Chapter 9
LILA
I melt under his eyes when he tilts his head down, with a hand still on the door next to my head.
“I like you,” he says, his stare sliding to my mouth, his eyes glinting at the thought of the things he’d do to me.
“You’re a married man.”
“I’m a lot of things you don’t know about,” he argues in a raspy voice that feels like fingers on my clit.
He moves closer, sliding a leg between my thighs, making me feel his pants against the apex of my thighs. A trickle of wetness must be on his pants by now.
“I want my clothes to smell like you,” he murmurs next to my ear as he presses his leg against my slit and rolls his hip slightly.
The soft move turns me on even more.
“You’re still going out?”
He laughs, his lips almost touching my cheek.
“What do you think this is? Did you think I was shaving and waiting for you to pop in?”
A few moments pass as I refuse to answer that.
“So, about that boyfriend of yours. Can’t you just focus on something else for now?”
I slide my finger under his chin and make him look at me.
“Are you jealous?’
“I might be.”
“You said I couldn't find someone here in Georgia.”
“I spoke the truth. You won’t find what you want. But you might find plenty of dicks to fuck with you.”
“I’m not exactly looking for a boyfriend.”
“Perfect.”
He lowers his mouth to my neck.
I make him bring his gaze to me.
“I don’t want a married man either.”
He raises his hand in front of me.
“Do you see me wearing a wedding band?”
Yeah, why isn’t he wearing a ring?
“That doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
He rolls his bottom lip under his teeth, pondering.
“I don’t want to see you with another man,” he says bluntly.
“You will see me with another man. Thankfully, my father didn’t put a clause about this in his will. I haven’t had…”
I stop, realizing what I was about to say, and watch the corner of his lips lift.
“I’m listening.”
I press my hand into his chest and make an honest effort to push him away.
“I’m done talking to you.”
He wraps his fingers around my wrist and hinders me from pushing him away.
“You like me, too.”
“I need a man who’s there for me when––“
I stop again, irritated.
“Ugh. Just leave me alone. I don’t want a boyfriend as much I don’t want a scorned woman to run me over with her car either. I don’t like Henrietta. I’ve never liked her, but I’m not the kind of woman who goes behind another woman’s back.”
“Stop thinking about her. She’s not part of the story.”
I make a dismissive gesture at his yet another flimsy answer.
“That’s what every cheating man says.”
I attempt to lower my hand and pick up my top.
He stops me, and I’m forced to straighten, almost brushing his groin with my lips.
“What are you looking? If it’s not a boyfriend…”
“ Do you really want to know?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I want a sweet man who doesn’t play games with me and wants to have wild sex with me over the summer.”
He looks at me seriously as if he’s tasked to solve a puzzle before he breathes a chuckle.
“You don’t want that.”
“Why?”
“Because sweet men don’t have sex like that.”
“How do they have sex?”
“They talk about their feelings first. And they’re more afraid of life than you are. Once you get in bed with them, they finish before you get started.”
“That’s not true,” I say, laughing.
He flashes a smile.
“You’re pulling my leg,” I say.
“How many sweet men have you known in your life?”
“My father was one,” he argues, which gives me pause.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Well, you should.”
“How come you've turned out this way?”
He bites his lip, and I stare at his mouth while he slowly strokes my cheek with his fingers.
“You don’t know how I am, Lila Skye.”
“I’ve seen enough to get an idea of how you are.”
He lowers his mouth to my ear again and murmurs. “There are so many things you don’t know about me.”
His words make me shiver.
I hold my breath while he moves his lips dangerously close to my mouth.
“Let me play with you for a while. And stop looking for a boyfriend for the summer unless you want to face the consequences of your actions,” he says with humor, although something tells me he is more than willing to make my life and that man’s life a living hell.
“Are you going to punish me?” I ask with an incredulous smile.
“I might. In fact, I’m doing it right now. You could be on your knees, sucking my cock. Instead you stand in front of me, thinking about the things I'd do to you.”
“That’s not true,” I say, my voice shaking a little.
“Do you want me to show you how much you want me?”
“No.”
“See, you know it’s true.”
He slides his hand into my hair, presses his body into me, and moves his lips down my neck while rubbing me between my legs with his thigh.
“Do you remember how good it felt to sit on my lap in my office?” he asks as I bite my lip and press the back of my head against the door.
I nod in response.
“Do you remember how quickly you came around my fingers?”
I nod again.
“We could do that again.”
“I won’t come this time.”
“I’ll prove you wrong.”
He pulls me into his chest, his lips hot over mine, barely brushing them, never trying to take them. But then he slides them open, and gives me a kiss.
He’s not keen on kissing me, and that’s fine for now. Kissing someone means feelings. What we’re doing now hints at so many other things. Bad things at that.
But something feels good, though. Being pressed against his chest.
My whole world is wrapped around me when he takes me in his arms.
“You were so wet,” he says. “And you’re wet now,” he goes on, moving his fingers and smearing the wetness over my clit.
When he starts stroking me, I squeeze my thighs.
“Was I right or was I right?” he says, amused. “You want many things, Lila Skye. You’re just not going the right way about them.”
