Page 69 of Mixed Signals
“What do you want, Layla?” I ask her and then lick slowly below her ear. She tastes like powdered sugar. Like peaches with cream. Her whole body shivers and she scratches her nails against my scalp.
“I don’t know. This is good.”
“This is good,” I agree. I press a sucking kiss to the column of her throat and her nails scratch harder. If she keeps moving on my lap like that, it’s going to be better than good. I’m balancing on the razor edge of control and wild indulgence. “But I think you should tell me what you want.”
“I don’t—” She drags her nose against my cheek and rocks her forehead against mine. “I don’t know what I want.”
My thumb slips half an inch higher against the inside of her thigh. She makes a sound low in her throat and desire clenches a fist around my heart and squeezes. “Do you want—” I have to swallow twice to finish my question. “Do you want me to touch you?”
She nods her head eagerly and rocks her hips so they inch forward. I hold her body still against mine.
“I need your words, Layla.”
“Yes.” She turns her head and breathes her answer into my mouth with her hand cupped against my jaw. “Yes, I want you to touch me.”
My fingers skim higher, toying with the flimsy material of her skirt. I watch their progress with fascination, my lungs burning. “How do you want me to touch you?”
She chokes on a laugh when my thumb slips over the top of her thigh to the naked skin of her hip, toying with a thin band of elastic. It feels like she’s wearing dainty underwear made out of the softest cotton imaginable. I don’t know why that makes me drag my teeth against her neck, just that it does. My control is hanging by a gossamer thread.
“I don’t even know how I like to be touched.” She’s still smiling at her private joke, her head lolling back against her shoulders as she offers me more skin to bite and taste and suck. I take the invitation, worrying a mark just above her collarbone.Mine, it says.
Mine for now,a voice in the back of my mind reminds me.
I shove it away.
Layla cards her fingers back through my hair and shivers. “I want you to touch me. Isn’t that—can that be enough for now?”
It’s an easy enough decision. I urge her up and off my lap with my hands bracketing her waist. Confused, she frowns down at me, her hands rushing to tuck her hair neatly behind her ears. I grab them and set them against my chest instead. I don’t want her to be unsure. I don’t want her to hide.
Not with me. Not like this.
Her hands clench in the material of my shirt, eyes searching. “What’s wrong? Did you change your mind?”
It’s my turn to laugh.
“No,” I say. “I didn’t change my mind. Just finding a better position.”
I bring her back to me, her knees on either side of my thighs on the narrow dining chair. Straddled above me, there’s no missing the thick ridge of my erection beneath my worn denim jeans or how perfectly we line up. But I don’t care. I want her to see how she affects me. I want her to know how wanted she is.
“Like this,” I tell her, my voice rough.
There are better places to do this, probably, but I can’t bear to walk the five feet to the couch. Or set her on the table in front of me. I want her chest pressed to mine. I want her breath on my neck and her knees hugging my hips.
I tug her down impatiently, her skirt caught between us. We both let out echoing, rumbling groans. Layla feels so good, even with layers of material between us. Warm and soft and fucking perfect. She rocks her hips as she settles above me and a shower of stars explodes behind my eyes. I have no idea how I’m going to last.
She traces her thumbs over the sides of my face. Lower to the curve of my bottom lip. I nip at the pad of her thumb and she huffs a laugh.
“What now?” she asks.
I grin and slip my hands back up her skirt. Her thighs tremble beneath my palms, her hips twitching into my touch. My thumbs find the thin straps at her waist and I snap the material.
“Now we figure out how you like to be touched.”
SIXTEEN
LAYLA
I didn’t expectto end the evening perched in Caleb’s lap with his hands beneath my skirt, but here we are. I’m certainly not mad about it. His eyes are dark, his hair is every which way, and he has a hickey forming, just under his left ear from where I was a little too enthusiastic.
