Alpha Wolf Defender (Awakened Shifters Book 2) Page 6

  “Good,” Jack said, just a bit warmer. “Good girl.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Layla was on him before he closed the hotel room door. She pulled at his shirt, buttons flying off. She kissed his chest, pressing her face into his hard pecs and harder nipples as she stripped his shirt away. Jack opened his own slacks and let them fall to his knees, his member already refilling with blood, hunger growing within it once more.

  Layla was out of her own clothes in a flash, her perfect, supple body naked in front of him, skin smooth and flawless, shorn and slick with her rising passion as she climbed up on Jack as if he were a pine tree.

  Jack turned and laid her down on the bed, face up to him, all that blonde hair spilling out onto the pillow behind her. Jack had savored every second of her attentions in the back of the limo and he was happy to return it in kind. He kissed down her neck to her heaving breasts, high and firm, nipples hard and extended. Her curves were perfection, rising and falling with her increasingly deep breaths. Her hands rested on his head, hair short and smooth beneath her little fingers. Her skin glistened with just a hint of perspiration, her breasts rising up to meet his lips. He took one of her nipples into his mouth. He supported himself on one arm, leaving a hand free to cup one magnificent breast while he kissed the other. Her undercarriage was firm and round, her areola the perfect size, pink and peppered with rising goosebumps.

  “You were right,” he said, low and grainy, his voice no doubt filling the back of her ears, vibrating through her tissues. “I want you, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman in my life.” Layla sighed, a little gasp to follow. “I wanted you from the start, watching you rehearse, in the back of that limo; I’ve wanted to fuck you so hard, tear you to pieces.”

  “Yes,” Layla rasped, “now, Jack, now!”

  “No rush, angel, no rush.” His tongue circled one nipple while his fingers picked and flicked the other, gently pulling them out just a bit, fingertips exerting just the right amout of pressure. Her body twisted just a bit beneath him, shoulders rising up to her ears, blonde hair spread out beneath her lovely face.

  “I want you, every man on earth wants you, wants to take you, throw you down, have you in every way.”

  “Yes, yessssssss…”

  “But I’m the one who gets you, me… and only me!”

  “Yyyeeeeessssss…”

  He kissed his way down her body, lean and long and feminine, almost feline in its delicate curves. Jack couldn't help but access his inner animal, the lupine instincts rising to the fore. He took in a sniff and her air swept into his nostrils, her female fragrance ringing in his brain, his lungs, through his entire body.

  His kisses brought him further down, sliding one magnificent leg over his head until he was poised between that pair of creamy pillars of firm flesh and tawny muscle. She spread them wider, knees raised, each of Jack's hands finding her smooth flanks, reaching in and around to find her silky inner thighs.

  Her lips were firm and engorged, pink tissue already glistening as it peeked out at him. His tongue found those salty ripples, running up and down to touch off the different clusters of nerves he knew were hiding just beneath the surface. Vast experience and keener instincts had given Jack skills no other man she might have been with could possibly have known.

  As she was about to find out.

  She came out even further to greet him, his tongue encouraging her inner woman to reveal itself. His tongue waggled from side to side as it ran up and down that sweet pussy. She gasped, fingers gripping at the stubble on his head. Her hips shifted as he worked her even faster, his tongue an unseen blur reaching deeper into her. Jack pulled Layla’s legs apart just a bit further, heat gathering around his head as her body began to tremble.

  He could sense an orgasm already roiling inside her. But he was in no hurry. He wanted to nurture that orgasm, bring it to its fullest before letting it consume her.

  A low moan rose up from the back of her throat, and Jack could feel it vibrating in her belly, her arms reaching out to her sides, fingers clawing the sheets.

  Jack shifted position again, higher up to past her breasts until he was looking directly into her angelic face. He kissed her lips, knowing the flavors of her own juices mixed with his would deliver an intoxicating blend. Their tongues intermingled, lips pressing together.

