Page 88 of Fighting Chance

I’m cornering her in the kitchen, my arms on either side of her, locking her in my embrace. I brush my lips across the shell of her ear, smiling to myself as she shivers from the mere whisper of a touch.

“One word and I’m yours,” I purr.

Her head drops back to my shoulder, her chest rising and falling with her heavy pants. “I want you, Kieran. Always you.”

Spinning her, I clutch her face in my hand before trailing theother one down her body, over the swell of her breasts before slipping my hand beneath her skirt. “Only me?” I ask, my voice thick.

“Only you. I only want you to touch me,” she moans.

“Tell me you’ve been waiting for me.”

Her head is nodding frantically, her fingers clutching my shirt. “I have, I—” She gasps, her lips parting and her eyes widening as I slip a finger inside her. I smash my lips to hers as she groans inside my mouth, her hips rocking into my touch?—

Gasping awake, with my dick painfully hard, I blink through the morning light spilling into my room.

Figures. The first night I sleep in my own bed I dream of Layla.

I want nothing more than to wrap my hand around my cock and tug but it only takes one look at the clock on my bedside table to know the woman responsible for it being painfully hard is downstairs right now with my daughter.

Ever since I found out Layla is a virgin, it’s been at the forefront of my mind, along with her list. Now that I know it’s all her firsts…

Fuck, this train of thought isn’t helping my dick go down.

Throwing the sheets off, I decide to take an ice-cold shower.

Running my hands through my wet hair, I find Layla in the kitchen with Emmy standing on her helping stool, Layla singing softly to the music playing from the speaker.

Leaning against the kitchen doorframe, I take her in for a moment. My cock begins to twitch as she keeps that plump lowerlip between her teeth, concentrating on whatever she’s cooking, and it’s in this moment that I truly realize how far gone I am for her. Clearing my throat, I savor as both my girls turn toward me. I plant a kiss on the top of Emmy’s head before moving to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.

“What has you so focused?”

Layla huffs. “Pancakes.”

“Pancakes?”

At hearing the humor in my tone, she spins to face me, cocking a hip. “Don’t laugh at me. I’ve never made them before and they keep burning.”

Glancing down, my lips twitch. “You have the stove up too high, sunshine.”

Her mouth pops open to form anO. “Too high?”

I dip my chin. “Too high.”

My hands grip the bench behind me, white-knuckling it as images of my dream come back to me. Maybe Layla’s right, I am a manwhore, because I’m watching her, the way her cheeks heat, and all I can think about is how in the dream she?—

Layla’s phone buzzes on the bench beside me. Quickly averting her eyes, she moves back to the stove, turning the heat down. “Can you see what Bella said?” she calls over her shoulder. “I was texting her asking for help.”

Fuck, this girl has no idea how cute she is.

Shaking my head, I pick up her phone, only for my smile to drop and my heart to plummet. My skin turns clammy, the phone in my hand slick, and all I can seem to do is blink at it.

“Kieran?”

Layla’s voice sounds far away, as if I’ve started floating on a cloud. I’m no longer in my kitchen, just watching as a spectator.

Layla walks toward me and before I can try and compose myself, before I can get a handle on my emotions, I hand her the phone. “You have a date…Red.” It takes everything in me not to spit the nickname out, to not choke on the very thing she wouldn’t let me call her.

But she’ll let some twat from a bar call her Red.