17. LAYLA
17
LAYLA
Five minutes.
That’s how long it took between me sending that text and Valentino’s car came screeching down the parkway.
The second he steps out, he looks me over, slowly, deliberately.
The heat in his gaze makes my skin tingle. It’s the kind of look that melts you, strips you bare, and makes you forget every last bit of common sense.
Then, his lips curve into the most ridiculously happy smile. A smile so genuine that it makes my chest ache.
"God, Layla. What the hell are you doing to me?" His eyes trail over my body with unfiltered appreciation. “I think I owe you an apology.”
"You think?" I smirk. "You were supposed to plan tonight. Did you forget?"
His expression shifts, frustrated, guilty, turned on, all at once.
He rakes a hand through his hair. “Maybe I did. It’s just, work has been…" He exhales sharply. "You know what? Fuck it. I don’t want to talk about that when you’re standing here looking like that.”
His gaze drags down my body again, burning into my skin.
"What is it, Marchetti?" I tilt my head. "Cat got your tongue?"
His jaw tightens. His hands are in his pockets, probably so he doesn’t give into the temptation to touch me.
“Let’s go somewhere.” His voice is lower, rougher. “I want to take you somewhere nice.”
I shake my head, stepping closer. “We don’t need to do anything fancy.” My fingers brush over his wrist, feeling his pulse quicken. “We can just stay in tonight.”
His brows raise, surprised. “Here?”
I nod.
He doesn’t argue, just nods back before leading me inside his building.
The click of my heels echoes through the open foyer as I step into his building.
Valentino takes my hand, his grip warm and sure, threading his fingers through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
A slow, steady pulse beats beneath my skin as he leads me into the elevator.
When we reach his door and step inside, I have to blink, taking in the sheer elegance of it all.
The furniture is sleek, modern, but not cold, deep leather, warm lighting, and touches of something undeniably him everywhere. A single glass tumbler sits abandoned on the marble counter, his jacket draped carelessly over the back of a chair. It’s effortless.
But there’s a feeling I didn’t notice the first time. It’s warm and intimate in a way I hadn’t expected.
Photos line the walls, pictures from his childhood, of his mother, his father, his siblings. Old pets, past vacations.
For the first time, I realize it’s more than just his apartment.
It’s a home.
A home that, despite its grandeur, feels lived-in. Loved.
What would it be like… to belong in a place like this?
Valentino doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he pulls me further inside, turning to face me once we reach the center of the room. His gaze is steady, unreadable, but his thumb brushes over my knuckles, soft, lingering, enough to make my breath catch.
I should say something. Tease him about living like a man who knows exactly how good he has it. But I don’t. I can’t.
Because in this moment, with his hand in mine, everything feels right.
For the first time, I stop questioning where this is going. I stop second-guessing if we’re making a mistake.
Valentino’s eyes darken as he looks at me, his grip on my hand tightening just slightly before he lifts it to his lips. His kiss is soft against my skin, lingering for a breath too long, sending a slow, searing heat through my veins.
"You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" His voice is low, rough, like he’s holding something back.
My pulse flutters, my chest rising and falling with the weight of everything unsaid between us.
"Valentino..." I whisper, but I don’t even know what I’m asking for.
He steps closer, his free hand reaching up, his fingers grazing along my jaw before cradling my face. His touch is firm but reverent, as if he’s memorizing the feel of me, as if I’m something precious.
His thumb sweeps over my cheek, his breath warm as he tilts his head down, his lips hovering just above mine.
His forehead presses against mine. "You mean more to me than I ever thought possible. And it terrifies me."
The rawness in his voice, the vulnerability, it steals the air from my lungs.
I don’t hesitate. I lift onto my toes, closing the space between us.
The moment our lips meet, the world shifts.
His kiss is slow at first, like he’s savoring the taste of me, like he wants to take his time unraveling me. But then his fingers tighten in my hair, angling my face, and the restraint in him snaps.
A deep, wanting sound rumbles from his chest as he claims my mouth with more urgency, more hunger. His lips are warm, demanding, molding perfectly to mine as if they were always meant to be here.
