Authors: Alla Kar
Make Me Yours (8 page)
I shake my head. “No,” I say, tugging on the long sleeve of his shirt.
He eyes my movement and then my legs. He doesn’t ever try to hide it. “You look great in my clothes. Too bad I’m not the reason you changed into them.”
Heat scorches my skin. “Funny. Can I have my clothes? I need to shower and get ready. I don’t have any of my make-up or anything.”
“You don’t need it,” he waves me off, then hands me my folded clothes from the dining room table. “Here.” His hand brushes mine and I remember the way he touched me the first night I met him. I shake my head and go in the bathroom.
Taylor is waiting when I exit the bathroom. I’m in the same clothes, and they’re tight. Really tight. He raises an eyebrow. “I forgot how fucking hot you looked last night, with running to your defense and everything.”
I roll my eyes. “Are we really going to class, I really don’t want to.”
He pops his neck. “No, we’re not going to class today. But, I have a fight tomorrow night, and I need to head to the gym. You’re coming with me.”
“To watch you practice?”
He nods. “To watch me punish.”
Okay, I thought that was just a little corny, until we actually get into the gym. It’s large, in a bad part of town, and there aren’t many people here. It’s around ten, so it’s an odd time for people to be here anyway. A few older guys are boxing, but nothing serious. Taylor drops his gym bag on the floor and tosses his shirt to the side. I really wish he would stop. I’m supposed to stay clear of him until the Rod thing calms down and go back to my normal life, without him. But, with him shirtless, sweating and tattooed, it’s kind of hard to focus.
He motions me over to a fold out chair close by. I watch as he stretches, his muscles moving under his tanned skin. “So, what got you into fighting?” I ask.
Taylor smiles but something washes over his face. “I was a…troubled kid. One of my dad’s friends told me to take my anger out in a good way. So, I started boxing down at his gym. It turned into fighting in tournaments, and now fighting at Fight Night. I’m the three time remaining champion.” He smiles, but it seems because he is utterly proud of himself.
When he starts jabbing at the punching bag, my heart starts to race. It’s so quick, I can barely see his arms moving. My stomach tightens. He is…so fucking sexy. I don’t want to admit it to myself, but it’s hard not to want to lick him. He jumps, sending a round house kick to the bag. It swings, creaking on a rusty chain.
His gaze drifts to mine, chest moving heavily with each breath.
“Want to try?” he asks.
I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not too good,” I say.
He offers me his hand. “Every girl needs to know how to land a descent punch. You could have hit Rod last night, though, it’s probably a good thing you didn’t. He would have killed you.” What a pleasant thought. “Now, come stand in front of me.”
Oh God.
I walk slowly toward him and stop when I feel the front of his chest hit my upper back. “So,” he whispers. “What you’re gonna do is put your hands up like this.” He reaches down, sliding his fingers down until they’re guiding mine upright. “Curl your hands into fist.” He smells so fucking good. “Now,” he says. “Bend your knees.” He bends and pushes my knee forward with his hands. “You’re gonna swing back, aim for his jaw and follow through.” He shows me the movements, but I’m too excited to really see what he’s doing. He’s so firm. So fit.
“Can you do it alone, Layla?” he whispers in my ear, his lips touching underneath my lobe. I nod, but it’s only to distract myself from wanting to attack him.
I do what he says and take a swing at the bag, it sways slightly. He chuckles. “Try again. This time harder.”
Biting my lip, I take another swing, this time it squeaks and bounds back and forth on the chain. “Well done, baby girl. I think you’ve got the hang of it.” He squeezes my side with his palm and the heat makes me shiver despite the heat of the gym.
“Now, you can watch. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
I watch in
awe as Taylor works out. More people have started to flood in but I’m still sitting in my chair watching carefully. I grip the cool medal edge and watch as he squares off with another fighter. He’s down in three minutes, slapping the floor. I want to smile, seeing Taylor so menacing, but he helps the guy up and laughs it off.
When he glances up, he winks and jumps over the rope. “Having fun?” he asks.
Yes,
I want to shout. I love watching him. Instead I shrug and say, “sure, you’re pretty good. You say you have a match tomorrow, right?”
He nods. “Yep. Now,” he picks up his bag, “let’s get back to the house. I’m fucking starving. I’m fixing dinner.”
Of course he cooks.
I watch TV
while Taylor showers. He says he doesn’t need my help cooking, so I make myself at home. Cindy has texted and called me fifty times. I finally tell her where I am. She calls me a sex slave and says she’ll feed Mittens that I need the dick.
Nasty ass.
That’s nothing compared to Eric who has been asking me questions all day long.
Have you seen it yet? You have to let me know how big he is. Are you ignoring me?
My friends are perves.
Taylor walks out of the shower, sweat pants low on his hips. The perfectly sculptured V is poking out, begging for me to look.
“So, I hope you like tacos, because I make the best in the damn city.”
I laugh. “You’ve been in a taco contest to know this, or are you just that full of yourself.”
Taylor narrows his gaze and dumps some hamburger meat into the pan. “I’m confident, there is a difference, Layla.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I say, sliding onto the barstool. I glance over as he cooks,
he taste things, ask me to taste them and finally serves us food.
When we’re sitting in the living room floor, eating on the tale, I almost feel normal being around him. I know it’s not right, I know I’m not supposed to be here, but I can’t help but want to be here.
“You okay?” Taylor asks, sliding his plate away from him. “You’ve been super quiet. You were even quiet when I told you your boobs look great in that shirt.”
I smile and shrug. “Maybe I enjoyed the compliment.”
