"You ungrateful bitch. I keep a roof over your head, and this is the thanks I get?"
"You could have killed her," I retort, trying to muster up confidence that I don't possess. "What if she goes to the cops, Dad? That bruise on her face is enough to...
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"Kiss me," Layla demands, her green eyes glistening as she brings her face closer to mine.
Placing my hands on her waist and caressing her soft skin, I say, "I was beginning to think you'd never ask."
Rolling her eyes, she circles her arms around my neck before smashing her lips against mine.
My body responds to her touch immediately. I pull her against my chest as our mouths move together. Her lips are velvety soft, and I can't resist the urge to give the bottom one a light nip. She lets out an audible moan before parting her lips, allowing me to slip my tongue inside her mouth. She sucks on it gently, evoking a satisfied whimper from me.
I move my hands from her waist to her ribcage, my fingers tentatively inching closer to her breasts, unsure if I should touch them or not. As if sensing my trepidation, she grabs my wrist and does it for me. I give her left breast a tender squeeze, making her tremble above me.
"I don't want to take things too fast," I whisper in her ear.
"Damian." She looks at me, her expression serious. "We've been taking things slow for thirteen years."
Nodding my head, I grab her other breast. I move the pesky fabric aside and give her nipple a pinch.
"Oh, god," she hums.
Her arousal spikes my own. My hips jerk beneath her, my hard-on rubbing against her bottom. She touches it through the thin, wet fabric of my boxers, making me bite down on my lip.
"I haven't been intimate with anyone in almost a year," she says, her eyes cloudy with desire.
"It's been a while for me, too," I admit.
Her emerald orbs widen. "But Jessica—?"
"Hasn't wanted me to touch her since our trip to Chicago," I cut in, shaking my head. The last thing I want to think about right now is Jessi, not with a half-naked Layla on my lap.
She presses her lips to mine again, her kisses slow and sensual. I discard her bra and continue massaging her breasts, reveling in the feel of her satiny skin, the sound of her whimpers, the way she moves her body over mine.
I grab her hips to steady her, not wanting to lose control too soon. Smirking, she takes my hand and brings it to her panties, giving me unspoken permission to touch her where I want to most. I slip her underwear to the side and stroke her wet center with my index finger. She writhes above me, her nails digging into my shoulders. With my other hand, I trail my fingers down her back, feeling the rigid lines of every scar that her father gave her.
I don't hate many people, but I hate that man. One day, he'll pay for his crimes, but until then, I intend to take care of Layla in ways that he never could.
"Should we take this inside?" she asks.
"Believe me, I want to," I whisper, "but not tonight, and not here. When I make love to you for the first time, I want it to be perfect." I kiss her jaw, then her neck, then her swollen lips. "I want it to be perfect, because you're so perfect."
