Layla's POV
He looked ingeniously hot on top of me. It was true that my experience with men was limited to Julian. And now him. The implication of which was yet to settle in a sane space of my mind.
His release had painted my thighs with hot, white jets. A feeling that was supposed to push me into disgust. And if not disgust, something close to it. Maybe anger. But none of the sort happened.
I was still breathing heavily, with my hot breath fanning into his neck as he groaned.
He pulled himself up, and cleaned himself with a wad of tissue (that he had managed to whip out of a very discreet corner of his bookshelf). Meanwhile, I laid down there, contemplating the gravity of the situation.
Does this mean that we are going to do it often now?
Is this how I am going to live till he lets me go?
Am I supposed to enjoy it just as much as I would have, if I had a say in how things went?
None of it had a straight answer. It was all grey and complicated. And truly, if nothing else, it was just a weak moment. On both our parts.
I tried to fix my dress.
"Don't move," he said, returning with his pants zipped up, and his shirt slightly crumpled; but otherwise alright. His eyes gently licked onto the state of me.
"Alphonso," I gasped, vaguely aware that I was the only underdressed between the two of us.
"Let me clean you," he proposed. My cheeks turned pink. Clean me? Surely, I could do it myself. Why find more reasons to spiral down and already dark and dangerous path? One could take one thing at a time.
"It's alright. I can—"
"You should know that I am not asking for permission, Little Dove. I'll clean you," he pressed, watching me darkly as I laid pressed to the leather with my bare breasts, and naked thighs.
Awareness seeped in, now that he was not too close. He. Could. See. Everything. Down there.
I clasped my thighs together. It was embarassing. God forbid, I didn't even...
"What are you hiding now?" His voice comes out with a raspy annoyance.
"There's nothing there that I haven't seen," he said, walking closer. "Open up," he commanded. I felt it echo all the way to my thighs. Trembling, they parted.
I watched closely for another wad of tissue. But his hands were bare.
"How do you suppose you are going to clean me?" I asked, already aware how acutely embarrassing it sounded.
"The only way there is to clean a fine platter of gourmet," he chuckled, and I felt the thumping of blood against my ears.
"I didn't hear you come, Little Dove. Should I not reward you for your services?" He said.
"What do you mean?" I asked. This wasn't how it used to be with Julian. He'd walk out of the room as soon as he got off. There were no exchanges. He couldn't care less if I had an orgasm or not. And pretty evidently, with him I didn't. We never got there. Not once. Just me using my mouth on him.
"Spread your thighs, Little Dove. I am not done with you," he said, pulling me to sit on the edge of the couch. He parted my thighs and leaned in. His breath was heavy, warm against my skin.
My toes curled instinctively as he lowered his mouth and kissed the inside of my thighs. My lips parted, fingers sinking into his hair; I fisted them as his lips parted to lick.
"Ah—" My grip tightened as his tongue ran through the slit. Its warm wetness spread across my throbbing clitoris.
"Please. There," I begged, winding my thighs around him as my back arched over the couch.
Lick.
God. I felt my thighs close onto him. I wanted him so close.
"Mhm, just like that, Alphonso—" I said, and one of his hands coiled around my throat as his tongue licked my slit.
A warmth elicited from my core, causing my folds to wet themselves. My body reacted with an erratic welcome as my thigh muscles tightened, my head fell back, and my knuckles fisted him so hard they turned white.
My chest heaved, lined with a sheen of sweat. My hair a mess, my lips parted to say his name... "Ah, Alphonso," and then, there was nothing stopping his tongue as the undercurrent built through me.
Waves of pleasure tore—one after another—as I squirmed under the finesse of his tongue.
***
Alphonso's POV
She tasted like fucking sin. As I ran my tongue over her slits, I could taste her wetness. She was dripping like a faucet, eagerly wanting more. She moaned ever so softly, riding me on the edge.