How could I go the right way about them with him in my life?
I’m more determined than ever to start dating, move away from him, and never touch him again before I figure out what he’s after.
But that won’t happen now.
Waves of heat lap at my center. The soft pulsing makes me long to be penetrated, to have that delicious friction between my legs. Without me saying a word, he does just that.
He slides his middle finger into me.
I’m so embarrassed of how quickly I squeeze his touch, how wet I am, and how difficult it is to stop myself from rocking my body against his.
I can only suppress that deep need for so long before I forget about everything I just said to him, and move against his thrusts.
“I love when you’re doing this, Lila Skye,” he says, as I close my eyes and enjoy the ride.
I scale up and enjoy myself tremendously when a door closes in the house, and Henrietta’s voice tears into the night.
“Damon? Your phone is ringing.”
My eyes snap open, my core throbbing, my heart racing.
“What?” I murmur, a ribbon of sweat sitting above my upper lip.
“Shhh,” he says quietly, and just to be sure I’m not making noise, he clamps a hand over my mouth and thrusts two fingers into me, finishing me with a few quick, harsh, deep thrusts.
My heart is about to explode as I claw at his neck and face, oblivious to the fact that I might leave scratches on his freshly shaven skin.
“Damon?” Henrietta barks from the other end of the corridor.
“I’ll be right there,” he shouts back.
A door slams in the distance, and I hope she’s inside that room.
Moments later, I can no longer think about her as I dive into an ocean of post orgasmic relief.
I still think I should find a way to leave this house.
My theory about them being together in this still stands, although it begins to fray at the edges.
I might not be a wizard when it comes to reading people, and he might be a seasoned man, but I collected some evidence tonight.
Evidence indicating that he and that woman may be in a relationship but not a romantic one.
Still, it’s hard to say. And life could prove me wrong at any moment. Not to mention that my judgment is now significantly clouded.
He did it.
He did it again.
I feel like kissing him now, running my fingers over his chest, and rubbing his erection through his pants.
It takes all the force I have in me not to reward him with some tender, affectionate gesture. Not to clue him in on how much I like him when he’s doing stuff to me.
At any rate, we can’t do this the entire summer.
I need to end it.
For now, I press my head against him, panting, enjoying his fingers between my legs, about to get turned on again.
He loves to move his fingers as he talks to me again, and I listen to him, drunk, almost passed out, convinced he’ll make me come again.
“This is what you need to do after I leave the bathroom. You go up to your room, put your new swimsuit on, and go for a swim,” he murmurs, while I nod along.
“What else?” I ask, my focus on the pressure he moves between my thighs.
“That’s it.”
I suck in a long breath, not intending to interrupt him, and then I sigh.
“I’ll have to start dating,” I say casually.
“I advise you against it. Remember what I just said before.”
I stare at him while he moves his fingers into me.
“I want this every night,” I say. “Maybe more that this. And you can’t give it to me.”
Pursing his lips into a smile, he stares at his fingers as they slide into me.
I glance down at the bulge straining against his fly.
He’d probably unzip his fly, take his cock out, and push it into me, if he could.
“We’ll see about that,” he says. “Now come for me, baby. And do it fast. I need to go back to the club.”
He pushes me into the door and crashes me under his weight, his erection pressing onto me through his fancy pants as he takes me up and up.
Within moments, he breathes hot over my mouth, smelling like mint and aftershave, not kissing me, only taunting me, making me come.
Moaning quietly, I sink my nails into his neck and bite his lip.
He locks my mouth to stop me from doing that again, and when I finally begin to move less and less, he breaks away from me.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, adjusting his big erection and snatching up his shirt from the vanity. “Put your clothes on,” he orders.
Still shaking, I collect my pajamas, slide my shorts and top on, and put on my robe.
I’m barely breathing, and I hate that it has to happen like this.
“Damon?”
Henrietta’s voice sounds closer this time, and he looks in the mirror, runs a hand through his hair, checks his fastened belt and fly, brings his forefinger to his lips––for me––quietly unlocks the door, and steps out.
He closes the door behind him before I press my ear to the door.
“Give it to me,” he says and starts talking to someone on the phone.
I listen to a brief conversation before he hangs up.
“What’s that on your face?” she asks, and my breath catches.
“I cut myself when I shaved,” he says dryly, and Henrietta doesn’t follow up.
That’s it?
Their steps move along the corridor.
I don’t know how much longer to wait, but once the house turns silent, I open the door, make sure no one’s out there, and slip out.
Minutes later, I exit my room, wearing my new swimsuit.
Following his instructions, I sneak into the backyard and step into the pool, not making the slightest noise.
Within moments, the noise of a car wafts through the air.
He pulls away from the driveway, while a dimly lit room on the other side of the house catches my attention.
I expect to see a silhouette by the window.
I even expect Henrietta to climb the stairs, approach me, and question me.
None of that happens.
After an hour, I emerge from the pool, toss a towel around my shoulders and walk up the stairs.
I go to sleep around five.
And that’s the end of the story.
For tonight.