Page 31 of Carry on Wayward Son

“Your turn.”

She didn’t give me time to react. One second I was kneeling between her legs, the next she’d flipped us, straddling my hips, her fingers already working at my belt. I groaned as she got it undone, her nails scraping over the hard length of me through my boxers. The wallet was already in my hand before she even asked, fingers fumbling for the condom. She plucked it from my fingers and tore it open with her teeth. The sight of her like that—feral, focused—made my cock jerk against my stomach.

Then her hands were on me, rolling the latex down without hesitation. And fuck if that certainty didn’t make me even harder.

She didn’t tease. Didn’t draw it out.

She rose on her knees, guided me to her entrance, and sank down in one smooth, relentless motion.

My vision whited out for a second.

“Layla.”

She was tight, so damn tight, and wet from her first orgasm, but it still took effort to take all of me. Her nails dug into my chest as she bottomed out, her breath hissing between her teeth. For a heartbeat, she just sat there, adjusting, her muscles fluttering around me in little pulses that had my hips jerking up involuntarily.

I reached toward her. “Let down your hair.”

For a moment she blinked at me. Then she reached back to pull the elastic off, combing the braid out with her fingers until all those glorious thick waves tumbled down around her shoulders.

Christ, I loved her hair.

She began to move.

Not slow. Not gentle.

She rode me like she was trying to brand herself into my skin, her hips rolling in deep, deliberate circles, her thighs flexing with every lift and fall. The tattoos on her arms rippled with the motion. She looked like something out of myth—some warrior queen claiming what was hers.

I gripped her hips, my thumbs pressing into the dip of her waist, but I didn’t try to control her. Didn’t try to set the pace. This was hers, and I was happy to let her take it.

Her head fell back, her dark red hair spilling down her spine, and I watched the way her throat worked as she swallowed, the way her breasts moved with every sharp inhale. One of my hands slid up, my palm cupping the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her hair enough to feel the weight of it.

“You’re incredible,” I growled.

She didn’t answer. Merely leaned forward, bracing her hands on my chest, and changed the angle.

The new position hit something deep inside her, and her eyes flew open, locking onto mine. Her lips parted, but no sound came out—just a silent, shuddering gasp as her rhythm faltered.

I understood that look.

I sat up, wrapping an arm around her waist, and flipped us.

She landed on her back with a surprised cry, but I didn’t give her time to adjust. I pressed one knee back, opening her wider, and drove into her hard.

“Oh!”

Her back arched off the bed, her fingers scrabbling at the sheets. I did it again. And again. Each thrust deeper than the last, my hips snapping against hers with a force that had the headboard knocking against the wall.

“Jace—yes! More!”

Her voice was rough, desperate, and she tightened around me, her body coiling like a spring.

She came again with a broken cry, her nails raking down my back as her body clenched around me like a fist. I didn’t let up, drawing out every shudder until she was boneless beneath me, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Too much.”

“One more,” I gritted out, because I was right there, teetering on the edge, and I needed her with me.

I shifted my grip, dragging her hips up to meet me, and changed the angle again.