Текст книги "The Play"
Автор книги: Karina Halle
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 28 страниц)
With that thought, I head back into the flat. I let Emily off the leash and keep all the doors open so she can explore the flat in its entirety. She seems to take her time in each spot, and I know she can smell Lionel. Hopefully when he comes back later today, the two of them will hit it off okay. I’ve had some dogs not get along with him, but as long as I kept them in separate parts of the house, we’ve been able to make it work.
While she’s busy sniffing the couch, I go into the bedroom, shutting myself inside.
The sight of Kayla on my bed is a hit to the gut. I have to just stand there and take her in. She’s taken off her shoes, socks, and jeans, and is just lying there on her back in a white t-shirt and a pair of knickers. Lacey. Hot pink.
Fucking hell.
The sun is streaming in through the window, bathing her skin in a diffused glow, and her face is absolutely gorgeous. Peaceful and vibrant all at the same time. She’s unreal, and just staring at her in my own bloody bed makes me feel crazy. She moves something deep inside of me, something I don’t think I can ever move back.
“Kayla,” I whisper to her, and she stirs slightly, letting out a soft moan from her lips that makes me unbelievably hard. I want to bring out deeper, hungrier noises from her. I want to make her come in my home. I’ve never brought a woman here before; in the past we had always gone to her place.
I’m not normally such a wishful thinker, but still, I take off my clothes, casually discarding them on the floor and hope that Kayla is up for some jetlagged sex.
I slowly climb onto the bed, the mattress moving beneath my weight. She stirs again as I straddle her, my thighs on either side of hers, my erection thick and hard, bobbing above her stomach. I lean down, bracketing her shoulders between my arms, and slowly run my lips down her forehead, over her nose, until I place them flush on her mouth.
“Mmm,” she says softly. “Where am I?”
“With me,” I murmur, nibbling on her bottom lip before leaving a trail of kisses from the corner of her mouth to her jaw.
She raises her arms, lacing her fingers behind my neck. “In Scotland?” she asks, her voice drowsy.
“Very much so,” I tell her, pressing myself down against her skin.
She lets out a soft gasp. “Are you naked?”
“Aye.” I suck the soft skin on her neck, my head swimming from her raw taste. “And very, very hard.”
“Then I’m glad you woke me up,” she coos, reaching down between us and stroking the tip of my cock. I don’t even have to raise my head to know she’s got a devilish twist to her lips.
A moan falls out of my mouth as her fingers get a better grip, the weight of my body against hers adding crucial pressure. I close my eyes, succumbing to the feeling as I work my mouth down her milky white neck, and start rocking my body gently against hers. The friction on her stomach is incredible, my precum adding just enough slickness.
Before I can get as carried away as a teenager, I pull back and kiss and suck my way down her body. From her shoulder, across to the soft hollow of her throat, down between her breasts, my hand cupping them perfectly, one at a time. I love teasing around her nipples, love how she always arches her back, pushing her breasts up, so ravenous for my lips, for my touch. I like to prolong it as long as possible, doing long, circular laps with my tongue and then blowing lightly. I watch her skin erupt in shivers, her nipple becoming harder, pinker, and it’s torture not to put it between my teeth and give it a sharp tug.
“Oh god,” Kayla whimpers, her hands running through my hair and tugging on the ends.
“Tell me what you want, love,” I tell her, my voice rough with lust. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you what I have.”
She grabs my head and places my lips on her nipple. “There. Give me pain.”
I smile at how bossy she always is and do as she wishes, nipping the hardened end and giving it a long, hard suck into my mouth. She yelps, then settles into a low, throaty groan, her vibrations rattling me to my very bones. The rigid ache of my cock is almost unbearable now, and all my thoughts are being stolen, directed to my very need to be inside of her.
With borderline desperation, I quickly push her panties to the side. She’s so hot and slick beneath the satin. I grab the base of my cock and straighten up, gripping her hips. Sitting back on my knees, I thrust into her, barely able to control myself.
She feels so good. Always so good. A silky, tight fist that won’t let go.
She cries out, her eyes widening, but I can’t help it. There’s no time to do this gently. There is a fire raging inside me and she’s the only way out of the flames.
I take a firm grip of her thighs, my hands sinking into her soft, smooth flesh, and hold her legs back while I pull out then push myself in again. She’s watching my cock slide in and out of her, and I’m watching too, crazed by the raw, primal sight of our bodies giving each other pleasure and how we fit so perfectly. The giant, quiet man and the wild, tiny girl. Who would have thought that this moment, this us, could have ever happened?
