Page 59 of Beautiful Thing

Layla is hot and silky and drenched. And when her walls clamp down around my knuckles, I have to clench my teeth together. My dream woman squeezing on my fingers has me ridiculously close to coming in my pants like a horny teenager.

I remove my finger from her channel, bringing it to my mouth to get a taste of her. The sweet tang of her juices makes my head go light.

“Fuck. I love the way you taste and the sounds you’re making, Belle,” I rasp by her ear. “I love how you’re making such a mess on my hand. I love it how you say my name.” My other palm moves to her ass, squeezing the fleshy globe, holding her body against mine.

My entire body is throbbing. I’m in physical pain. My cock is harder than it’s ever been. My pulse has never sprinted this fast before. Wanting to be inside her is shaving years off of my life.

I want this moment—Layla clinging to me in my kitchen—I want it to last forever.

Yet still, there’s a part of me that’s doubting this whole thing. A battle between right and wrong rages on inside my head.

Ignoring my guilty conscience, I push forward. I don’t want to be the good guy right now. I don’t want to deprive myself anymore. Not tonight.

“I’m going to make you come now, Belle,” I grit out.

She whimpers. “Please…”

I sink a second finger inside her, curling against her silky walls in a way that makes her go feral.

Redness explodes across her cheeks. Her wetness gushes out like a river. Her grip on my biceps tightens, her fingernails piercing my skin. Layla rises onto her tiptoes, drawing closer and closer.

But when she’s just a breath away from kissing me, I turn my head.

I drag my beard along her neck, dropping my forehead to her shoulder in defeat. My chest heaves as my fingers slip from inside her.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “I can’t…”

23

LAYLA

Archer’s sudden words are like a bucket of ice-cold water to the face.

My arms fling back quickly, removing themselves from where they’ve been wrapped around his shoulders like a love-starved puppy.

I can’t.

I’m so stunned by his rejection that my face is burning. In the worst of ways. In ways that even a bucket of ice water cannot subdue.

“O-o-o…okay,” I whisper, my eyes stinging. I’m already squirming out of his arms. Putting distance between me and Archer’s warm embrace, one slow step at a time. Any trace of arousal I was feeling earlier is gone now.

“That’s not…I…” he stammers. And I realize he’s probably just afraid to hurt my feelings. As usual. “I mean, I didn’t…I just…I’m sorry, Layla.”

I shake my head, not interested in hearing all his made-up niceties. All the excuses. All the ways that this man will try to let me down gently.

“It’s okay, Archer. Really.”

I don’t want to listen to him trying to shield me from the harsh reality.

Because on the inside, I already know the truth. Razor’s words rear their stupid heads. I hear my ex’s voice, yelling at me, reminding me that I’m ruined. That I’m used up. That I peaked a long, long time ago. That nobody will ever truly want me.

He was right.

Y’see? This is exactly why I didn’t want to put myself out there. This is why I hesitated even when it felt like Archer was giving signs that he might be interested in me. I should have never let my walls down.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

I open my mouth to speak, pushing past the mountain-sized rock in my throat. “Good night, Archer.”

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