Only you | Derek Morgan

He's a gigolo and I'm his pimp

D E R E K ' S P O V

If there's one thing in this world I'm extremely grateful for it's the fact that Layla is easily pleased.

I snuck out when she was still sleeping this morning and brought her home an iced coffee and an almond croissant and when I woke her up, you'd swear I just surprised her with a new Range Rover with how happy she was.

I like that about her. That something as simple as a coffee and a pastry could make her eyes light up with so much gratitude that they practically shine.

I also liked the fact that she just straight up dropped to her knees and thanked me in the best way possible.

I'm now sitting outside her apartment, waiting in my truck for her to come down. We needed to stop over here for her to grab some things, like clothes, so she can leave them at my place because if I have it my way, she'll never be leaving again.

All of my best night sleeps are beside her and I don't know, it just felt right having her at my house. Like the last little piece I was waiting for fell into place.

The door to Layla's apartment building opens and she comes walking out, her overnight bag in hand and I find myself smiling as I watch her cross the parking lot.

She's still bare faced and wearing her glasses, but she's changed into some jeans and a sweater and tied her hair back. My mouth is practically watering as I watch her stride over to my truck because those jeans she's wearing look like they were made for her, molded to her legs perfectly, hugging all the right places.

I hold my index finger up to her through the windscreen and she stops just short of the hood of the car, throwing me a questioning look. When I twirl my finger in a spin, she laughs. I can't necessarily hear it because she's still outside, but that sweet sound is etched into my memory.

I've never thought my sex drive was necessarily low, but around Layla it's not only high, I would say it breaks the scale. If she as much as kisses me, even a small peck in passing..I get hard.

The memories of last night don't help either. I had her on her back. On her stomach. On all fours. At one point her head was hanging off the edge of the bed and I'm not sure what it was about it, but she loved it. My wall is probably dented from how hard the headboard was crashing against it. She went from screaming my name, nails raking down my back to dirty talking and whispering in my ear how much she loves how I fuck her. I don't know how, but our sex just keeps getting better and better. And better. And better.

Despite the amusement in her eyes, Layla follows my finger and gives me a slow, slow spin and my eyes drag over the smooth curve of her ass in them jeans. She's barely even turned halfway before I've decided I'm buying her twenty more pairs of those.

She's ten feet away from me, fully clothed and I'm rock solid. I'm down bad.

Layla opens the passenger side door and hops into my truck while I'm trying my best to conceal the bulge in my pants.

She laughs, her amused eyes travelling between me and my crotch. She nudges her glasses up with the corner of her hand. "I may have bad eyesight but there's no hiding that."

My eyebrows raise when I tilt my head and look around the half empty parking lot. It's broad daylight but maybe—

"No."

My head turns to face Layla and I raise my hands in defence. "I didn't say anything."

She snickers, shaking her head. "And yet I know exactly what you were thinking."