  But Jack didn’t linger. He had something else in mind, and Layla didn’t seem to feel the need to ask. A bit higher up positioned Jack’s newly extended rod between Layla’s sweat-slicked breasts. One knee on either side of her lithe torso, Jack lowered herself down between her warm, wet globes. Jack’s hips were perfectly positioned to push himself up, her firm breastbone beneath him, one breast on each side.

  Layla turned her head and pouted, eyes closed as she pressed her breasts together, a lovely firm pressure on each side as he slid forward and back, in and out. Jack loved a classic Dutch, and Layla had the perfect breasts for it. Jack’s strokes were long and slow, gentle shifts of his hips only suggesting what she’d soon feel about a foot under her lowest rib.

  Her hard nipples glanced against his abdomen, sending little traces of electric delight quivering through his body. His cock was already lit up with the wet friction of her firm tits on the sides and above, her hard sternum pressing against him from beneath. But her nipples scraping against his flesh only amplified the other sensations, sending dizzying waves over Jack’s brain.

  But he was still in control, always in control, deftly manipulating his own body and hers. No sensation could overwhelm him, no receptor could resist him. Jack knew it, and he enjoyed it; one glance at the lovely lass beneath him told Jack that Layla enjoyed it too, perhaps more than any other woman before him. Because though Jack had bedded countless women, among them the most gorgeous the world had ever seen, there was something about Layla which exceeded their sensitivities. She seemed to feel things deeper than others, perhaps due to her artistic streak or perhaps symptomatic of it. Jack wasn't sure and he didn’t care; thinking became harder, instincts louder in the back of his brain and even louder in other parts of his body.

  Jack slid a bit faster, the friction bringing Jack’s nerves to the surface. It was cool with sweat and hot with slick contact, Layla squeezing her breasts together even tighter. But Jack needed more, and he knew Layla did too.

  He was more than happy to oblige.

  Jack slid down a bit, his hard hammer perfectly positioned for penetration. He put his head in and let it rest there, just a suggestion of what was to follow. He eased it in just a bit and then out, pausing to let it rest once more. Layla was already trying to grind fast, but Jack silently insisted that she follow his lead, his body quickly acclimating to his slow, savory motions.

  Once in control, Jack pushed in a bit more, then pulled out the same distance, just the first few inches of his massive meat sliding in and out in a regular, reasonable pace. In and out, slow and even, Layla dipped her eyes closed as she pouted, clearly enjoying every delicious stroke. Jack shifted his hips a bit, deftly pressing his wand to the side, up and down to hit every cluster of nerves under those hot, pink tissues. She felt incredible wrapped around him, as if her entire body had become an extension of his own body. She was small and tight, and the even pressure she applied to him sent bolts of pleasure shooting through his body.

  But Layla’s body wanted more, resisting his steady stream of pumps for more action, stronger, harder, faster. Jack enjoyed resisting, forcing his patient will upon her, knowing the effect it would ultimately have. She seemed more accustomed to a faster fuck, selfish dummies who cared more about getting through it than getting the job done.

  So Jack waited, keeping up a slow pump until Layla threw out a frustrated grunt, lower lip quivering. Jack knew she was more than ready, that he was pumping her up nice and slow, just as he wanted and just as she needed.

  Jack started a faster cycle, shaking his hips as he drove himself deeper and withdrew faster. In and out and side to side, Layla seemed
to seethe with relief, but Jack knew it wouldn’t last. It wasn’t supposed to; it was a feeling meant to grow, to develop to impossible size and strength. But until then, Jack would keep raking his thick prong over her hot, pink clench, tighter to hold him as he went on pumping, keeping more in reserve than he was doling out.

  Jack knew he had to be careful; he was long and thick and she was small and compact beneath him, a dancer’s body, a thing of beauty he knew was to be cherished and protected. He also wanted to throttle her from within, pound her into that mattress until she disappeared into it. But he could read her cooing and whimpering, groans getting louder

  Layla was clearly loving every minute of it. Her breasts jiggled as her body jutted with the power of his thrusts, as if she’d succumbed to his power and had abandoned her cultivated personality, her famous self. She wasn’t Layla Shaye anymore, not under Jack Billings. She was no longer in control and had no desire to be, Jack knew that; she wanted him to call the tune, she was happy to do that sexy dance.

