Page 63 of False Assumptions

While he did that, she’d started to undo the buttons of his shirt. Impatient with her progress, he pulled back, yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it into the corner. She sat up, coming up on her knees in front of him, her eyes on his torso, her tongue coming out to swipe over her lower lip. Her top had fallen back down to cover her breasts, but she slowly pulled it up and over her head, letting it drop to the floor.

He let out a groan when her hands came up to cup her own breasts.

Pinching her nipples, she moaned. “Oh God, Evan. I’ve missed you so much. All I want is to feel your hands on me. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished we could go back in time.”

Slipping his hands around her waist, he pulled her up against him. “Shhh. It doesn’t matter now. I’m here.” He kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck while he unhooked her bra and undid the zipper on her skirt.

Pulling back, he looked into her beautiful face, flushed with arousal. She lowered her arms to let her bra fall away, and pushed her skirt and panties off together, her hands going for his belt. But again, he grew impatient with how long it took her to work the leather free. He took over, undoing it and getting his jeans off in record time, his cock springing free, hard and ready for her.

So fucking ready.

She reached for him as he climbed back on the bed, her hand gripping him the way he liked, giving him a few firm tugs as he came closer. With a quick kiss and a nip at her lips, he brought his mouth to her ear. “Lay down.”

Her eyes dilated, and she sucked in a breath as she did what he asked. He stretched out beside her, running his hands over her body, worshipping her breasts with his mouth, knowing how much she loved it. He’d missed the taste and feel of her nipples running over his tongue. One hand drifted lower, passing over the soft skin of her belly and dipping between her thighs.

When his fingers parted the lips of her pussy, her hips rose off the bed. He slipped a finger inside her, and she groaned, her hands clutching at his hair as he continued working over her breasts with his mouth. Jesus Christ, she was wet. His cock twitched as she arched and writhed against him. He drew lazy circles with his finger around her clit, dipping inside her to gather more of her wetness and spread it all around.

He began to move his way down her torso, kissing and rubbing his face against her as he went, intent on tasting her again. It had been so long, and he was dying to have her come on his face.

But her fingers tightened in his hair, and he lifted his head to meet her eyes. She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Later. I want you inside me now. I don’t want to wait.”

He tsked. “So impatient.”

Grinning at his use of her words from earlier, she nodded. “Very impatient.”

He loved her sass. She was perfect for him. Stretching over her, he grabbed a condom from the nightstand, rolled it on, and positioned himself at her entrance.

She moved her hips, trying to impale herself on him, but he held himself just out of reach. “Evan, please.” From anyone else, it would’ve been a whine, a whimper, a plea. From Layla, it was a command.

And he was happy to follow her orders. Braced with his hands on either side of her head, he slid inside her, just an inch or so. Christ, she was tight.

She gasped, lifting her hips, forcing him in farther. But he pulled back, sinking in another inch on his next stroke, burying himself completely on the one after that. He held himself still, wanting to last, to make her feel as amazing as she made him feel. Lowering himself to his forearms, he kissed her, making love to her mouth.

Her response was to clutch his hair to drag him closer and wrap her legs around his waist. Demanding little thing.

He started off slow, painfully slow, knowing he’d never last long enough for her if he went hard and fast from the beginning, wanting to make it good—no, fantastic—for her. She met each thrust, her hips slamming into his, grinding with him when they met.

With a quick roll, he moved her on top. “You set the pace, darlin’. I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

He kept his hands on her hips, loving the way she moved and rolled on top of him, her hands braced on his chest, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Her hair fell down her back, almost long enough to brush his thighs when she threw her head back. It fell in a curtain around them both when she leaned forward, moving up and down on him.

She started making those sexy sounds, the breathless gasps, and the little chant of, “Oh, oh, oh, ah,” she always did when she was getting close. Thank Christ. Because he didn’t know how much longer he could hold back.

Licking his thumb, he slipped it between them, rubbing over her clit, giving her the extra friction she needed to tip over the edge. Seconds later, she started to twitch and shudder, her movements slowing with her orgasm. Evan took over. With his hands on her hips, he moved her over his cock. His hips rose to meet hers, driving into her with unrestrained passion. Her pussy clenching around him sent him into a frenzy.

She went limp after she rode out her orgasm. He wrapped his arms around her as he spent himself inside her, his chest heaving with exertion. After a moment, she tried to slide off him, but he held her in place. Without a word between them, she acquiesced, relaxing on top of him again, their bodies still joined.

Stroking a hand down her back, he breathed her in, the citrusy smell of her hair, the slick slide of her skin on his. Something inside him shifted, something that had been off since the night of the party, clicking back into place, and he let out a sigh of contentment.

When Evan finally let her go, Layla curled up under the blankets in Evan’s bed, snuggling into his pillow, his clean smell trapped in the fabric. She’d been a little worried at first that they were moving too fast. They went from apologies to groping each other in the courtyard in a matter of seconds, it seemed like.

But the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel, she couldn’t turn that down again if he was offering. And he was definitely offering.

The last two weeks without him had been hell. The pain of his betrayal—thank God she’d been wrong about that—and the physical ache of his absence had been almost unbearable. Now she only felt terrible that she hadn’t let him explain, had ignored and rebuffed all his attempts to talk to her.

He came back to his room having disposed of the condom, a smile on his beautiful face. She smiled back, enjoying the play of his muscles under his skin as he bent over to lift the blankets and slide into bed with her. Wrapping an arm around her, he pulled her close and tangled his legs with hers.

This simple intimacy had her sighing and closing her eyes.

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