Chapter 15 - Zander

Zander tried his hardest to be respectful of his new wife, not to put all his desire on her. Just because they were married now didn't give him the right to push himself on her. And hell, she was already pregnant with his child. She didn't need him pawing all over her.

But with every passing day it grew harder and harder. And the more they got to know each other, the more he wanted her. They had far more in common than it seemed either of them realized. Both coming from rocky backgrounds, both with a love for the simple things in life like nature and simply being at peace in the moment, both just wanting to live as normal a life as possible.

And he was almost sure that Layla was trying to entice him. Every day, she wore short dresses, the shortest of shorts, low-cut tops that showed her growing breasts, and the smell of milk that was beginning to produce within them was just as intoxicating to Zander. The knowledge that she was fertile, that she carried his child, and that she was preparing to care for it only made him want her more.

It took all he had in him to control himself. Besides, he had promised himself that if this was it, he was going to do things differently. He wasn't about to treat her like one of the many women he'd met and fucked over the years.

Layla was different. She was glowing. And he could barely keep his hands off her.

One night, as she placed a jug of her amazing lavender lemonade on the dining table before him, Zander's gaze inadvertently traveled to the rising hem of her skirt. The mound of her buttocks showed just beneath, and the scent of her wafted into his nostrils so strongly that his cock hardened uncontrollably. Only the table he was sitting at disguised the fact.

Yet she seemed to have heard his gasp as she straightened up and asked, "Is everything alright?"

Zander bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn't take it anymore. In a split second, he had already imagined all of the terrible things he would like to do to her right there on that dining room table.

The dinner she had cooked smelled divine, but not nearly as tasty as she did, and he found he was not hungry at all for food, but for her.

Clearing his throat, he said, "Will you excuse me for a few minutes? I remembered I have something I need to do."

Layla scowled at him but nodded. "Don't be long. Your food will go cold."

Zander nodded acknowledgment and forced himself to stand, hoping that she would not notice his rock-hard arousal.

Luckily for him, she looked away just in time, taking her seat and he hurried from the dining room straight for the bathroom.

He couldn't hold it any longer. His arousal was painful. His cock throbbed so hard he feared it might explode if he didn't do something about it.

Perching on the edge of the bathtub, he turned on the tap to the sink, hoping to muffle any noise he might make as he unzipped his jeans and gripped a hold of himself.

Damn, it felt so good to touch himself, but it felt even better to imagine that it wasn't him at all.

Tilting back his head, he closed his eyes and pictured Layla's face smiling back at him.

He gritted his teeth, imagining all too easily how she might stroke his cock, how she might drop down to her knees and take him into her mouth, caressing the tip of his manhood with her tongue.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed breathlessly. He quivered so badly, he had to hold onto the edge of the tub with his free hand.

This wasn't the first time he'd had to sort himself out since marrying Layla over a week ago, but it was the first time he hadn't managed to hold off until they'd headed off to bed in different rooms.

It was the first time he didn't find himself imagining her pleasuring herself across the hall while he stroked his own cock.

He pictured her kneeling before him on the bathroom floor, staring up at him with his cock in her mouth. It made him feel dirty, disrespectful and needy, and yet he had to. He couldn't control himself around her if he didn't take care of this problem in his pants.

"Fuck!" he growled again, louder this time.

"Zander? Is everything okay in there?" Layla called from the hallway, and Zander's hand halted immediately. His entire body quivered with pain at the lost orgasm, and he stifled a huge groan.

"I…I'm fine. Go back to the dining room," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll be there in a minute."

His tone was breathless. Even to his own ears, he sounded as if he was in pain. And in truth, he was in pain. The scent of her wafting under the door was too much to bear. He wanted to stalk across the room, open the door and pull her inside.

Instead, he remained stock-still, gripping the bathtub even harder as he prayed for her to leave.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Layla called again. "You sound like something is wrong. Shall I come in?"

He heard her hand on the door handle and froze. "Don't come in!"

But it was too late. The door clicked open, as if Layla hadn't been able to control herself.

And when their eyes met, Zander's face burned red-hot with embarrassment.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she glanced momentarily at his cock, still gripped firmly in his hand.

Her own face started to redden, and oddly, it only made Zander want her more. She was such an innocent, and yet it had been her who had practically attacked him in the woods that night. Just remembering it made him harden all over again.

"I…I should go," Layla mumbled, but she stayed where she was, seemingly unable to stop looking at him.

The embarrassment on her face was clear, but so was the desire that glistened in her eyes. The way she bit her lip said she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

"No! Stay," he urged her. "Stay with me."

Layla took a hesitant step forward into the bathroom and Zander did all he could think to do. He stood and started to stroke himself once more, enjoying the look of shock and desire in her eyes.

"This is what you have done to me," he admitted breathlessly, closing the distance between them. "I've tried to control myself. I've tried my hardest to respect you and your wishes, but I just…I can't stop fantasizing about you."

Leaning over her, his arm braced against the door frame behind her, he pressed his forehead against hers. "Do you think about me, too?"

He heard her gulp, felt her quivering against him. Deep down he knew the answer. If she didn't, she wouldn't still be standing there.

He was certain he'd heard her late at night, moaning with pleasure. Whether in her sleep or not, he had heard her. And just thinking about it now made him want to take her right there.

But he couldn't. She had made no move to touch him, and so he continued to stroke himself, unable to stop with the object of his desire standing right before him.

"I'm sorry. I can't help myself. I need this so desperately," he said through gritted teeth. He knew he should stop but he couldn't. "I can't stop thinking about you and those short dresses. Those short shorts…"

"They are all that fit," Layla whispered back, and her lips barely brushed his. He wanted to kiss her so badly, yet he remained frozen, waiting for her to make a move. She didn't; instead, she asked, "What do you think about?"

Fuck!he growled aloud. Could he really admit all he thought about? What if he said too much? What if he frightened her away?

Yet, here he was, cock in hand, so close to climax, and here she was, standing before him as if she could not move either.