Taylor takes me in, gray eyes watching my every move. His tongue darts out, sliding against this bottom lip. “Well,” he slides away from the couch and toward me. “Maybe it would be a good idea to tell you that I want to kiss you again.” He dips his head low. “You think we could arrange one?” He smirks.
My insides burn. “Last time you said one kiss, you put me on your lap and sucked on my breasts.”
Did I really just say that?
He is watching my lips now, smile rising from his own.
“Well, what if I tell you, that you’re in control. I’ll let you do anything and if that mean
s nothing, that’s fine. I just want to make sure you’re okay with it first. I’m not going to make you do anything, remember that.”
The place between my legs tightens, and I’m suddenly wetter than I can ever remember being. His br
eath is so close to my face, he’s resting against the couch, legs out stretched under the table, a large tattooed arm stretching behind my head.
Why do I want him so badly? God.
“Maybe one kiss,” I mumble out, lip trembling.
Taylor smirks, and grabs my waist dragging me on top of him, to where I’m straddling him on the floor. “One kiss,” he says into my mouth.
Waiting, I part my lips desperately wanting his lips on mine. If it’s just for two seconds, I wouldn’t mind. I just want to feel him again. I couldn’t stop thinking about it as he made dinner, sat and watched
The Campaign
with me. I want him, now. I want his lips on me.
Never get too close, Layla.
I shake my head. Dad’s final words, the night he lay dying
. No, don’t think about it.
I close my eyes and bite my lip. Just one kiss, that’s not getting too close, is it?
His lips touch mine, soft and sweet. He wraps his fingers in my nape and drags me closer, gripping my hips and grinding me down on his erection. It startles me, but I grind back with him. He feels so good.
A moan escapes my lips, and he groans back, plunging his tongue into my mouth. His teeth nibble at my bottom lip, and my stomach tightens.
Shit.
Taylor’s fingers grip underneath my shirt, his calloused hands traveling my flat stomach until he has my breast in his palm. Sliding the strap from my shoulder, his thumb scrapes across the pebbled tip of my nipple. “Fuck,” I whimper out, trying to keep my head straight. He’s breathing hard now. My inner muscles clench as his gray eyes focus in on mine. My center presses against his growing cock, making me shiver.
“I want you naked,” he whispers in my ear.
“Taylor, I’m not sure I can,” I say back, breathless. “It’s not right. I’m putting you in harm’s way.” It’s the first time I’ve said this,
indicated why I can’t be close. He stops, breathing into my neck but he continues to rub along my nipple, and suck on my lip with his full lips.
“I can take care of myself…and you,” he says.
I’m about to protest when he says, “Do you like when I do this?” he asks, rubbing his calloused palm against my breast.
“I love it,” I say.
“You like when I fuck your mouth with my own?” he asks.
I’m so turned on talking like this. I nod into his
neck. “Yes.”
His hand travels down my side to the top of my jeans. “You like when I touch you there?” he asks, voice low but cutting edge.
“Yes,” I desperately say, because I want him to touch me. I want him. All of him. I’ve been fighting it only a few days, but it seems like a year. My dad is probably shaking his head. He fell for my mother, couldn’t
not
be with her. Is this how he felt? All the pain I have inside of me for him letting her die vanishes. I screw my eyes close tight, thinking about it makes me squirm. I haven’t thought about it in years, I don’t like to. I shove it aside, letting myself drown in the light trying to consume me.
I’m shaking with anticipation, while he unzips my jeans. His fingers reach under my white cotton panties and stroke me.
I’ve just died. “Say my name, Layla,” he whispers, as his fingers search downward, slipping his finger into me.
“Taylor,”
I mumble against his chest, grinding against his finger.
“Layla,” he whispers, sliding one thumb over my nipple, his other hand pressing against my sex. “If you’re not ready, it’s fine. But, I want to make you come.”
Heat pulls at me. “Tell me I can and I’ll take care of you,” he says, pressing further into me. I’m closing my eyes, wanting more than I want him to give me.
I nod.
Taylor plunges his tongue into my mouth, and stands up with me wrapped around his waist. He doesn’t stop nibbling at my lip as he walks us back toward his room. I haven’t been in here yet, but it smells just like him. My back hits his bed and I lay, sprawled open waiting for him. My shirt is above my breast, my pants unzipped and my chest rising and falling raggedly.
Taylor stares down at me, lips parted. “If I do anything you’re not ready for, you tell me to stop. I’ll stop,” he says. “Understand?”
I nod, my voice small. “Yes.”
He licks his lip and bends to take my face in his hands. His tongue devours my mouth, slowly, tracing over my lips with desire. I know we’re not going to
go all the way, but God do I want to.
Would it hurt?
I think of Rod and I know the answer is yes. I’m already breaking my dad’s rules and it’s going wrong already. He was right. It’s not good to get too close. But, why does it feel so right?
Taylor slips down on top of me, his elbows keeping him up. His thigh presses against my center, pushing until I grind back down on it. I’m so wet, hot, moist and vulnerable. He could probably take me and I wouldn’t have the will power to stop him.
Taylor wraps his fingers in my hair and brings his lips to my ear. “I’m going to make you scream, Layla. Don’t close your eyes, I want to see you come for me.”
Holy Fucktarts.
My mouth is suddenly dry, I nod and arch my back toward him. He pulls down my jeans, and then my panties. His eyes travel over my sex, his finger running down the one strip of hair on my mound. “I love this,” he says, eyes meeting mine.
I don’t respond, I’m too turned
on, I know it’ll come out as a moan if I do. Picking me up, he slides us to the middle of his bed. He turns on his side, watching me watch his finger slid down and into me. I close my eyes, mouth agape. “Don’t close your eyes,” he warns. “Keep them open.”