30. Layla
LAYLA
There’s nothing like cool sheets on any day of the week. The crispness against your skin is one of the best feelings in the world, by far, but not when there’s supposed to be another body next to yours.
Another body that fucked you six times over the course of hours before you fell asleep in his arms.
When I explain the amount of rage that coursed through my body the moment my eyes cracked open, expecting to be staring at the only man in the universe who still gives me butterflies and, apparently, just enough outrage that I blindly got dressed and drove over to his house to let him have all of it.
The audacity of his words mixed with his actions makes me want to throat-punch him so hard, I’m anticipating the choking sound he’s going to make after I do so.
However, after I pound on his front door with tight fists and brew angrily on his porch so much I’m surprised steam isn’t coming out of my ears, he magically throws that on pause when he opens it.
Shirtless.
My eyes immediately descend downward, finding a white towel wrapped around his rigid, unfairly muscled waist and torso, and I grapple with how I came here, in what condition I arrived, and what I woke up to.
“Mornin’, Short Stop.”
It’s that nonchalant way he just said it that refuels my anger because, if he wanted to shower so bad, I have one. My home may be on the small side, but not so tiny as to not have the basic necessities needed for hygiene.
“Briggs Kerrigan,” I grind out through a tight jaw.
“You must be the stupidest man I’ve ever had the misfortune to know.
You think sleepin’ with me several times then leavin’ without saying a damn word was going to send you into a secure spot mentally with me?
You must be out of your absolute mind if—”
“Woman, you must forget that you sleep like the dead. I tried waking you up several times before I left. I even stayed for an hour to see if, eventually, you’d open your eyes and become conscious again, but you were exhausted.”
Because of you, you absolute moron of a man.
“So, what?” I press when he pushes open his screen door. “You left, and I was just supposed to continue with my day as if nothing happened?”
He quirks a damn brow at me with his stupid face and his dumb calmness. “I texted you, didn’t you look?”
No.
A small sliver of embarrassment tries to seep into my anger, but I lock in because that doesn’t matter.
Ish.
“For what?”
“To tell you I was going to be back after I got some things sorted,” he replies. “I didn’t want to wake you and your near-death sleep.”
“That, accordin’ to you, I wasn’t comin’ out of, so why couldn’t you—”
“I left my phone here.”
Oh.
Just like I left mine at home.
Shifting my weight, I draw in a deep breath to calm down, but then he cuts in with words that cut sharper like a knife, and I stagger back a step.
“I gotta head back to Memphis, Short Stop.”
My face twists in sheer devastation over the news, but I shouldn’t be nearly as surprised as I am.
For a second, maybe since last night, I forgot about it.
He has a life outside of Magnolia Ridge, a massive career, and I’m here.
Hot tears brim behind my eyes, and I tuck my chin into my chest to try my best to get myself under control, but Briggs messes it up and reaches for me, pulling me toward him and within his grasp.
“I got a call from my coach this mornin’. They want me to come in and start warmin’ up and get back into the swing of things tomorrow.” I nod because I get that. “I’d love for you to come with me, but—”
“I have the bakery. And I—” My words strangle a sob from my lips, and Briggs drags me tighter against his naked skin.
“I know,” he replies composedly. “And that’s okay. You can come out for the important games. I’ll fly you out. We’re gonna hit the playoffs, and I’d like you to be there when that happens.”
Pulling my chin up to look at him, I’m immediately bobbing my head. “Of course, I’ll be there. But…tomorrow? That’s not a lot of time, and you just got here—”
“I was suspended,” he gently reminds me. “Eight days, remember?”
“It’s been six.”
He chortles lightly. “You’ve been counting.” His thumb comes up and brushes away a lonely tear on my cheek. “Don’t cry, Layla Jean. I’m not going anywhere where you’d have to worry—”
“I’m not worried…about that. I just…”
I’m going to miss you.
Briggs bobs his head as if understanding, but I don’t think he does. I’ve loved him forever. He spoke those words last night about my being the only person in the world for him.
Well, he’s mine.
He guides me into the house so he can close the screen door, and I’m so overwhelmed with emotions mixed with devastation that I want to go back to something that feels good and weightless.
Rising on my tiptoes, I kiss him and immediately receive his arms tightening around me. His mouth is a ruination to all my senses; the only one he leaves behind is how much I want him.
All the time.
Even when I’m mad and so damn exasperated with him, my mind and body just need him.
Slipping my tongue between his lips, Briggs growls so deep and sexy as hell in his chest that I’m swept off my feet in seconds, and he’s moving somewhere within the house.
I focus on driving him crazy while he navigates our next location, and somewhere along the way, I’m able to unfold his towel from his waist and let it fall to the wayside somewhere on the floor.
Then he’s bumping into something, causing my eyes to crack open to see what he did.
His spine is up against his French doors that I looked out of last night to the insanely amazing view of land and random wildflowers, before Briggs is fumbling around with my sweatpants to get them removed from my legs.
But he doesn’t let me out of his hold while he does it, and I try to keep my balance on his hips.
However, I feel like I’m the lightest thing he’s ever pressed because he holds me up with one arm while he gets one leg free and doesn’t bother with the other.
“First time fuckin’ in our house, Layla Jean,” he professes with a bit of grit to his tone.
“This is what you’re getting. Get used to the view and my cock inside you.
