27. The First
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE FIRST
Orion
My nails dig into Layla’s hips as I let out a long, slow groan. Her warm cunt wraps around me, so fucking warm, so fucking tight.
Lashes fluttering, I pull back before pushing all the way into her, and her mouth drops open as I fill her completely, tip to root.
She moans, arching her back and shifting her hips to take me in deeper. Feeling her move on my cock is heavenly.
“Eyes on me.”
Her hazel eyes meet my blue ones, and she doesn’t look away as she begins rolling her hips underneath me, a breathy rasp leaving her lips.
“Fuck,” I whisper, reaching down and holding her hips still. Letting out a low laugh, I grip her harder when she tries to fight against me. “Stop trying to top from the bottom, Layla. I’ve been waiting”—I pull out before slamming back into her, burying myself completely—“years for this. This is mine . Let me have this.”
My voice is frayed with desperation, and she nods once.
“I promise,” I tell her, eyes boring into hers. “I’ll take care of you.”
Her breathing grows shallow as I begin thrusting. She looks up at me with pure adoration and hunger, and I attempt to give that same look right back to her. My instincts tell me to look away, to take this for myself, but I can’t look away from her. I can’t help but want to give her everything I have, every vulnerability, every expression, every second of this.
With every snap of my hips, her lips part a bit more, and another raspy whimper escapes her pretty little mouth.
She squirms when I don’t look away—but then I bring one of her knees up, opening her farther, and her mouth drops open.
“Oh God,” she groans as I begin to drive deeper inside her, trying to claw my way as deep as I can, trying to fucking bury myself inside her so that she can never be rid of me.
I move one of my hands from her hip to her clit, and using two fingers, I slide them up and down either side of her piercing, causing her to contract around me.
“You feel so fucking good,” I say on an exhale.
I hover a finger over her clit, and she shivers beneath me, waiting. “You’ve been so good for me tonight. Waiting so patiently to come.”
“Yes, Master,” she says, her voice hoarse as I slowly drag my cock out.
“Look at me,” I tell her. “Look how wet you are.” I fist my cock, gliding her arousal along my shaft. My other hand moves between her legs, and when I tease her entrance with my fingers, it contracts. “That’s it,” I murmur, running a thumb up to her clit and swiping against it twice.
She shudders. “God, I’m so close?—”
“Do you need to come?” I ask, swiping my thumb against her clit again. I don’t stop—not even when her eyes roll back, and her body goes taut.
“Y-yes,” she stutters, eyes squeezing shut. “Oh God, I’m going to?—”
I pull back, removing my hand from her cunt. “That requires permission, remember?”
She releases a sob. “Please, Orion, I need to come—” I flick her piercing, and a low, heady groan escapes her lips. “S-sorry, M-master,” she amends, hiccuping. Her whole body is shaking, wound up so tight like a coil ready to spring.
I’m leaking precum, so fucking eager to push back into her.
“How do you feel?” I ask, teasing her entrance with the head of my cock.
“G-good, s-so close?—”
I slowly drive into her, and she cries out. “Fuck!”
A smattering of pleasure claws down my spine, causing my aching balls to pull up slightly with the need to unload inside her.
“That’s it. I like it when you’re a good girl, but I think I like it more when you swear. Do it again.”
“Fuck, Orion?—”
“Who?” I ask, pulling out.
She groans as a tear slides down the side of her face. “I c-can’t—p-please?—”
“Give me a color, Layla.”
“Green! Fucking green,” she cries out.
I chuckle. “Well done. Do you want to come?”
Her eyes snap open. “God—yes?—”
Gripping one leg, I spread her wider and spear back into her as my other hand moves back between her legs, pressing down against her clit. Her cunt pulses around me, a feathering sensation that has me hissing in pleasure.
“I’m going to?—”
I roll myself on top of her in a languid movement, rolling my hips so that the head of my cock presses against her G-spot.
She explodes.
