Chapter 15
Fifteen
JACE
She didn’t change her mind between the driveway and the door, and neither did I.
I thought briefly—very briefly—about the man I’d seen leaving her cottage, whether whatever had sent her to the gym with that barely leashed, wound-up energy had anything to do with him.
It was a question that existed and could wait.
She was unlocking the door, and I was behind her, close enough to feel the warmth coming off her.
She’d asked me in twice. I wouldn’t make her ask a third time.
The moment the door swung open I walked her through it and kept going until her back met the wall beside it, my hands braced on either side of her head, and did what part of me had longed to do from the moment I’d seen her prowling the beach.
I kissed her.
It wasn’t a nice kiss. It wasn’t sweet or slow. It was a desperate, claiming sort of kiss, fueled by a need to imprint myself on this woman. To make her mine. To drown in the taste of her until we both forgot where I ended and she began.
Exactly as she had on the mats, Layla gave as good as she got, mouth opening under mine with a little whimper that drove me wild. I pressed my hips into hers, needing her to feel what she did to me.
Koa, who’d come in right behind us, erupted with a growl.
I froze.
Layla broke the kiss, gasping, turning her face toward him. “Ami. Ami. Allonge-toi.”
The dog gave me one long evaluative look, decided I wasn’t a threat to her life, and folded himself down with an air of profound reluctance.
I put my mouth to her throat. “I want to be so much more than friends.”
“Thank God,” she said.
I reached out blindly and managed to slap the door shut. I had enough presence of mind to lock it behind us, then I took her mouth again, drinking in the little noises she made like a dying man discovering water.
Her hands were already under my shirt, nails scraping over my abs like she wanted to mark me.
I hissed against her mouth and yanked the fabric over my head, breaking the kiss only long enough to toss it aside.
She made a sound—half growl, half whimper—and her teeth sank into my bottom lip before soothing it with her tongue.
Fuck.
I walked her backward, my thigh between hers, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric of her leggings.
The hallway was too damn narrow. Every step was a collision—hips, hands, mouths—until we crashed into the bedroom doorway.
The bed was right there, but I couldn’t wait.
I spun her, pressed her front against the wall, and ground against her ass while my hands found the hem of her tank.
She arched back into me, a breathy “yes” escaping her as I dragged the fabric up and over her head.
The tattoos I’d glimpsed earlier sprawled across her shoulders and down her arms—inked vines, delicate but fierce, wrapping around scars that told stories I wanted to learn.
But it was the image inked into her back that stopped my breath.
It was a butterfly. But not like any butterfly I’d ever seen.
It wasn’t delicate. Not really.
It was iron—wrought from fire and hammered into shape, wings spread wide across her shoulder blades, the body forged from what looked like a damn sword.
The edges of the wings were sharp, almost jagged, like they’d been cut from metal rather than drawn.
And the colors—deep blues and purples, the kind you see in a flame’s hottest parts.
It was beautiful and brutal all at once, just like her.
“Off.”
Her voice was rough, demanding, and I didn’t need to be told twice. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her leggings and yanked, dragging them down her hips along with her underwear. Somewhere between the front door and now, she’d lost her shoes. I didn’t remember that happening. Didn’t care.
I wanted to slow down. Wanted to trace every line of ink on her skin with my tongue, wanted to memorize the way her muscles flexed under my hands, the way her breath hitched when I—
“Jace.”
She said my name like a warning, and fuck if that didn’t make me harder. There’d be time for slow later. Right now, she was burning, and I was the only one who could put out the fire.
I spun her around, lifted her like she weighed nothing, and tossed her onto the bed. She landed with a gasp, but before she could even fully process it, I was on my knees, dragging her to the edge of the mattress, and my mouth was on her.
No warning. No teasing. Only heat and pressure and the flat of my tongue working her like I was a man starving and she was my last meal on earth.
Her hands flew to my hair, fingers twisting, pulling—yes—and her thighs locked around my head like she was afraid I’d stop. Not a chance in hell.
I learned her fast. The way her hips lifted when I circled my tongue just there. The way her breath stuttered when I sucked hard and eased off. The way her nails dug into my scalp when I slid two fingers inside her and curled them exactly right.
She was loud. Unapologetic. And fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing I’d ever heard.
