Claiming Serenity(33)

“That’s it!” Layla was too fast for him, too agile and Donovan had to trust his rugby skills, those fast reactions necessary to move around the pitch, to keep her from leaving. He caught her, grunting as she jabbed him in the stomach again, trying to get his hand off the doorknob. “This is over. I won’t be back.”

“Yes you will.”

“Oh you think so?”

He smirked, nodded slow, then pushed her against the door, knowing that if she really wanted him to stop touching her, she’d kick him in the nuts or call out to the skeleton staff on the other side of that door. Donovan had known Layla since they were kids. She didn’t do a damn thing she didn’t want to and in all those years, he’d never once seen her put up with anyone trying to break her down. She was a fighter and she wanted to be exactly where she was. He knew that—and had it reinforced when she barely groaned as he pressed her up against the door, when he reached around her waist and rested his open hand against her stomach. “You’ll be back, Layla because you want me.”

“No… no… I… I don’t.” Her voice had already taken on a breathy, eager rasp and Donovan smiled against her neck, loving her stubbornness, how she still tried to pretend he wasn’t affecting her.

“Really?” Fingers quick against the fabric of her shirt, Donovan waited for her protest, waited for her to tell him to stop. When that did not come, he slipped his hand under the waistband of her leggings, down that flat stomach, until he was beneath the lace of her thong, all the while calming her with gentle nibbles against her ear, and his tongue slowly tracing tingly lines along her neck. He teased her with featherlight fingertips against her silken folds and he closed his eyes, loving how easily she rested against him, until her ass was right against his hard dick. “As much as you hate me during the day, Layla, that’s how much you ache for me at night.” He fished his hand down further, smiling when he found her already slick against his fingers. “You see? I make you wet. I make you throb and pulse because no matter what you tell yourself, you want me. You want my mouth on you.” He kissed her neck, slow, tantalizingly. “You want my touch, my fingers on you, in you.” Two fingers slipped inside her and Layla immediately squeezed against them, muscles tight, firm even as he stroked her into her in a soft, insistent rhythm. “You don’t hate me, Layla. You hate yourself for wanting me.”

She could barely speak. “You’re… you’re the same way.”

He couldn’t disagree with that, wouldn’t even try. Donovan knew how fucked up he was, how much she affected him. “And I’m not denying it. See?” He pushed his erection against her, smiling again when she released a low moan. “I never said I didn’t want you. Besides, you can’t fool me. I know you want to be bad with me. You even enjoy the danger, the threat of being caught.” Donovan moved them back to the window, looked over her head, through the glass and out onto the crowd, to Mollie and Walter. “You want to want me right now. Right here, brat. I can feel how wet you are.” He kissed her neck, smiling when a shudder moved Layla’s arms. “Tell me you don’t want me.” That shudder quickened and Donovan had to withhold a low groan as Layla rubbed back against his dick. “You want me to take you right here, in front of the Rent-a-Cop, with Mollie just feet from us. Don’t you?”

With his free hand, Donavan pulled down her silky tights. His chest was tense with pent up desire and when she pulled up her sweater to expose her gorgeous, naked ass to him, his dick throbbed in angry anticipation. “I wanted you bare last night, Layla. I wanted to feel your sweet, tight pussy right on my skin. Just… like” Donovan lowered his zipper and Layla leaned forward against the window, spreading her legs for him without being told. “This.” Donovan thought he’d come the moment he plunged up inside of her. The utterly amazing feel of her all around him, the real her, the raw, honest Layla, gripping his dick tight, squeezing him until he thought the sensation, the searing, heat of her pussy clenching him as he slid in and in and in would be too much. “Fuck.”

“Donov…” she couldn’t finish his name, couldn’t do more than grip the frame around the window.

He pulled her hips to him, holding her waist as he pounded her from behind, moved his fingers to her clit until Layla’s voice came out in a whine, until Donovan had to slip his free hand over her mouth to keep from drawing attention to them. “See, princess? I can make you come. I can make you so fucking desperate for my touch.” Donovan knew Layla’s body. He knew when she was so close her voice sounded liked a breathy sigh, when she was anxious, desperate. He knew that when her breathing accelerated, when she moaned out a litany of curses, that she was close to coming.