Her back arches, and the warm, contracting sensation courses from her pussy to my cock, drawing my orgasm up unexpectedly. Hungry, intense ecstasy spirals through me as she squeezes me. My balls pull closer as I continue pounding into her.
“Fuck, you’re going to make me come.”
My mouth drops open as I throw my head back, my body jerking as my cock curves, hardening and lengthening before a white-hot, searing sensation explodes through me.
I break apart completely as my face slackens.
My body jerks erratically, and then I’m pulsing into her.
Holy fuck.
I spill into her still convulsing core. It milks every last drop out of me, and I moan, eyes closed, for what seems like forever.
When I’m done, I open my eyes and drop down to my elbows, kissing her as I keep myself inside her. I stay that way for at least a minute. Her hands come to my arms, and she strokes me as our breathing steadies, both coming down from everything. My chest presses against hers, and when I pull back, she looks up at me with something that makes my throat catch.
My cock continues to throb every few seconds, and Layla wraps her legs around my hips, pulling me close.
“Fuck, Layla. That was…” I kiss her, and she kisses me back.
“I know,” she says against my lips. “I didn’t know that sex could be like that.”
“I’m only just getting started. How are you feeling about what just happened?”
“Good.”
“As good as that was, I never gave you permission to come.”
“That’s convenient, because I want to do it again. All night. And maybe into tomorrow.”
She smiles, rolling her hips once against my sensitive cock. My hand shoots out, and I grip her firmly to keep her from moving, the sensation too intense. I stare down at her, eyes narrowed.
“Keep moving like that, and I’ll chafe your ass even more.”
She bites her lower lip. “I’d like that.” Her eyes are glazed over, and she brings a hand to my face. “Please, Master .”
I’ve turned my stepsister into a nymphomaniac.
“You didn’t eat very much dinner,” I say, lifting up and slowly pulling out of her.
“So? I could live on sex right now.”
Chuckling, I spread her legs and watch as my seed drips out, shivering at the pleasure it brings me to see my cum dripping out of her perfect pussy. Taking my finger, I scoop the cum back into her, pushing it inside. She gasps.
“Mm, baby. You look so good pumped full of my cum.”
Her hooded eyes watch me as I climb off the bed and walk to the bathroom. Wetting a washcloth with warm water, I walk back to where Layla is still sprawled on my bed. Placing it against her core, I clean her up, and then I help her off the bed.
“Go to the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
She stands, and I take in her fully naked body. She’s… fuck .
I walk over to her, placing a hand on the back of her head and fisting her hair. I kiss her, yanking her neck back slightly and plunging my tongue inside her mouth. She moans, one of her hands coming to my chest.
I pull away. “We’re not done. But you need energy. And I need a moment,” I tell her, laughing.
“Orion,” she whispers, one hand coming to my chin. Her eyes flit over my face, and something softens in her expression. “I’m glad it was you.”
Thirty minutes later, I walk over to the kitchen island where Layla sits, carrying the meal I’ve made her—fettuccine Alfredo with a fresh tomato and basil salad on the side. She balks when I set her plates down, along with a glass of water. She’d changed into pajama shorts with a cat print and a plain black tank top. Her copper hair is clipped up on top of her head, and I can’t help staring at her every chance I get.
“You just whipped up some fancy pasta, no big deal,” she says, rolling her eyes as she digs in. “You like to cook. I remember that now, from before.”
Cooking for her used to be my favorite thing.
“I do like to cook.” Taking a seat next to her, she smiles at me as she eats.
Yeah, it still might be my favorite thing—cooking for her, watching her eat, watching her throat bob when she swallows.
“Have you ever thought about opening a restaurant? Maybe branching off from bars and kink clubs?”
I chew my pasta as I think about her question. After swallowing, I take a sip of my water.
“Maybe. I like the feeling of opening a new place. Of hiring people and being able to give people well-paying jobs. Nothing is like the satisfaction of seeing someone enjoy something you’ve created. Again, I think it comes down to control—to making decisions about a place, from the location to the aesthetic. A restaurant is something I’ve thought about.”
