Chapter 126

• How he loved women.
• How he loved feeling them unfurl in his hands. But his pleasure had never been greater as Layla’s cynicism melted beneath his lips. His tongue flicked her clitoris and he could feel the tremor in her thighs, hear the little sighs that told him she was ready. But he wanted his kiss—wanted that mouth that had teased him with fruit, that had spoken such brittle words, to be soft under his. So he kissed her again, and this time she kissed him back.
• He chased her tongue with his, caught it and sucked on it, then took her lips and sucked them too. And then he kissed her so hard and so deep, her breasts flattened by his chest, her legs coiling around his, his fingers lost in knots of her hair. He almost forgot her innocence as his body led him into her, to her unique gift, because Layla was desperate for him, willing him on. He pressed into her guarded place and she was ready for him—urgently, desperately ready…She sobbed as he seared into her, and aghast at his own ferocity, at the fear that he had been too urgent, he lifted his head, saw her tears and berated himself—except she was unleashed beneath him and it was as if she were free, as if somehow he had set her free, because her lips were on his cheek now, her fingers pressing him in, slowly at first, but with every tentative thrust she begged him in deeper, with every move of his body she rose for more.