“Your mouth,” I pant. His eyes snap to mine and hold. “I want your mouth on me. Please.” “Ah, Layla.” He practically collapses on top of me and drags his teeth over my tiny tattoo, brushes his lips from hip to hip and uses his shoulders to edge my legs farther apart. My body burns liquid, velvet hot. “You never need to say please to me. But fuck, I love it when you do.”
