Page 105 of Executing Malice

But I make her cum on my cock. I pull her into my lap and let her bounce on my dick until she gets us both off.

She stays, afterwards, with me still deep inside her. Her arms around my neck. Her legs hugging my ribs. She doesn’t stop my hands from fondling her tits while she kisses me.

“Will you tell me about before?” she asks while I’m in the process of nibbling on her nipple.

I lift my head. “What do you want to know?”

Leila shrugs. “Everything? I don’t remember anything.”

Abandoning her chest, I frame her cheeks between my palms. “I’ll tell you anything you want.”

Except why you left.

And maybe that makes me an asshole, but I can’t risk her running again.

She kisses me long and slow. “Tonight? After dinner?”

I nod. “Make a list.”

Our morning slips from there to her taking a shower and getting ready for work while I get some work done that I can’t with my phone alone. The job is a simple one of breaking into a tech company mainframe for a guy I owed a favor. It’s a mildly big enough job that he now owes me one, but I get him squared away by the time Leila emerges from the bathroom, swaddled in a towel and looking soft and pink.

“Don’t,” she warns when she catches me eyeing her.

I blink with all the innocence I can feign. “Just admiring your towel.”

She scoffs. “My towel?”

I fold my arms and give her a smirk. “Just thinking how much better it would look bunched up on the floor.”

Her laughter echoes through the house as she pads past me straight into the bedroom.

I don’t follow, but damn I’m tempted, which is why I don’t. The second that scrap of fabric comes off her, I’ll fuck her. I know it. What I need is my own shower to work down the boner now tenting the front of my sweats.

It does amuse me how much faster I get back up now that I have Leila. It’s not a matter of imagining the feel and taste of her but actually getting to sink my dick in her that gets mygears going without provocation. But at least I’ll be able to fill up her bodywash without feeling like an old man.

Leila is dressed and has breakfast on the table when I emerge. Her head lifts when I step into the kitchen. She’s holding a spoon and a container of blueberries.

“Breakfast?” she asks, gesturing with the spoon at the two bowls of oatmeal already steaming on the counter.

With a nod, I move to the fridge for the milk. I also grab the brown sugar from the cupboard and carry them both to the adjoining room where the dining table is set up. Leila joins me with the bowls now stabbed through with spoons and heaped with nuts, blueberries and cinnamon.

I pull her into my lap while we eat. She’s in one of her long skirts and loosely knitted sweaters that hangs just slightly. It’s the perfect looseness for my hand to slip easily up the hem and settle on her waist.

“I’ve been thinking,” she begins after several minutes of just the clink of our utensils on ceramic. “Maybe you don’t keep your helmet on anymore. I mean, you should while you’re driving, of course, but otherwise.” She sets her spoon down and turns her head to face me. “Maybe you could even talk to people a little?”

I study the apprehension in her eyes, the worried nibbling of her bottom lip. The Leila from before never cared what anyone thought of her. She didn’t care if she had no one in herlife, except me. But I suppose it makes sense that she considers those things important now. She’s older, for one, but she’s no longer that cold, hard kid trying to survive the system. She’s still tough and resilient, but she’s softer, and she has a home. Something she’s been wanting since the day I met her. She has people she cares about and who care for her. She has a community that is important to her, and she wants me to be a part of that.

“I don’t want you to think there’s anything wrong with you,” she goes on quickly while I’m still processing. “It’s just that Jefferson is very unique and the people who live here follow a certain protocol and—”

I capture her chin. Smooth my thumb along the soft line of her jaw.

“This is important to you,” I say quietly. “This town and these people, they’re important to you.”

Her shoulders sag slightly as if defeated. “You’re important, too.”

I brush the curve of her bottom lip. “If Jefferson is where your heart is, your happiness, I will fit in for you. All I want is for you to be happy.”

Her hands capture my wrist, not to pull me away, but to hold my palm against her cheek. “Jefferson, for all the fucked up that it is, is ... home. Maybe it’s silly, but I feel safe here.”