“You’re good at it,” she says, and her praise means everything to me. “Your businesses. Most people can hardly get one off the ground, but you’ve managed three now.”
“It helps to have money. I have privilege, and I recognize that. I don’t take a salary at any of my places.”
She cocks her head. “Really?”
I shrug. “I don’t need the money.”
Her expression softens, and she wipes her mouth with her napkin. “See? Charles Ravage would exploit his workers and pay himself a large salary.” I look down at my plate as she continues. “Can I tell you something?” I look up at her, and she gives me a wry smile. “I think you’re more like my dad than Charles. You know that saying? Nature versus nurture? Sure, Charles is your birth father, and you spent the first fourteen years under his roof. And who’s to say how you would’ve turned out if your mom hadn’t left him, taking you with her. But you also spent the second half of your life with my dad—one of the most selfless people I know. I watched the transition. Watched as you went from a shy fourteen-year-old to someone who helped Scott at the bar every weekend. Someone who learned the power of hard work. And look at you now.”
I swallow as I stab a tomato with my fork, popping it into my mouth as I let her words roll over me. Every word she says, every look of pride, of awe , has me sinking deeper and deeper in love with her. It’s like her words are a soothing balm for my fucked-up soul.
“You should be proud of yourself,” she finishes.
I’m glad it was you.
Her words now and from earlier roll through my mind as I mull them over. I’m not sure what I expected tonight or how I foresaw our relationship progressing, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Layla has never let her emotions get the better of her, and she’s always level-headed. She trusts me, so I shouldn’t be surprised that she didn’t care or mind that Starboy was me the entire time.
But the part that leaves me reeling is that, after everything, she’s giving me another chance. Seven years ago, I lost her trust—lost her . And for the longest time, I believed that was it, that the bridge had been burned beyond repair. I never imagined that I’d find my way back to her, much less that she’d look at me the way she looks at me now.
The last thing I expected was to earn my way back into her good graces. But here we are, sitting across from each other, and she’s not just tolerating my presence—she’s encouraging me, lifting me up in a way I don’t deserve. Her support is something I thought I’d forfeited forever, but now that I have it, I can hardly believe it’s real.
Layla’s always been the kind of person who sees things clearly and doesn’t let emotions cloud her judgment. That’s who she was seven years ago, when she called me out at that audition, and it’s who she is now. But I never thought I’d be on the receiving end of her trust again. I don't think I'll ever fully grasp the fact that she’s willing to believe in me, to give me another shot.
Maybe I should’ve known that if anyone could see past the mistakes, past the years of silence, it would be her. We’ve always had a connection, even when everything else was chaos. And despite everything that happened, despite how I let her down, it turns out we’re still compatible in ways I never imagined.
So here I am, sitting across from the woman I thought I’d lost forever, and she’s looking at me like I’m worth something. Like I’m worth trusting again. And maybe that’s the most unbelievable part of all—that after all these years, after all the damage I’ve done, she’s still here, still willing to see the best in me.
I’m glad it was you.
“Fuck,” I mutter, looking away.
“What?” she asks, eyes wide.
My lips tug into a smile as I set my fork and knife down, pushing our plates away. “I was hoping we could get through one meal before I fucked you again, but?—”
I jump up, and she squeals with delight as I lift her onto the island in one fell swoop. Pushing her legs apart, she gasps when my hands land on her waist.
“Lie down.”
Her eyes flick between my eyes, and her lips tug into a small smile. “Yes, Master.”
I’m grateful that my housekeeper keeps the counters uncluttered—including the island. Layla lies back, and I pull her to the edge of the marble surface.
“I realize now that you’ve only come once, and I’ve come three times today,” I murmur, peeling her pajama shorts down her hips and letting them fall to the floor. Standing, I step between her legs. “I suppose it’s time to catch you up.”