Chapter 13
A lthough we continued our flirtatious, dirty talk, the kind that we had to keep in hushed tones even for the usual oddly private New York City walkways, I began to internally doubt that bringing Layla back to my place was a good idea.
Oh, sure, I would have to do so eventually.
I had no bones about bringing her to my place in the future.
But this might have, once again, been setting myself up for a failure that would take some time to recover from.
She was liking me more and more by the second…
and I was digging it more and more by the minute.
It would only take one thing to go wrong for her to be gone, and then I really would never trust women again.
That, and as awful as it sounds, I just liked being able to leave early after a night of fornication.
Maybe that made me an asshole, but I could never leave if I was already home.
I suspected that that had had something to do with avoidance issues and trust issues with women, but I wasn’t about to be my own psychologist.
Not when the most beautiful woman I had ever known was all over me and telling me all sorts of filthy things she was about to do to me.
In any case, that self-talk died when my apartment came into view.
“It’s probably not as nice as what you’re used to,” I said as I fumbled for my keys. “You’ve been warned.”
“Oh, you have such little faith,” she said. “I’m sure your place is nice.”
Well, it was compared to a lot of places in New York; having help from Mrs. Hunt would do that to me.
But to pretend it was as nice as Morgan’s place or any of the Hunts’ place was a boldface lie.
Obviously, nothing could compare to the manor that the Hunts had in Connecticut, the place of many a heartbreak for me.
But this was a good apartment, a B, maybe B+ apartment with the right decor; it was not the kind of place the daughter of a CEO likely spent most of her time at.
I took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and let her step in.
“Ohhhh,” she said.
Positive first reaction. Might not be all bad.
“You do have a nice place, I was right!” she said, laughing. “See, Chance, that’s the funny thing about you. You always seem a little self-deprecating and a little mysterious… but pull back the curtain and you realize that you actually have it pretty good. You are a pretty good guy.”
I just chortled and held back from saying anything more. We had already lost a touch of the hot and heavy conversation that we’d engaged in on the train ride over just by the duration of the walk and journey to my place; I didn’t need to waste any more time with words. I needed to engage in action.
And so, without another word, I stepped forward boldly, grabbed Layla’s hips, pulled her to me, and kissed her.
Layla, sensing where this was going, threw her arms around me.
In the office, we had to worry about making too much noise and protecting against people possibly walking in.
Now, here, as I glanced up for a brief moment and saw the glass window looking over the streets of New York about twenty stories below, a dirty, filthy idea entered my mind.
“I’m going to fuck you against that window,” I said, thinking of showing off her curves for all of Manhattan to witness. “You’re mine, Layla Taylor, and you’re going to do exactly what the fuck I say. Do I make myself clear?”
Gasping for breath, her nails buried into my back, her body already heaving despite me not even having touched her in the right spot, she breathily aired out, “Yes, oh, God, yes, Chance, please. Fuck me like that.”
I took a little more care in taking off her red dress, if only because, hey, I could be a gentleman, and I knew she probably didn’t have as many of those laying around as she did work clothes.
That, and the ravenous desire to fuck her had turned me into a dumb animal in the office; here, it was more about giving her the erotically delightful experience that would keep her coming and keep her coming to me.
Soon, though, I had her down to just her panties, bra off.
I pressed her against the window, hearing the thud of her pressing against the glass.
I pushed her back into me and nibbled on her neck and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them in rhythm with the soft moans that came her way. I licked her ear and made my way down.
For just the briefest of times—relative to our whole experience, anyways—I spun her around so her ass faced the crowd. I bit her panties and dragged them down her legs. Wasting no time at all, I pressed my face into her and darted my tongue out.
Her hands grabbed my hair, her nails digging through my scalp. She lifted her right leg, pushing it on my shoulder. I looked into her eyes, trying to capture a glimpse of eye contact. Whether by the sheer pleasure she felt or the unbearable intensity of my eyes, she couldn’t look at me.
It didn’t bother me. I knew what she was feeling. I knew what she was thinking. I knew what she wanted.
