Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet Book 2) Rowe, Lauren (read aloud TXT) 📖

like me again. Only better. I feel at peace now. I feel whole, despite the Mimi-sized hole in my heart.

I love you, I think. But what I say is, “I missed you.” Once I start saying the magic words to Laila, I’m sure they’ll pop out of my mouth as easily as “good morning” and “goodnight.” I certainly had no problems saying them to Mimi. And I say them to Sasha all the time, too. But saying them to Laila feels different. Monumental. I want to be sure, totally sure, when the words come out of my mouth, they’ll be met in kind.

“I missed you, too,” she gasps out.

We’ve got plenty to talk about. I’m sure she’ll tell me all about her trip and show me photos. And I’ll tell her that I’ve been doing a lot better, in terms of handling my grief about Mimi. I’m sure I’ll tell her some of the cool stuff Reed’s got lined up for my band’s album release next week. But right now, I don’t want to talk. I need to get inside her.

I put her down where we’re standing, pull up her sundress and yank down her undies, grab her hot little ass, and indulge in the pussy that owns me. When she’s wet and moaning, even before she’s come, I back her up to the nearest wall, pull my cock out of my jeans, pick her up, and impale her. I’ll make sure she gets hers before we’re done. But in this moment, I feel a primal, urgent need to get inside her and fuck her hard. To claim her by leaving my load inside her and marking her as mine.

My thrusts are animalistic and raw. With each hard thrust of my body, we both growl and grunt. Moan and groan. She takes my bottom lip between her teeth and grits out, “Yes!” And I fuck her with everything I’ve got. With each movement of my body, I’m slamming into the farthest reaches of hers. Invading her. Conquering. With each thrust, I’m leaving a piece of myself behind. Giving all that I am to her. All that I could be, if only she’ll promise to love me in return. Now that my walls are down and my heart is bare and vulnerable—beating, totally unprotected, in Laila’s palms—I realize just how guarded and scared I was before now. How much I held back, for fear of rejection. The same rejection I thought I’d suffered during the last month of the tour.

“Laila,” I grit out, impaling her against the wall with every ounce of force I can muster. I’ve fucked her against a wall before. And those times, I’ve whispered into her ear, “I’m pinning you against the wall because you’re a work of art.” But this time, there’s no way I could make a quip like that. In this moment, I can’t be smooth or funny. Dirty talk isn’t a possibility. I’m raw. Wrecked. In love. Desperate. I need her to understand I’m hers now. Mind, body, and soul.

“Adrian,” she replies. And the tone of her voice, the fact that she’s used my first name, for some reason, that one word has said it all. She’s mine. Every bit as much as I’m hers.

“I love you,” I choke out. “I love you, Laila.”

She bursts into tears. “I love you, too.” I feel her body rippling around mine. Milking mine.

A sensation of white-hot ecstasy consumes me, as my body quakes and convulses. When my body quiets down, I set Laila on her feet and kiss the hell out of her.

“How have you been doing?” she asks softly, cupping my face in her palms. And it’s plain from her tone she’s referring to my grief about Mimi.

“I’m a whole lot better, now that you’re here.”

“I shouldn’t have left you.”

“I insisted, remember? And, honestly, it was for the best. Being without you . . . it made my feelings so obvious. So indisputable. I don’t only want you, Laila. I need you. I love you. I can’t live without you. I can’t be happy without you. I can’t be me without you.”

Her eyes water. “I feel the same way. And it became so clear to me when we were apart. I realized . . .” She stops herself. “Actually, I have a much better way of telling you what I realized. During my trip, I wrote a little song that will tell you exactly what I realized.”

I smile. “You wrote a song for me?”

“Yes and no. I wrote a response to ‘Hate Sex High’—a slowed-down version with new lyrics. It’s your song, done my way.”

“Oh my God, Laila.”

“There was a piano at the hotel and I’d go down there every night and play for a bit before bedtime. You know me. My favorite way to unwind. And one night, when I was missing you so much, I started playing ‘Hate Sex High,’ just to feel closer to you. And when I got to my name in the song, I switched things up a bit. And, suddenly, all new lyrics for the entire song started flooding me. I jotted them down on my phone, so I could maybe sing you my version of the song one day, if ever I mustered the courage.” She chuckles. “I didn’t think in a million years I’d be playing the song for you right after returning home from my trip. But now, I can’t stand the thought of this moment passing without me playing it for you.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.”

She grabs my hand and leads me into the living room. While Laila takes a seat at the baby grand, I stand next to the piano, watching her, my heart crashing with anticipation.

Smiling, Laila lays her fingers onto the keys. “Wow. This feels even more nerve-wracking than performing on Sylvia.”

“Take your time.”

She looks into my eyes for a long beat, apparently mustering her nerve. “I can’t believe I’m about to play this for you. I’m so happy, Savage. I