Page 70 of Red Dreams

One corner of my mouth tips up. “Keep thinking you can dominate me. It’ll make breaking you in a lot more fun.”

I could easily overpower her, but the weight of her body on top of mine, the heat of her pussy against my rock-hard cock, makes me all too willing to draw this out.

A triumphant smile curves her lips as she feels my cock twitch beneath her. She lowers her mouth to mine, sucking on my lower lip and pulling it into her mouth. I groan against her tongue, meeting her desire with a roaring, primal need.

I know we should keep training, keep our guards up…

But in this stolen sunrise, with Layla warm and willing on top of me, all I want is to lose myself in her. The rest of the world can fucking burn.

I deepen the kiss hungrily, my hands roaming her sweat-slicked skin as the sun climbs higher, burning away the morning dew. But before I can ruin another pair of her leggings, a shadow falls over us.

Layla breaks our kiss, her grip on my wrists spasming as she turns her head, and I follow her gaze.

Cassie stands at the edge of the clearing. Her expression is shrouded in the lighthouse’s shadow, but there’s no disguising the weight of her stare.

Layla scrambles off me, her cheeks flushed with more than just exertion. I rise to my feet and take my time dusting off my clothes.

I use that time to assess my daughter’s mood. She’s both a potential threat and a broken soul. I’m torn between the need to protect her and the fear that she’ll betray us.

“Morning, Cassandra,” I say calmly. “How did you sleep?”

“I made breakfast,” she replies, then turns on her heel and strides toward the cottage.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and nod at Layla to follow Cassie.

Layla clears her throat. “Are we sure she didn’t pick some poisonous mushrooms on her way to the kitchen?”

“Only one way to find out,” I say with a deep sigh and lead the way.

As we enter the cottage, the aroma of coffee and something sweet fills the air. Cassie stands at the stove, her back to us as she flips pancakes with a spatula.

Ethan is already seated at the rickety wooden table, hunched over a steaming mug, his broken fingers taped together and his other arm wrapped protectively around his stomach. The angry red bruise on his neck must be giving him hell, too.

“How was combat training?” Ethan asks Layla.

Layla offers him a tired smile. “Good. It’s a lot, though.”

He reaches out with his good hand, giving Layla’s fingers a squeeze. “Hey, if you ever need to talk or, you know, learn some moves to go with those shiny new battle skills, I’ve been known to throw down inCall of Duty.”

That startles a laugh out of Layla. “I don't think video game reflexes translate to real-life knife fights, but I appreciate the offer.”

“You never know,” Ethan says with a tired grin. “I'm pretty lethal with a joystick.”

“I'm sure you are,” I deadpan, arching a brow.

Ethan flushes scarlet, choking on his coffee. “That's not—I didn't mean?—”

Layla giggles, the sound brightening the whole damn room, then takes the chair beside him, offering a smile of reassurance. Ethan returns it with a grimace, his gaze darting between Cassie and me warily. I remain standing, my back against the wall, arms crossed over my chest as I survey the room.

Cassie sets the platter of pancakes in the center of the table with a thud. She drops into the remaining chair, her movements sharp yet unhurried.

Silence descends as they each take a pancake, the scrape of forks against plates unnaturally loud.

My attention is on Cassie. She’s watching Layla, her focus intense and unblinking. Layla squirms under the scrutiny, her knuckles whitening around her fork.

“Thanks, Cassie,” Layla says. “This looks ... great.”

Cassie's lips twist into something that might be a smile. “Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t tasted them.” She gestures idly with her fork. “Go ahead.”

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