Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
“I came in to see if I could use your bathroom.”
I smile weakly and shiver. “Oh, yeah, yeah of course.”
“Thanks,” he growls.
I frown. “Wait, shit. The contractors still need to finish installing the toilet in the downstairs one. You know what, you can just use mine. It’s upstairs.”
“Thanks, Miss Hughes.”
I smile, shivering in heat. “You can just call me Layla, you know.”
“Layla.”
My name fucking pours off his tongue, like liquid silk. My body throbs, and my pulse thumps in my chest. He holds the book out to me, and when I take it, our hands brush. For a second, I realize it’s that hand—the one that was just touching my pussy, and I blush deeply. He pulls his hand back and looks at me intensely one last time before he turns.
“Upstairs?”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble. He walks out of the study, leaving me panting, gasping, tripping over myself, and horribly wanting him.
Chapter Four
Mason
By the time my back sinks against her bathroom door, I’m so fucking hard it almost hurts. I groan and yank my shorts and boxers down in a haze of lust, and my thick cock springs free to slap my abs. I hiss in pleasure and wrap my hand around my thickness, and I stroke slowly. My eyes close, and I drop my head back against the door, and I think about her.
Layla.
I’ve lusted after this woman for years. I’ve craved her and been obsessed with the desire to sink my fat cock into her and watch her moan so good for me. Hearing that she was moving back here, alone, started a fucking fire inside of me. And today, seeing her in that skimpy little bikini looking fucking incredible has just been gasoline on that fire. And there’s no holding back now. It was this or pulling my cock out right there in her backyard and pumping my cum into her pool.
…That or storming inside, pinning her to the wall, and making her mine. Which I came so, so fucking close to doing not two minutes ago. I told myself to calm the fuck down when I walked into her office like that. But then, our fingers touched when I handed her the book, and I felt it. No, not something cheesy like “the spark” or whatever.
No, I felt wetness.
My one hand still strokes my thick cock slowly, and I bring the other one—the one that touched her hand—up to my face. I inhale, and I growl.
Oh fuck yes.
I open my lips, and I suck my finger inside. It’s faint, but fuck me, it’s there—the sweet, sweet taste of Layla Hughes’ pussy.
Someone was touching themselves. Someone was a bad, bad girl.
I growl, and I start to jerk my cock faster, and harder. My eyes drop though, and suddenly, I hiss. There, hanging on a towel rack next to her glass-walled shower, are two pairs of tiny, skimpy, lacy little thong panties. They’re her brand, “Layla Rose,” too. My cock throbs at the sight of them, and I move before I can stop myself. I pluck the black pair off the rack, and I groan as I wrap them tight around my bulging, throbbing cock.
I hiss in pleasure when I start to stroke again. The lacy panties tease over my swollen crown, and my balls ache for release. I grunt, and I pump my cock, pretending I’m pushing her panties to the side to plunge into her hot little pussy. The pressure builds, and my muscles clench. Pleasure thunders through me, and I snarl as I jerk myself off.
I know I should stop. I know I’m close to blowing my cum all over her fucking panties. But I can’t stop, and I won’t. I let myself go, and I gasp as I feel myself start to explode. I look down at the lewd sight of Layla’s tiny little lacy panties wrapped tight around my fat, throbbing cock, and I lose it. I grunt, my balls tighten, and I start to fucking come.
I groan, and suddenly rope after thick, sticky rope of hot white cum blasts into the gusset of her little panties. I hiss, and I just keep pumping more and more cum out, until her panties are fucking soaked through with me.
I sink against the wall, and I breathe slowly. I glance down, and I smirk at the fucking mess I’ve made of her panties. I know I should feel ashamed, maybe. Or at least concerned about the fact that her panties obviously look like someone’s come all over them. But I don’t care, and I find myself grinning and tossing them right into the laundry hamper.
Good. Let her find them, marked by me, just like she’ll be marked by me too. Because I know one thing after seeing her today. Years ago, I was too young for her, or at least too young for her to allow herself to see me like that. But there’s no excuses now. And now, Layla’s going to be mine.