This is our future when you’re ready.” He positions his cock against my entrance and runs his fingers up my slit because I never put on any panties.
“And this…don’t ever wear underwear again.
Because this is how I need you all the time. ”
Then he drives into me, and I gasp, immediately feeling the soreness from last night mixed with how perfectly he stretches me.
With both of his palms gripping my ass, he moves my body to rock against him while he meets it with thrusts of his own, causing me to clench tight around him and earning an animalistic growl from his throat.
“Fuck, Layla, how am I supposed to survive without this? Your pussy just wants it all the time.” He bounces me against him harder. “Look at how you just take me. So fucking sweet and perfect and mine.”
I tighten my grip around his neck and hold on while he uses me to get us both off, and I love this.
I love this house.
The view.
This moment.
I love him.
He’s everything. I’m guilty as sin over it.
“I need you all the time, Short Stop. I can retire—”
“You don’t need to do all those things, Briggs,” I shudder from my lips while he continues to pound into me religiously. “It’s not a pick-or-choose scenario. You playin’ professionally has never been the problem.”
“But we’re not together, are we?” he watches me intently when he poses the question, and it’s loaded.
It’s hard.
A relationship with Briggs is infrequent until I can manage the bakery so I can leave and not have it suffer because of it.
However, he’s my husband. I want to support him in everything he’s done and is working to do. I love how much he focuses on the game and is so dedicated to his team. It’s attractive and, honestly, I know he’d give it up for me.
Without another thought.
But I don’t want him to because he will do great things. He’ll have accomplished something he’s thrown so much time and effort into.
And I want to be the wife who’s by his side.
However, my life isn’t currently built like that.
“Win the playoffs,” I divulge, so he returns his attention to his career because he doesn’t need to focus on me. “And I’ll think about it.”
He narrows his eyes and sinks his whole cock into me and immediately stops moving. “I wanna hear you tell me you’re mine, Layla Jean. And, until then, we’ll stand here. I can come just like this, trust me.”
Gosh, that was kinda hot.
It’s equally empowering and humbling to be on the other side of his green eyes and, I swear, he can practically draw what he wants out of me if he stares long enough.
“I’m yours if—” I barely get the three words out before he’s ramming into me again—hard, fast, and completely out of control.
He never comes out too much before he’s stuffing me with every inch of his cock, my legs wide for him to go deep and fill me fully.
My muscles in my stomach contract as I dig my fingers into his shoulders, pending my quick release because I love it when he takes me like this.
Possessive.
Uncontrolled.
Wild.
And obsessed.
I feel nothing but loved by this man and, even though sometimes it’s scary, I can’t help but lean into it.
And break apart with him.
“Briggs,” I moan through each hard and dominating thrust. “I’m going to come.”
“I know you are, Short Stop,” he croons, spreading my ass cheeks apart to make some more room to get deeper. “Nice and hard like I like it, right?”
I bob my head because, at this given moment, he could ask me to go to Memphis with him again, and I’d fully send that answer and agree.
But he knows how much Buttercup & Brioche means to me and how hard I’ve worked building it, so he doesn’t.
Instead, he just fucks me like he owns it, me, and everything in between.
I’m brimming with sensations in my stomach and along my skin with every brush against his naked frame that, when he shoves his cock into me in this rapid succession three times before pulling out then he does it again, I break apart in his hold.
A mixture of a squeal and a scream fills the empty space of the house until I hear Briggs growl and pulsate inside me, indicating his orgasm mixed with mine.
It’s messy, erotic, and ours.
Nothing can compare to moments like this with Briggs. I always feel more connected with him when I don’t understand how it could be possible.
He kisses me, fervently and slowly, causing me to clench around him again in the aftermath of my orgasm, and he twitches inside me.
“I love fucking you, Layla Jean,” he mutters against my lips. “And I love you. With everything in me, I’ll love you until the world falls apart and nothing else remains, and even then, I’ll find a way to still love you past all that.”
“Who knew you were such a sap?” I tease lightly, but I do take his words to heart because there’s no other way.
He means them, and he’s stuck with me and my stubbornness for years.
This man isn’t going anywhere.
“Just you,” he replies evenly. “You were the only person worth the time.”
I smile and thread my fingers through his hair. “You interested in redoing that shower? I haven’t had one.”
“Only if I can take you out to breakfast. In public.”
My lips heave higher as I roll my eyes and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I guess.”
“Then you’ve got yourself a deal,” he claims, pushing off the French doors and taking me toward what I assume is the bathroom. “You’re gonna have to wear my clothes. And what will people think?”
“That you seduced me and you’re such a bad influence.”
He laughs a little and shakes his head. “That’s old news, Layla Jean. What I’m hoping is that they see how much I love you and that we’re forever, despite the time frame and the secret.”
“I think that’s a given.” He steals a look at me as he walks. “You’re obsessed with me.”
“Another given.”
“So, you’ll win the playoffs?”
“That’s the plan.” He quirks a brow. “And I get your answer?”
“That’s the plan.”
He pushes his lips out and seems content. “You’d better continue your stretches then. Because if you thought this was a lot, wait until I find out we’re gonna keep doing this. I’ve been training for you my whole life. And I plan on winning over my wife and her cunt for eternity.”
He already has.
However, I’d like to see that moment when it arrives.
Because Briggs Kerrigan is a sweet bad boy with one hell of a track record when it comes to sex and handling me, and he’s the only one I want to make me come.