put his hands out, doing a slow twirl. “How am I doing?”
She giggled. “No complaints here.” Layla sat down on the edge of the bed again and put her hands on his hips, pulling him toward her. “Please be serious,” she told him in a mock-stern voice. “This is a very delicate situation.”
“Of course. My apologies.” He gave her a little nod, playing along with her game. “What can I do to help?”
“Just stand still,” she told him and tugged his boxers down to his thighs. Layla sucked in a breath the moment his cock hit the air, and she blinked for a moment, then glanced up at him. “Porn really does not prepare you for this sort of moment.”
“We can stop—”
“No,” she breathed, letting his boxers drop to the ground with a swish. “No, I don’t want to stop.”
Good, because he didn’t either. The intense way she was looking at him was making him harder than a rock. Pre-cum dotted the head of his cock and had started dribbling down his shaft, evidence that she was making him utterly crazy with need. He watched her as she licked her lips, a thoughtful expression on her face, and lifted her hands. She didn’t put them on him, though. They fluttered in the air for a moment, as if she was considering the situation, and then she put her hands on his thighs, rubbing up and down as she pulled him a little closer.
“You’re going to find this hard to believe,” she whispered, “but this is the first time I’ve done this. Super-ultra-virgin in the house.”
“Never wanted to before?” he asked, voice husky with arousal. Damn, he liked that he was her first. It didn’t matter, not really . . . but he still liked it.
She shook her head. “I wanted to make sure what I felt for someone was really a thing. I didn’t want to have sex just to have sex, you know? So I waited. And waited. And . . .” She blew out a nervous breath. “Here I am, far too old to be this anxious about blowing you.”
“Don’t be anxious. You’re gorgeous.” He reached out and caressed her jaw, and she leaned into his palm. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been dreaming of this moment since I met you, and right now is exceeding all my expectations.”
Layla preened a little at that. Her hands stroked up and down his thighs again, sending bolts of aroused need racing through him. “Brace yourself for impact, then.”
The chuckle bubbling in his throat died when she curled her hands around his length and bent down to take him into her mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
He tasted . . . salty. Like skin, of course, Layla thought, but it was also a different, curious sort of taste. Not quite bitter, not quite musky. Just . . . Jack-tasting.
She decided that she liked his taste, almost as much as she liked the way he felt. Layla had read all kinds of books and watched far too much online porn, but experiencing was something different entirely. She’d heard the euphemisms, like “velvet monster” and “silk over steel,” when it came to a man’s cock and, well, they were pretty accurate. He was incredibly soft, warm skin sheathing a rock-hard, thick length that made her quiver deep inside. She slid her fingers up and down his shaft even as she ran her tongue over the tip of him, and wondered if he’d let her just touch him for hours.
Really, a penis should not feel so darn fascinating if men wanted it sucked on. It should be boring and uneventful so she could focus on her task. Instead, she found herself sighing and lifting her head, running her lips along the tip so she could enjoy the heat of him, letting her fingertips trace over the vein on the underside of his shaft. Soft, but hard. Incredibly hot. Incredibly firm. Big. Real big.
Layla hummed approval to herself.
“Is there . . . any particular touch you like?” she asked, looking up at Jack. His body had gone rigid as she explored him, and when she looked up, she’d expected to see tension in his face. Instead, he had the look on his face like he did when they kissed and he made her come—heavy-lidded, almost sleepy, and utterly aroused, his pupils dark and huge in his gorgeous eyes.
Oh.
She pressed her thighs tightly together.
“All of it,” he rasped. “I like all of it.”
She bit back a smile, because he sounded like he was on the verge of losing control, and she liked being the one to do that to him. She hadn’t been too sure about showing up at his place in flirty panties and a bra—and nothing else—but his reaction was really gratifying and he looked at her as if she was gorgeous, not as if she was crazy.
Layla was enjoying herself.
She slid forward onto her knees, on the floor of his cabin. “If you won’t tell me specifics, I’m going to have to learn for myself.” She kept her tone teasing and flirty, and when he groaned low in his throat, it took everything she had not to smile, because smiling stretched her mouth too tight and she’d just end up using teeth on him.
She was not a professional at this sort of thing, but she absolutely knew teeth were bad.
Using her tongue and hands, she explored him. She licked him from head to base, pressing kisses along his shaft. She followed the vein on his length. She curled her fingers around him and tried to measure just how big he was. She licked swirls around the head of his cock and then used the tip of her tongue to try to discover any secret spots she hadn’t yet figured out. He seemed to like it when she breathed hot, light kisses along the shaft, and he really liked it when she licked the underside of his cock head. She wanted more of a reaction from him, though, so she took the head of him into her mouth and sucked gently.
Jack’s hips jerked and he swore above her.
Layla immediately sat back, releasing him. “Did I do something wrong?”
He groaned, his head falling back. “No,” he panted. His hand went to her hair and he pulled her forward again. “More. More of that.”
Ooh. She could do that. Eager, Layla curled her fingers around the base of him again, guiding his cock to her mouth once more. She sucked on the head of him, using the flat of her tongue to tease and coax. When his breath hitched, she knew she was on to something, and her movements grew more enthusiastic, her tongue more ardent. She sucked him in deeper and found th
at it was difficult to continue as she was. He was simply too big for her to take more of him and continue with the suction. This . . . was a problem she hadn’t anticipated. So she experimented a little, taking him as deep as she could and using her hands and tongue to make up for what she lacked.
“Layla,” he panted, his hand going to her hair again. “You feel amazing.”
Thrilled, Layla worked him with enthusiasm, loving that she was giving this to him. After so many orgasms where she’d come with just his hand between her legs, it felt powerful and heady to be able to make him come, too. She bobbed her head on his length, pumping the base of him with her hands, and when he began to nudge his hips into motion, she made a sound of encouragement in her throat. She liked that. She liked it even more when his hips shuttled against her mouth, pushing in with small, quick motions. She could feel Jack’s hand in her hair, feel his excitement, and the taste of him was on her tongue. She leaned in to him, her hands gripping his ass tightly—lord, he had a fantastically firm ass—and let him use her mouth. Each thrust pushed against her glasses, but she didn’t care. He’d taken over the control, and that was all right with her. Her body was pulsing with need, and she loved that he was on the edge.
“Where do you want me to come?” he asked, teeth gritted.
Oh. She hadn’t thought about it. Layla just sucked on him harder, her hands gripping him tighter as he thrust into her mouth again. She made a humming sound in her throat that she hoped he realized was encouragement, and in the next moment, when his hand tightened in her hair and he pushed deep, her mouth flooded with his taste.
It was . . . a lot. Her mouth filled with him, and the hot, sticky wash of his release seemed to be everywhere. He pulled out of her mouth and it leaked down her face, and Layla jumped to her feet and raced to the bathroom.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t ready to swallow that much just yet.
Coughing and sputtering, Layla cupped her hand under the water and drank, rinsing the taste of him out of her mouth and washing her chin. Oscar stared up at her from his basket, and she could have sworn the dog was giving her a judging look.
The Bachelor Cowboy Page 17