6. LAYLA
Six
LAYLA
“He FINGERED you in an ALCOVE?!”
Monique’s screech echoes through my rooms. She’s standing on my bed, jumping up and down like a lunatic, her braids flying everywhere. “Layla! He fingered you! Against a wall! Like a romance novel! Like a FILTHY romance novel!”
“Get down from there!” I hiss, but I’m laughing. I can’t help it. The whole situation is so absurd. “And keep your voice down!”
“I can’t keep my voice down! My best friend just got finger-blasted by the Viking king! This is the best day of my life!”
She leaps off the bed and grabs my shoulders, shaking me. “Details. Now. Every single one. Was it good? Did you come? How many fingers?”
“Monique!”
“I’m a scientist, Layla. I need data.”
“You’re a menace.”
“And you’re avoiding the question.”
I flop on the bed, covering my face with a pillow. “Three fingers. And yes, I came. Hard. Embarrassingly hard. I bit his shoulder to keep from screaming.”
Monique lets out a sound like a dying teakettle. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Layla. You’re in love.”
“I am NOT in love. I don’t even like him.”
“You just said you came embarrassingly hard on his fingers. That’s not ‘don’t like him.’ That’s ‘I want to have his babies and name them all Soren Jr.’”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You love me. I’m the only person you can tell this to without getting beheaded for treason.”
She’s right. She is absolutely right.
“What do I do?” I ask, peeking out from under the pillow.
“You enjoy it. You let him wine you, dine you, and sixty-nine you. You make the peace-baby. And then you ride off into the sunset on his massive…”
“Monique!”
“…horse. I was going to say horse. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
* * *
By evening, my father arranges a private dinner on a secluded terrace. Just us, the sea, and too much tension. Soren shows up in a simple black shirt that stretches across his massive chest. The man makes everything look small.
We eat grilled fish, fresh bread, olives, wine. He’s grumpy about the heat, sweating a little, which makes me smirk.
“Too warm for you, big guy?” I ask, popping an olive in my mouth.
He eyes me across the table. “I prefer snow. This sun feels like it’s trying to cook me alive. But I’ll survive if it means watching you in that dress.”
The dress is deep blue, clingy, showing off my curves. His stare makes me feel naked.
After dinner, we walk down a private beach path. Moonlight on the water. He takes off his shoes and rolls up his pants. The sight of this giant northern king padding barefoot in the surf is ridiculous and weirdly hot.
“You look out of place,” I tell him.
“Good. Keeps people guessing.” He stops. “You don’t. You look like you belong here. Like the entire island was built for you.”
I roll my eyes, but my stomach flips. “Flattery now? After you fingered me against a wall like we were still at war?”
He steps closer. The size difference is ridiculous. I have to tilt my head way back. “That wasn’t war. That was me finally touching what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours yet.”
“You signed the papers, Layla.” His hand settles on my hip, big palm spanning half my waist. “And your pussy was dripping down my fingers. You’re mine.”
The kiss starts rough. I grab his shirt and pull him down. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, hands under my ass, and carries me up the beach to a sheltered spot behind some rocks. My back hits a smooth boulder still warm from the sun.
Clothes come off fast. He strips me first, eyes dark as he looks at my naked body, full breasts, wide hips, thick thighs.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Look at you.”
He yanks his shirt off. His body is insane: carved muscle, a broad chest, thick arms, and a massive cock standing heavy and thick. I’ve never seen one that big. My pussy clenches just looking at it.
Soren drops to his knees in the sand, spreads my thighs wide, and buries his face between my legs.
No teasing. He eats me like he’s starving, tongue fucking into me, sucking my clit hard, growling against my pussy.
I grip his blond hair and ride his face, moaning loud enough that I hope the waves cover it.
He makes me come twice like that, fingers stretching me open. My legs are shaking when he finally stands.
“On your back,” he orders. “Legs spread.”
I obey before I can think. He kneels between my thighs, cock in his fist. The head is broad and slick. He rubs it up and down my pussy, teasing my clit.
“Tell me you want it,” he says, voice rough.
“I want it,” I breathe. “Don’t be gentle.”
He doesn’t. He pushes in with one slow, relentless thrust. The stretch burns so good. I feel every thick inch splitting me open. My mouth falls open in a silent cry as he bottoms out, hips flush against me. He’s so deep I swear I can feel him in my stomach.
“Shit, Layla,” he groans. “So fucking tight. Gripping me like you were made for this cock.”
He starts moving. Hard. Deep. The size difference is overwhelming; he covers me completely, muscles flexing as he fucks me into the sand. Every thrust makes my breasts bounce. I dig my nails into his back and take it.
“I’m gonna fill you up tonight,” he growls against my ear. “Pump you so full of my cum it’ll take. Breed this curvy body until your belly swells with my heir. You’re going to walk around this island with my baby inside you, knowing exactly who put it there.”
The words shouldn’t turn me on this much. They do. I clench around him and he curses, fucking me faster. The slap of skin, the wet sounds, his grunts, it’s filthy and perfect.
He reaches between us and rubs my clit. I come hard, pussy pulsing around his thick cock. Soren follows right after, burying himself deep and groaning as he floods me. I feel every hot spurt, so much that it leaks out around him.
He stays inside me after, still half-hard, kissing my neck and squeezing my ass.
“Not done with you yet,” he murmurs. “We’ve got all night. I’m breeding you properly before I leave this island.”
I should push him away. Tell him this changes nothing.
Instead, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him deeper.