The sensation sends a shiver down my spine, heat pooling down to my core.
I press my hands to his chest, feeling the hard lines of his body beneath his shirt, the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips.
He’s solid, unyielding, but the way he’s touching me, the way he’s kissing me, is nothing but pure, desperate need.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my knees go weak. He must feel it because his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him, holding me there as if he never wants to let go.
His stiffening length presses against my belly.
I lose myself in him. In the taste of him, dark, intoxicating, something I know I’ll crave long after this moment ends.
His hands, warm and possessive, anchor me to him. My body hums under his touch.
When he finally pulls away, just enough to let me breathe, his lips still brush against mine, his forehead resting against mine once more.
"Tell me you feel this too." His voice rough with something dangerously close to hope.
I don’t even hesitate. "I feel everything."
Guiding me toward the sofa, his movements are purposeful and calculated.
My legs feel weak as I sit on the edge, my eyes never leaving his.
His gaze intense, before bending me forward with my chest resting on the armrest.
He hikes my skirt up, exposing my thong, his hands gripping my hips, his touch firm and demanding.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he growls, his voice rough with need.
My breath comes in short gasps, as I turn my head slightly, my lips brushing against his arm.
“I don’t want you to wrap it up.” My voice trembles with desire.
“I want to feel every fucking inch of you. All of you.”
Valentino’s grip tightens on my hips, his chest heaving as he pulls my panties to the side.
Without hesitation, he positions his thick cock, pressing against my wet entrance.
I whimper, my body aching for him, and he thrusts forward, burying himself deep inside me in one primal motion.
His movements are raw and rough as he picks up the pace. The sounds of our body colliding together. I fucking love it.
Valentino’s grip is like a vise, his thrusts relentless and urgent.
I can feel every inch of him, just as I request, his cock stretching me, filling me completely.
My nails dig into the sofa as I push back against him, meeting his rhythm with equal intensity.
“Fuck, Valentino. Harder. Please.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
The movement of his hips becomes more savage, his body snapping against mine as he pounds into me with abandon.
I’m gush of wetness, my pussy clenching around him as my orgasm builds up.
My walls tighten as I let out a cry, juices squirting all over his dick, coating him in my release.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Valentino groans, his voice strained as he fights for control. “So fucking wet for me.”
My head falls forward, hair cascading over my shoulders as I ride out my orgasm.
But Valentino isn’t done yet.
Pulling out abruptly, he turns me to face him, his eyes wild with desire.
He pushes me back onto the sofa, my legs spreading wide as he kneels between them. Gripping my thighs, he holds me wide open and angles himself at my entrance once more.
“Again,” he commands, his voice a low growl.
I nod, my body still trembling from my climax.
Valentino spears into me again, his cock sliding easily into my slick heat.
This time, he moves slower, his hips rolling as he savors the feel of me around him.
His hands roam my body, squeezing my tits, pinching my nipples until they peak under his touch.
My moans are guttural, filling the room as he teases me, driving me closer to the edge again.
“Cum for me again.” His thrusts become more urgent. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”
My eyes roll back as my body obeys, the orgasm crashing over me like a wave.
My juices are flowing freely, squirting onto him as my walls milk him.
Valentino’s face contorts. “Fuck, Layla. I’m going to cum.”
My eyes flutter open, hands reaching out to grip his shoulders.
“Inside me,” I beg, my voice desperate. “Fill me up, Valentino. I want your cum deep in my pussy.”
Valentino doesn’t think twice. With a primal moan, he thrusts deep, hips locking against mine as he releases every drop of his load.
His cum spills into me, hot and thick, filling my pussy completely.
My body trembles as his seed coats my walls.
For a moment, we stay locked together, our breaths ragged and hearts pounding in unison.
Resting his forehead against mine, his hands gently stroke my hair as we come down from our high.
My legs stay wrapped around him, and my body is still buzzing with the aftermath of the intense sex.
“Fuck,” Valentino whispers, his voice hoarse. “That was…”
I smile, my lips brushing against his.
“Not done yet,” I murmur, my eyes glinting with mischief.
“Oh? And what do you have in mind?”