This isn't for me. This isn't for me. Fuck. There was no lying.
This was for me. I feasted on her like a glutton fool. Her scent made me exasperated and I craved more with every second that slipped past us.
It would be fair, if she'd beg for more. Because I didn't see the point to stop.
"Alphonso—" My dick twitched. The way she speaks my name makes it sound like it's something of a gospel. Fuck. I couldn't let her stop.
I lapped up as her folds rained with pure pleasure. Her body trembled. And again, her toes curled. If I knew women any better, I knew she had come. Trembling. Again. God, what wouldn't I give to do her like this. Everyday.
Perhaps, it was a good idea, keeping her alive.
"Alphonso—" she pleaded, her back arching and turning as she supported herself on the couch.
"Little Dove," my lips parted. Her taste lingered on my tongue.
"Come here," I pulled her in, holding her face closed as I invaded her soft mouth. Our tastes mingled. Her body seared, hot like molten lava, as she tasted herself on my tongue.
"Fuck—" I moaned. If I didn't enter her, I would probably burst into flames.
"Little Dove, can I—"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
"Open the goddamned door, Alphonso. I know you are in there. Stop doing whatever you are doing.
The Capo is furious. We have to go and meet grandma. Now!"
The scream was all so familiar. My fucking half brother.
"Dress yourself. We'll continue from where we left later," I said, getting off of her.
Fuck. There wasn't a worse turn off then the person you hated the most. Leave it all upto that insufferable prick of a brother of mine to leave me with blue balls.
"Put on your dress. I don't want anyone to look at you... When you look like that," I fixed my own pants, trying to ease the strain of the bulge.
God. Was it a sin, or a vice?
I turned around to watch her slip back into her dress, with her legs crossed in the corner of a couch. Sweat slicked hair stuck to her dampened forehead. Her hands stayed clasped on her thighs.
I opened the door, and the vile blue eyes greeted me.
"Pissed your pants again, Terry?" I said, watching the immediate scowl form. Such a pleasant sight.
"Fuck off, Al. I am not here to fuck around with you. Something has happened at the Headquarters.
Grandmother's taken ill back at the Prodigal House. They want one of us to go. And since I have been busy..."
"Busy doing what? Fucking? Partying? Checking out one pussy after another?" I chided.
"Oh, shut up! What do you know about pussies? Have you ever even been in one?" He smirked.
This bastard. Before I knew, I held him by his collar, with his legs kicking mid air.
"Fuck. Let go of me," he pleaded.
Between the two of us, he was all bark no bite. All he knew was how to manipulate others to do his bidding. His job was simple. To take from everyone around him and live off of it. Fucking Terry.
"You'll know now that it doesn't take much to be within a pussy, when you are a dick, isn't it, Terry?" I said, tightening my grip.
Weakling.
"Let go of me," he struggled, and I realised that any longer and he would be cold meat.
I release him, and he moves away, scared.
"Just go and visit grandmother. She tells me you and your wife were going to visit her any way.
Layla Chen, was it? Your new wife is that traitor's sister... Isn't it? The malicious, Kaifer Chen," he snided.
"Alphonso—" Layla's voice fell softly against my ears.
"God. You are here with her. Fuck. The one at the elevator. She was it. Wasn't she? Your new wife is a fucking piece of meat. Everyone at the club would be pleased. You can toss her out, and someone would mate with that poor thing," he mocked and laughed.
"Get. The. Hell. Away." I scowled, so coldly. I couldn't even remember being this angry without my wolf around me. But right now, I just wanted to snap his little neck into two. "Layla is not for sale. She is mine," I said.
He must have sensed his triumph. His lips curved into a nasty smirk.
"Point, well taken," he said, walking away. As if he had gotten all that he wanted to know. Fucker.
"Al—" I turned around to find her, grimacing. "Stop calling my name. We are going to get out of here. Your career in publishing can wait. We need to go visit my grandma," I said astutely.