Page 153 of Born for Lace

So, for the following few moments, long ones that roll by like a lazy pet, I gaze at him, and he watches me.

What does he see in me? When I see such virile beauty, dark and thundering energy, and I am just… Dahlia. A little Lace Girl from the Half-tower.

Easily forgotten.

I sigh… Without noticing, exhaustion blankets me. Slumber stings at the edges of my eyes so I slowly bat the vision of him, in and out, slower and slower, until my eyelids win.

And I close my eyes.

But I feel his—I feel him watching me fall asleep in our bed, in our room, in our farmhouse, where we will build stone walls around and raise our children inside.

I fall asleep.

* * *

The room is quiet when I wake up, and Lagos is asleep opposite me, in the exact position he was when I closed my eyes. It takes me a moment to realise that time has passed and it’s probably first-light.

I lift to my backside and check the cot Lagos made the very first day we arrived here for the second time. Spero is on his back, fists by his head on the blanket, chest rising and falling, deep in sleep.

I sigh, a smile greeting my lips. Lagos stirs and rolls to his back. There is movement in the corner of my eye. When I gaze over, the sight of Lagos’ stiff dick tenting his pants snatches my breath. My belly swirls with anticipation, and pressure builds in my core. I squirm and shuffle with the need to quell the restlessness between my thighs.

He is so powerful, so utterly huge. Longer than the bed and thick across the chest and waist, with big arms and huge hands. The thought of them carrying me—holding me down—as he takes me… I moan, unable to stop myself.

Hesitantly, I slide my hand over his thigh, barely touching him, but feel his heat, nevertheless. I should stop. I am practically violating him in his sleep, but… My fingers brush his erection, and I gasp. I thought it would be soft on the outside, have a supple layer, and then a harder one, but—it’s not supple.

I look at his face to check to see if he is still asleep and lift to my knees, hovering over him to get a better look. I grip the top of his briefs, pulling them down. The muscles deep inside me clench with excitement when his huge dick springs free, waving in the air like it’s saying hi.

“Hi,” I giggle.

A deep, gruff voice curls my toes. “Why don’t you give my cock a kiss, little flower,” he rumbles.

I feel colour rising up my neck, smouldering across my cheeks, warm and glowing embarrassment.

“Please pretend that you’re asleep, Lagos,” I whisper. “I want to be alone with your body.”

“That’s going to be?—”

“Shh,” I hush him.

I lick my lips, looking atit, and slide closer until my knees brush his sides. “Just… don’t open your eyes yet. Promise?”

“You have my word.”

My hands glide over his thigh; the contrast of my pale, freckled skin against his tanned, tattooed flesh makes us appear as opposite as we are—He's a massive Xin De monster, and I’m a Common girl born for lace.

My fingertips feather the long, protruding vein that follows his dick upward to a V-shaped bunch of skin just below the curving head. Instantly, a bead of clear fluid collects on the slit.

He hums.

“Quiet, brute.”

A deep sound, like a laugh, rumbles in his chest, and I smile. That is the best sound in The Cradle. My Lagos with no smiles, my big, bad Xin De assassin, my brute, chuckling in the dark with me.

I lean down and lick the bead, overwhelmed with the urge to know what it tastes like.

Salty. Metallic.

His dick jerks. “Careful playing with your new toy while I’m half-asleep. You’ll end up stuffed with that toy before you can catch your next breath.”

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