I slide a hand down his chest, fingers teasing the trail of hair that leads below his waist.
“I think we’ve only just begun.”
The air between us is tense with anticipation, the promise of more hanging heavy in the room.
Valentino’s smirk widens, his hands gripping my hips once more.
“Then let’s see just how far we can take this.”
A few hours later and after coming down from another handful of orgasms, Valentino disappears into the kitchen. He returns moments later with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
I’m dressed in one of his shirts that can pass off as a nightgown on me.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He pours me a glass. “This is one of the oldest wines in my collection. I always thought I’d save it for a special occasion, but… this feels like one.”
There’s something in the way he says it. Something real.
The wine is rich and smooth, coating my throat like velvet. "It tastes incredible."
He nods, swirling the glass in his hand. "I thought we could start with this, then maybe, if you’re in the mood, I could pull some strings and get us into that place downtown."
I set my glass down. “No. No fancy plans tonight.”
He tilts his head, studying me. Like he's trying to figure me out. "Are you sure about that?"
I nod.
Because as long as we’re here, alone, it doesn’t have to be a performance.
It can just be us.
“We can order in. Something low-key.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve done that in a long time.”
“What? Stay in and eat Chinese food?” I laugh. “God, you really need to learn how to loosen up.”
He watches me, amused. “You say that like you’re the expert.”
“Oh, I am. And tonight, you’re my student.” I raise my glass. “But I have an idea. I think we should get to know each other better.”
Valentino lifts a brow. "Is this a trap?"
I roll my eyes. “It’s a game. Never Have I Ever. Ever heard of it?”
He smirks. “High school. But I have a feeling you’re about to ruin my reputation.”
“Maybe.” I bring my knees up to my chest. “I’ll start. Never have I ever been caught doing something I shouldn’t be doing.”
A grin stretches across his lips. He takes a slow sip. "Haven’t we all?"
“Spill.”
He chuckles, leaning closer. "High school. Under the bleachers. Coach wasn’t thrilled.”
My jaw drops. “Valentino Marchetti, a rule-breaker? Shocking.”
He shrugs. "You haven’t answered your own question."
I smirk, taking a sip from my glass.
His eyes glint. “Oh, this is going to be good.”
I exhale, mock dramatic. “Once, I got caught skinny dipping into a hotel pool after hours.”
His brows lift. “And?"
“And…let’s just say the security guard was not amused.”
Valentino chuckles. “I’m almost disappointed it wasn’t something more scandalous.”
“You’re so predictable.” I nudge him. “Your turn.”
He drags his gaze over me, tapping his fingers on his glass. “Never have I ever… wanted something I shouldn’t.”
My stomach flips.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t break eye contact.
My pulse hammers in my throat.
Slowly, my eyes glued to his, I raise my glass and take a tiny sip.
His jaw tightens.
“Ok, that’s enough of the games,” Valentino mutters, shifting closer. His body heat radiates through me. Then, his voice drops. “Do you ever think about your dad?”
My breath hitches.
“Why are you asking?”
His hand brushes over mine. “I've been thinking about my mother a lot lately. With everything happening with Eva, it made me realize how much I miss her and that she’s gone. And I can’t change that.”
I swallow hard.
“But you…” His voice softens. “You never got to know your dad at all. I can’t imagine what that must be like.”
I freeze.
He has no idea.
He has no idea that just like my mom did to me, I’m keeping his identity from my own son.
And I’m also keeping his son from him. The truth from him.
My throat tightens. “It’s not something I like talking about.”
He nods. "Fair enough."
But then he says something that almost breaks me.
“How could any man live with himself, knowing that he has a child out there somewhere, and choose not to be a part of his life?”
I choke on air.
I reach for my wine, downing the rest in one gulp.
"Layla?" His brows furrow. “You okay?”
I nod quickly. “I need another drink.”
He watches me for a moment, concerned. Then, he shifts the mood entirely. His hand slides onto my thigh.
"Fine," he murmurs, his voice darker, heavier. "If we’re done with deep conversations, let’s talk about something else."
I breathe in sharply. “Like what?”
He grins wickedly. "Like all the ways I'm going to ruin you tonight."