“Please don’t stop,” she says. Her voice is raspy, quiet, and so disarmingly beautiful when I’m turning her on. I could do this until my dying day, just this endless give and take, this exquisite pleasure I get from seeing her features soften, her body respond to me like she’s lucid in a dream. She wants me, all of me, always, and when I give her what I have, what I am, she only wants more.
I don’t stop, but I need to change it up if I want to keep going.
“Lift up, love,” I whisper to her, briefly pulling out and putting my hand beneath her left cheek, rolling her until she’s on her side. I grab her leg, admiring the way her thigh muscles stand out and the flexibility in her joints as she limberly straightens her leg against my body. With my grip on her thigh, I slowly push myself in and out of her, sliding in even deeper than before. I’m hitting a sweet spot, and her mouth is falling open while her eyes pinch closed. She’s soft and aimless as my thrusts become quicker, and I’m reveling in the look of her beneath me.
I slip my hand down to her clit, so swollen, pink, and wet, and begging for my touch. Her body tenses and she lets out a shaking breath as I rub my finger around in taunting, teasing circles, light as air.
She begins to buck into me, wanting more pressure, wanting so badly to come on my dick and my hand. I give in because I’m bloody delirious for her pleasure and because my own thrusts are becoming sharper, quicker, my hips slamming into her at a rate that will make me expire sooner than later.
I can tell she’s close to coming. Her body is shaky with strain, her breaths short and quick. She gets this thing where her lower lip starts to tremble and she has to bite it, almost to the point of bleeding. I like to think it’s because she’s so overwhelmed and trying hard not to let go.
“Over,” I tell her, pulling out again and flipping her over on her stomach. “Hips up.” I scoop her arms underneath her stomach and pull her up until her firm, perky little ass is right in front of me. I wrap my hand around her waist, loving the sight of how small she looks against me, and position myself.
“This is one hell of a way to go through jet lag,” she says softly, her head down and her dark hair spilling forward over her face. I don’t want to let her hide. I reach forward and make a fist in her hair, pulling it back so her neck is arched, her face exposed.
“It’s the only cure,” I tell her, tugging back sharply.
She cries out in a breathy burst of pain and then moans. “Your cock is the cure for everything.”
With one hand pulling on her hair, I lean forward until my damp chest is pressed against her back, my dick so deep inside that we both suck in our breath. I slide one hand over her throat. I tighten my hold, choking her lightly, and put my lips to her ear. “How do I feel?” I whisper, licking up the rim.
Shivers erupt beneath me and I feel her throat moving against the palm of my hand. “Heaven sent,” she manages to say. “You feel heaven sent.” She swallows and I let up the pressure. “Now fuck me. Fuck me and make me come.”
I moan, never tiring of how direct she is, addicted to her own feverish hunger. I circle my hips, my fingers tightening around her neck and hair while my chest slides up and down against her skin. In turn she thrusts her arse back at me, and all thought and reason and sense of self are obscured by her satiny feel, the tight clench around my cock that threatens to take me to another world.
I am but an animal. I piston myself into her, over and over again, the headboard slamming against the wall. I can almost see us from above, me fucking her raw, deep from behind, my muscles flexing as I push in, fast, hard, our skin blistering from such wild need. She’s coming, and her pulse is racing into my palm, wild and delicate. The frenzied, high-pitched cries like she’s being obliterated in the most perverse way completely do me in.
I’m clutching her throat, her hair, and I’m coming. It’s like a sunrise deep inside. It shines right through you and leaves you hot, dizzy, and spent.
Jesus. I don’t even know where I am.
I collapse against her, gasping for breath, burying my face in hair that I already feel holds all my whispered words.
Fuck. She holds every fucking part of me in that little body and big red heart of hers.
I can’t swallow properly and my breath is slow to return. There’s always a moment of clarity after you come, and this one holds an earth-shattering truth.
This woman will own me in the end.
And I’m not sure if I’ll own enough of her to make her stay.
“Fuck,” she says breathlessly after a minute or two of our bodies being fused together, the sweat cooling between us.
“What?” I manage to ask, ever hopeful that she’s going to give me some indication of how she feels about me.
Tell me that you don’t ever want to leave.
Tell me that you’ll stay long enough to let me learn everything there is to know about you.
Tell me that you’re mine.
I’m nearly sick with how needy I sound to myself and I have to dig deep and push it away. Why can’t I just be satisfied that she’s here at all? If it weren’t for the balls I had to ask her to come in the first place, we would already be apart and moving on with our lives separately. That was what was supposed to happen.
But it didn’t. And if she’s greedy, I’m greedier. I’ll never get enough of her.
“You sure know how to welcome me into your home,” she says, turning her head to look at me, her eyes lazy with satisfaction.