I relished every tremble of her thighs, every tightening of her nails, every moan that escaped her mouth. Nothing would keep her here from expressing how she truly felt. No shirt in the mouth this time. No facing a wall away from the door. No propping up the door.
I had her coming and screaming my name in no time. I had to squeeze onto her hips and hold on for dear life just to prevent her from smacking me to the floor. I didn’t allow her much time before I rose up, went inside her, and thrusted her against the window with my thick dick.
I looked down at the inhabitants of New York City as I bit into her back and felt her inner warmth.
None of you have Layla. She’s mine and mine alone.
No one else will ever have her. It felt so right, so perfect in that moment.
Oh, how she relished showing off to the world…
and how none would be able to enjoy it like we did.
“Cha-ance, ohh ohh ohhhh,” she groaned, unable to even form a coherent word. “Fuck me just like… like tha-at.”
I didn’t even bother to reply. I gave some sort of a guttural growl; it was the only thing my mouth could form at that moment. I could still taste her juices, and I didn’t want to lose that taste as long as I could.
Again, she came, her pussy pulsing around my dick, trying to swallow it whole and make me come. I had to fight the feeling from taking me all the way over, but when she finished, she pulled out, giving me a brief respite.
That is, until she asked where my bedroom was, pulled me in, threw me on the bed, got on her knees, and began to use her mouth on me.
My. Fucking. God.
Layla was not only a queen in looks, she was a queen in bed. She could use her mouth like a goddess—I wanted to die right there, except heaven would not have been as pleasurable as what Layla gave me.
I was exhausted, sweaty, and on the verge of orgasm. Layla, I knew, was pushed to her limits. She probably wouldn’t be walking tomorrow; no matter.
“Oh fuck, right there,” I said.
Seconds later, I exploded into her mouth, the overwhelming moment bringing a loud gasp and unending shaking from my hips. Layla took it like a champ, swallowing it all until I had nothing left to give. She came up, smacked her lips, and smiled at me.
“Shit, Layla,” I said, feeling like I could fall into the bed I felt so good.
She just laughed. It was rare for a woman to leave me speechless, but when one made me feel as good as Layla did…
And I didn’t just mean what she did with her mouth.
She wiped her lips, moved forward, and kissed me. I didn’t mind one bit that she had just swallowed. I wanted to kiss her—in a way, it was more intimate than the sex we had just had.
“Chance Hunt,” she said as she curled up on me.
I had a thought, something about having something witty to say, but it completely eluded me. I was too tired to move, but I didn’t want to go to bed this early. Still… a little shuteye wouldn’t hurt, especially right after sex.
It wouldn’t last too long…
When I woke up, the sky had brightened and the sun had come out.
Oh shit!
I reached for my phone, except that it was nowhere to be seen—likely left with my pants in the living room, along with the rest of my clothes.
I turned back over, expecting an empty bed, but to my pleasant surprise, Layla still lay there, sleeping. My movement slowly woke her up, and when she came to, she merely smiled, the kind of sweet smile only a significant—emphasis on that word—other would give.
“You’re still here,” I said. “I half-expected a note with lipstick on my pillow.”
The groan-laugh that most people had in the morning came from Layla as she shook her head.
“Hell no, silly,” she said as she stretched, moving her leg into contact with mine. “You’re insane. You think I didn’t want a matinee of what we went through last night?”
“I… uhh…”
Of course I wanted one. But I’d be lying if I said I ever expected it. Given Layla’s habit of giving me what I wanted in the moment and then disappearing, not to be seen again for some time…
It felt like what had just happened was nothing short of a miracle.
For the first time in a very, very long time, I felt genuinely happy.
I didn’t feel like a condition had to be tied to my happiness.
I didn’t feel like some secret would come and destroy my emotions.
I didn’t have to remind myself of some dark “reality.”
I was just happy.
“Now, here’s the deal,” she said, disappearing under the covers. “You sit back, relax, and enjoy, OK?”
“I suppose I cou—”
I didn’t even get to finish before her lips had wrapped around my dick. I knew when not to press my luck.
I closed my eyes, leaned my head back, and thanked heavens that I finally had the perfect gal and the perfect situation.