  Her hips rose and fell and turned, supplemental to Jack’s own strokes. She met him square and then countered with a turn of her hips, her own shake creating a controlled chaos between the two of them.

  Beyond Jack’s vast experience and even beyond Layla’s great sensitivity, even beyond her great fame and incredible beauty, there was something more to Layla, something Jack could feel more than he could see or comprehend it. But he didn’t need to see it in order to comprehend it.

  Layla seemed as fixed on his body as he was on hers, despite a life that would drive most to selfishness and childishness. She had keener senses, instincts that told her things other people could never understand.

  Jack’s hips went into a faster drive, his instincts telling him what Layla wanted and when, and how much she could take. Jack went deeper in and pulled out, a faster cycle of piston-like pummeling that had her body jiggling beneath him.

  Jack rolled over, flipping Layla around and up to a position above him, his own body below, lying on his back. Layla looked around, suddenly sitting, Jack still deep inside her. Her legs straddled his hips and Layla leaned back. Her breasts hung free, high and proud as she arched the small of her back. Layla ground her hips down onto Jack, nearly taking him in down to the base. But her strong legs kept her at the perfect height, pressure and pleasure with just a hint of delicious pain. Jack could read it in her face, mouth pinched, brows arching, hair damp with sweat as it danced around her naked shoulders.

  Jack rolled his own hips to match Layla’s, her whole body rising and lowering with his hips as he pushed up and let her drop back down. Jack threw more strength into his bucking, Layla’s body twisting and bending like a woman on a mechanical bull.

  Layla started bouncing down harder on him, pain and ecstasy in equal measure, spelled out in her panting cheeks and furrowed brow. Layla twisted and wriggled and squirmed on top of Jack, just about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. The sight of her angelic face and world-class body was enough to inspire yet another orgasm. And while he was happy to hold it back, and could do for as long as he wanted, he could see that Layla was working her way to a frothing orgasm of her own. Jack could feel it inside her, rising like a bubble, stretching, expanding within her. She wanted it, and he knew he could have her coming all night if that’s what she wanted.

  And it certainly seemed to be.

  Layla leaned back, her hands on Jack’s upper thighs, leaning back as her body quivered, eyes rolling up into the back of her head. Layla dropped her head back, her hair falling onto Jack’s shins. Her fingers dug into his thick leg muscles, nails breaking the skin and pushing deeper with the incredible energy passing through her, from Jack into her and then bouncing back, from her straight to Jack’s central core. The energy turned again, nowhere else to go but back, pulling Jack’s come from his sack and hurling it through his shaft.

  Jack’s orgasm raced out to meet her. His body twitched and pulled as every muscle in his body worked toward that single, salty goal. It launched deep into her, pulling out an amazing quantity of energy as it rushed into her as if of its own volition. Jack’s own body shook, a single spasm seeming to overtake both their bodies at once. Layla’s spine arched again and stiffened, fingers digging into the tensed muscles of Jack’s own legs, tight and pulling with his incredible orgasm.

  The mutual energy pulled Jack and Layla together, juices commingling, muscled clenching and then relaxing. Layla leaned forward, hair falling over Jack’s face as she buried her face in his sweat-slick chest. He remained inside her, legs slowly stretching out until she was lying on top of him.

  They lay in the warm gloom around the bed. Jack could feel her heart beating in her chest, her breasts against his muscled chest, head on his shoulder. Jack gently stroked the back of her head, savoring her gentle sigh as she melted into his embrace.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next morning Jack woke up feeling better than he had in a long time. He and Layla had made love two more times that night, the last round going almost two hours. Layla had fallen to sleep weeping on Jack’s chest, her irregular breathing making him wonder if he shouldn’t call for an ambulance.