“You know it’s the least I can do,” I tell her. I kiss the back of her neck, tasting her skin. Though I had fallen asleep on the plane, it wasn’t the best sleep. I’m so tempted to keep lying here with her, though I know that both of us will be asleep in no time, which will then fuck up the day I have planned for tomorrow.
Somehow I get both of us out of bed and into the shower. I’ve still got just a towel wrapped around my waist when the buzzer goes off. It’s Amara.
“Come on up,” I tell her. Kayla is staring at me nervously in just stretch pants and a tank top. She’s not wearing makeup, and her hair is wet and down around her shoulders.
“She’s already here?” she squeaks. “I’m not even properly dressed.”
I give her a soothing look. “Neither am I. She’s bringing Lionel and she’s an old friend. Believe me, you look fine.”
“Yeah but you look fucking hot in a towel.”
“Listen,” I tell her, not exactly proud of this. “I’ve had my shirt off around her before.” Her eyes widen and I quickly add, “Not in that way. But it comes with rugby, all right?”
She nods just as the knock comes at the door.
I open it and barely notice Amara standing on the other side of the door. All I can see is Lionel, jumping up on me, absolutely losing his mind with delight.
“Hey, mate!” I cry out, grabbing him and bringing him up to my level. He’s wriggling so fast that he’s nearly impossible to grip, like holding onto a wet seal.
I’ve never been away from Lionel this long and some sorry part of me was afraid he wouldn’t remember me when I came back, but at least I know it’s not true. He’s already dropped a gallon of drool on me in terms of licks and kisses.
Kayla clears her throat from beside me and I’m brought back to reality.
“Kayla, this is Lionel,” I tell her, trying to push his face away from mine.
“Yeah, I get that. How about introducing me to the human?” she says smartly.
Right. That.
I give them both a chagrined smile and set Lionel on the floor. He’s about to jump up again when he spots Emily poking her head around the corner and immediately sets out after her.
“Sorry, sorry, my manners,” I say, knowing Amara totally understands. She’s used to it. “Kayla, this is my mate Amara. She works for me at the shelter. I’d be nowhere without her. Amara, this is Kayla. She’s…” And suddenly I draw a blank because I don’t know what she is. We haven’t really discussed anything within the terms of us yet.
“I’m staying with Lachlan,” Kayla finishes smoothly, shaking Amara’s hand. I eye Kayla carefully, wondering if she’s going to give Amara the side-eye. I won’t be surprised, nor will I be all that upset if she has a jealous streak, but even though Amara is striking with her Roman nose, fiery red hair, and freckles, Kayla is nothing but warm and genuine.
“Nice to meet you,” Amara says, looking briefly at me. Her face is composed, but I can stell she’s confused and shocked. I hadn’t exactly mentioned Kayla and in no way told Amara that a girl would be coming back with me. Luckily she takes it all in stride.
“So how was he, any trouble?” I ask, steering the conversation over.
“He really hates the muzzle,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “At least when I put it on him.”
Kayla jumps back a bit, looking around for Lionel who is trotting back and forth across the drawing room, sniffing Emily. “He needs a muzzle?” she asks.
I shake my head, feeling a burst of anger flare up. “No. He doesn’t need one. He’s never bitten anyone, nor would he without a muzzle. But the U.K. sees pit bulls as an inferior breed. A bad one. A banned one. It’s tricky to own one—you have to prove first that yours isn’t dangerous, and even then, they all have to wear a muzzle. Even if they are old and have never hurt a soul. Sometimes I walk Lionel around here without one, but the neighbors know me. In other places though, you can’t be too sure who will see you.”
“That’s fucking stupid,” Kayla says, reaching for the hand that I’ve balled into a fist. She uncurls it and lets her fingers slip inside. My heartbeat slows.
“It is fucking stupid,” Amara says, nodding and angrily shoving a piece of hair behind her ear. “The law was introduced in the seventies when dog fighting was a problem. It needs to be bloody updated, but the government is a bunch of ignorant cunts. We’re working on it though, trying to educate that it’s the people who do that kind of shite that should be banned, not the breed.”
I exhale harshly through my nose. “Let’s not discuss this too much today. I need to stay in good spirits,” I tell them honestly.
Kayla gives my hand a squeeze and nods. She looks to Amara. “What are you doing now? Did you want to go out for a late lunch or dinner with us?”
We hadn’t even discussed a late lunch, so the fact that Kayla is already opening up to Amara and inviting her in warms my heart like a tonic.
“Thanks,” Amara says. “I’m good though. Going to head back to work. Maybe tomorrow, Lachlan. You can bring her by and show her what we do.”
