| My Cure And My Illness

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐀

Daniel took a hard nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, sucking, lapping, and kissing. "I remember every moment, Layla. I remember how you loved being cherished and worshipped. How you desired to be thoroughly fucked, and utterly used."

"Fuck, Daniel," I whispered, his words causing a frenzy of lust and need crashing against every corner of my body. I bucked my hips in search of him, the ache between my legs growing stronger with every stroke of his tongue and every touch of his hand. His lips let go of my nipple with a pop, and when he looked back up at me, his hand slipped in between us. "Say it, Layla." And then he touched me, his fingers sliding through the sensitive folds of my pussy, sending the most intense wave of lust up my spine, my entire body electrified.

"Jesus, Layla," he moaned. "Your body is begging to be fucked."

"Daniel…" I started to plead.

"Say it first. Tell me you're mine."