  But the sun found them both in perfect condition, Layla smiling sweetly as her eyes blinked open, consciousness slowly replacing her happy sleep. She looked at Jack and that little smile only got broader, biting into her lower lip as she dropped her chin onto his chest.

  “Morning.”

  Jack said, “Morning. Sleep well?”

  Layla nodded and sighed. They ordered room service and had a quick shower, lathering each other up as the hot water washed over them. Jack could hardly resist the feeling of the slick soap on his rod, the sight of her glistening body in front of him, a Greek goddess in the center of a vast, steaming fountain.

  Once they started, they couldn’t stop for another forty-five minutes, Layla’s palms pressed against the wet tile, Jack hammering her from behind, the water pouring down on them, feet sliding against the tile floor. Layla trembled as she came again, water spilling into her mouth, gurgling as her moans spilled out and so did Jack.

  They had coffee, rolls, and fruit sent up to the room, relaxing in front of the television. The coffee was hot and robust, bracing and readying Jack for another day. The concert was only three days or so away, and Jack knew the activity would only get more frenzied as the big day approached.

  They lay on the bed in thick robes, cozy and comfortable and switching from channel to channel. They came upon a vaguely familiar face, and Layla reached out, “Hold on, I wanna see this. Turn it up.”

  Jack increased the volume and watched, Layla silent beside him, as the television grabbed their undivided attention.

  Hand-held phone footage of a man swaggering around an airport terminal was subtitled, Cy Davenport Still MIA. He seemed big, with long, blond hair shaggy over his tanned face.

  “Get away from me with that camera, mate! I’ll cut cher fucking throat out!”

  Jack turned to Layla. “Cy Davenport, isn’t that your ex?” Layla nodded.

  Footage of redheaded Hollywood legend Ron Howard walking through an airport terminal replaced the other footage, but he was surrounded by men and women holding out their hands to block any questions.

  Jack asked Layla, “You don’t think this guy is anything to worry about?”

  Layla sighed. “I… I hope not. I mean, he’s always been kinda wild, but he never raised a hand to me. He’s just… intense. And in this business, once you’re branded, it sticks for life; just ask Peewee Herman or R. Kelly. I don't think it’s fair to infer anything until I know for sure.”

  Jack nodded, impressed with her sense of reason, her compassion even for a person who could present her a clear and present danger.

  The footage ended with the prattle of some talking head behind a desk, but it was quickly replaced by footage of the protests in front of the Staples Center. Familiar white men and mostly women were gathered around the periphery of the Staples Center, where t
hey’d been when Layla faced them down the day before. Their leader was identified by the subtitle as Carla Brunell, of the American Decency League.

  “We’re here to raise awareness about something a lot worse than climate change! When our culture is falling apart the way it is? I’m sorry if I’m more worried about my daughter's future than some stupid polar bear. Even they know what we mean!”

  The camera panned quickly to a second group of protesters very near the first. Many wore hijabs and robes but others were dressed in the same garb any Los Angeleno might wear. But their skin was uniformly darker, hair black or graying, the population mostly male but some women among them. They held up signs too, making references to Allah and chastity.

  “Our Muslim brothers and sisters agree,” Carla Brunell went on, the camera panning back to her. “The problems in our society today don’t stem from the second amendment, and it’s certainly nothing to do with good Christian men and women. It’s the loose morality that’s taking us down, the oversexualization of our society, the degradation of our pure Christian morality. I don’t know much about being a Muslim, but if they’re in favor of a return to decency and humility, a flat-out rejection of pornography in all its many forms… I mean, they don’t do drugs, they don't drink, they don’t sexualize their women. I can say this honestly, as a Christian… if they didn't follow a false God, they could be, y’know, practically as good as real Americans.”

  Layla grabbed the remote and hit the mute button, the TV going quiet. “Isn’t Allah just, like, a different name for the same God?”

  “Same God,” Jack said, “different prophet; hardly the problem, though.”

  After a doubting moment, Layla asked Jack, “What is the problem? You’re not one of those people who think more than two Muslims make up a sleeper cell?”