“Aye,” I agree. “Before practice. That would be perfect.”
She waves goodbye and hurries off. I know that she doesn’t have to go back to work until later, so I get the impression that she’s trying to give us some alone time. I guess I am in just a towel.
I peer down at Kayla. “So about that lunch,” I say. “What other plans do you have in store for us?”
She gives me a grin and a saucy tilt to her head. “Not telling,” she says. “I like to keep you on your toes.”
She sashays her way into the drawing room and I watch her go.
Though she’s trying to look seductive, shaking that delectable peach-shaped bottom of hers, it only lasts about two seconds before Lionel comes bounding out of nowhere, jumping up on her legs, and enveloping her in a flurry of kisses.
She yelps, and if she was ever fearful, it’s faded into laughter. Lionel is merciless in his love and need for affection, and Kayla shrieks playfully as he chases her around the room, tongue hanging out if his mouth, wanting nothing from her but attention.
I know how you feel, old friend, I think to myself before following suit and joining the chase.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kayla
I’m dreaming. I’m drowning. Everything is wet.
My face is wet.
Smelly.
Dog breath.
I flinch, fully coming awake just in time to see a long pink tongue slide over my face, leaving a trail of drool behind.
“Oy, Lionel,” Lachlan mumbles, throwing his arm out and pulling the dog away from my face and back in between us. “Have some manners.”
I slowly sit up, running my hand over my cheek and wiping the dog drool off of me. I look down at Lachlan who’s holding Lionel in a hug and grinning sheepishly up at me.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “He likes to wake you up with kisses.”
I raise my brow, totally fucking charmed by the sight of Lachlan and his tattoos and muscles, holding the sweetest, drooling dog against him, nestled in the white sheets. “I’m not complaining, but I would rather you wake me up with kisses instead.”
He grins at me, looking absolutely adorable, a lock of bed-mussed hair flopping over his forehead. “That can be arranged.”
I already arranged it last night. Though somehow I was able to make it through the day and most of the evening, when we turned in at eleven o’clock after taking Emily and Lionel for their last walk around the quaint neighborhood, I was absolutely exhausted. Despite that, I woke up at three a.m., wide-eyed and ready to go. It probably hadn’t been such a good idea to take that nap, but I don’t regret the sex it led to after. And, of course, when it’s the middle of the night and you have a Scottish sex god in bed with you, you wake him up with a blow job.
Thankfully Lionel wasn’t in bed with us at the time. He must have snuck in when we were both sated and passed out.
Emily barks from the other room, and that steals Lionel’s full attention. His ears perk up and his forehead wrinkles in the exact same way that his master’s often does, and he jumps off the bed, burning it into the living room.
“You can never sleep in with dogs,” Lachlan says, his voice still sleepy in that very sexy way of his. “Which was fine until you came into the picture. Now I think lying in bed with you in the mornings is the best part of the day.”
“Can’t argue with that,” I say softly. I take the opportunity to lie back down, pulling the soft covers over me and settling into my favorite spot, the nook between his arm and his side. I place my fingers on his broad chest, trailing them over his tattoos. I feel like I’ll forever be marveling at what a perfect specimen of a man he is. Every second that ticks past, I’m looking at him differently. Deeper. And now that I’m here, with him in his home, I don’t think there’s any hope for me.
Yesterday, when I woke up from my jet-lagged nap and found him crawling on top of me with that look in his eyes that wasn’t just about lust but something more profound, more real, what followed went beyond any fuck I’ve had before. It was raw and I was ravaged. I could feel his urgency with every touch of his hands, feel his heart beating like a wild beast. There was breathtaking honesty in the way he stared at me, as if I were gold dust, precious and able to blow away at a moment’s notice.
We made love. There was no other word for it, and while it used to make me cringe and laugh when other people used that term so casually, so cheesily, I finally got it. I understood it. It was lust and passion and burning desire for each other’s bodies, for the pleasure, but it was also feverish want for the person inside.
I didn’t just want Lachlan’s muscles, his lips, his endless skills beneath the sheets. I wanted him, every part of him. The dark bits that were hidden away and only hinted at by tattoos. I desired all of him, like a dying man desires one more breath.
I’d wanted to bring Lachlan to his knees, and while I could feel him yearning and yielding to me, I was going to my knees first. I had no idea how I was going to pick myself up in three weeks. No idea at all.
“What are you thinking about?” he whispers into the top of my head, his fingers playing with my hair.
That you’re the first for everything, I think to myself. “Nothing,” I say.
“Ah,” he says. “I see.”
“I guess I’m just trying to get my head on straight.”
He squeezes his arm against me. I love it when he does that. I feel absolutely protected.