I watched her face the whole time—her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open on a silent scream, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip hard enough to leave marks.
Her skin flushed, her chest heaving, and when I added a third finger, stretching her, her back arched off the bed like she was trying to fly out of her own skin.
“Fuck—fuck—”
The orgasm hit her like a wave, her whole body tightening before she shattered, her cry raw and broken. I didn’t let up, riding her through it, drawing it out until her thighs were trembling and she was pushing at my shoulders, oversensitive, done.
I eased back enough to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, then another, slower, against the tattoo on her hip—a cluster of stars, sharp and bright. She was still panting, her chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon, but then her hands were in my hair again, yanking.
“Your turn.”
She didn’t give me time to react. One second I was kneeling between her legs, the next she’d flipped us, straddling my hips, her fingers already working at my belt.
I groaned as she got it undone, her nails scraping over the hard length of me through my boxers.
The wallet was already in my hand before she even asked, fingers fumbling for the condom.
She plucked it from my fingers and tore it open with her teeth.
The sight of her like that—feral, focused—made my cock jerk against my stomach.
Then her hands were on me, rolling the latex down without hesitation. And fuck if that certainty didn’t make me even harder.
She didn’t tease. Didn’t draw it out.
She rose on her knees, guided me to her entrance, and sank down in one smooth, relentless motion.
My vision whited out for a second.
“Layla.”
She was tight, so damn tight, and wet from her first orgasm, but it still took effort to take all of me.
Her nails dug into my chest as she bottomed out, her breath hissing between her teeth.
For a heartbeat, she just sat there, adjusting, her muscles fluttering around me in little pulses that had my hips jerking up involuntarily.
I reached toward her. “Let down your hair.”
For a moment she blinked at me. Then she reached back to pull the elastic off, combing the braid out with her fingers until all those glorious thick waves tumbled down around her shoulders.
Christ, I loved her hair.
She began to move.
Not slow. Not gentle.
She rode me like she was trying to brand herself into my skin, her hips rolling in deep, deliberate circles, her thighs flexing with every lift and fall. The tattoos on her arms rippled with the motion. She looked like something out of myth—some warrior queen claiming what was hers.
I gripped her hips, my thumbs pressing into the dip of her waist, but I didn’t try to control her. Didn’t try to set the pace. This was hers, and I was happy to let her take it.
Her head fell back, her dark red hair spilling down her spine, and I watched the way her throat worked as she swallowed, the way her breasts moved with every sharp inhale. One of my hands slid up, my palm cupping the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her hair enough to feel the weight of it.
“You’re incredible,” I growled.
She didn’t answer. Merely leaned forward, bracing her hands on my chest, and changed the angle.
The new position hit something deep inside her, and her eyes flew open, locking onto mine. Her lips parted, but no sound came out—just a silent, shuddering gasp as her rhythm faltered.
I understood that look.
I sat up, wrapping an arm around her waist, and flipped us.
She landed on her back with a surprised cry, but I didn’t give her time to adjust. I pressed one knee back, opening her wider, and drove into her hard.
“Oh!”
Her back arched off the bed, her fingers scrabbling at the sheets. I did it again. And again. Each thrust deeper than the last, my hips snapping against hers with a force that had the headboard knocking against the wall.
“Jace—yes! More!”
Her voice was rough, desperate, and she tightened around me, her body coiling like a spring.
She came again with a broken cry, her nails raking down my back as her body clenched around me like a fist. I didn’t let up, drawing out every shudder until she was boneless beneath me, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Too much.”
“One more,” I gritted out, because I was right there, teetering on the edge, and I needed her with me.
I shifted my grip, dragging her hips up to meet me, and changed the angle again.
Her eyes flew open.
“Come on, Layla. One more time.”
She whimpered, but her body obeyed. Her heels dug into my ass, her fingers twisting in the sheets, and when I thrust into her again, she shattered.
This time, she took me with her.
Pleasure hit me like a sledgehammer, white-hot and relentless, my release tearing through me as her name tore from my throat. I buried myself deep and stayed there, my forehead pressing into the mattress beside her head as I rode out the last waves of it, my body trembling with the force of it.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was our ragged breathing and the distant, muffled thump of Koa’s tail against the floor.