27. Beck #2
“Even Tessa. She was the closest I ever came to having a chance at forgetting you,” I say, my voice breaking at the thought of the years I spent trying to move on.
“I could never give myself to her fully. I could never be what she wanted or deserved. Because even on our best days together, I was still thinking about you.”
Lyla nods, contemplating my answer, taking it in. If I could go back and undo everything I’ve done in the last ten years, if I could redo it all and save myself for her, I would. But the best I can do now is promise her all of my days going forward.
A knot forms in my gut because even though I can promise her my future, I know she can’t say the same. And I’d never ask her to.
“You know, I won’t blame you if you decide to take that job and go back to the city. I just… I wish you wouldn’t. But I know they’ll love you, everyone who meets you does.”
“You know about…” Her eyes dart side to side, assessing my gaze.
“Yeah, I know you went for that interview. It’s ok. Lyla, I want you to stay here more than anything, but I also never want to be the person to tell you you can’t spread your wings. All I want is for you to have the space to fly.”
“Are you saying I’m like a beautiful butterfly, Beck? How poetic,” she says with a soft smile.
I rest my forehead against hers, and close my eyes. “I’m saying you’re the most beautiful butterfly I’ve ever seen.”
“And I’m thinking you might be a perfect place to land,” she whispers into the space between us, before pressing her mouth against mine. Her lips are tender, but they work against mine with more desperation than before, communicating her wanting without words.
My hands find the straps of her tank top, brushing them off her shoulders like I’ve been wanting to do ever since she walked through the door. It falls off her, the fabric bunching around her waist, her tits bared to me.
I cup them in both hands, gently squeezing and teasing her. She arches into my touch again, and I bring my head down, sucking a nipple into my mouth. I swirl my tongue around the peak.
“Fuck,” she hisses, her hips writhing on the desk. “I want you, Beck. I want all of you.”
She reaches for my belt buckle but I brush her hand away.
“You know we can’t go there yet,” I say in a hushed tone. But even as I decline her advances on me, I find my hands undoing the button of her jeans. “I’ll give you everything I have, Lyla. I meant that.”
She holds my gaze as I slip my hand inside her pants, beneath the lace band on her thong, and run my fingers up her centre. “That just doesn’t seem fair,” she whimpers.
“Life ain’t fair, Trouble,” I say. It’s downright torturous for me.
I want nothing more than to yank Lyla’s jeans down and fuck her here on this desk, to watch her perfect pussy take me as I drive into her.
But I can’t. That’s one boundary I still won’t cross.
“You’ll just have to learn to accept it. ”
I remove my hand and kneel in front of her, tugging her pants down around her hips and taking them off. She’s completely bared to me, pink pussy lips shiny with her arousal.
This time I don’t tease her. I place my mouth over her slick sex, sucking until she finally breaks eye contact and lets her head tip back. I lift one of her legs over my shoulder, giving myself more access to her.
I lick up her wet centre, the taste of her so sweet and everything I imagined she’d be. She leans back on the desk as she bucks against me, hips pressing into my mouth for more contact of my tongue on her clit.
I make tight circles around that bundle of nerves, adding a finger into her opening one by one until her walls tighten around me.
“Beck, your—”
“You like the feeling of my moustache, Trouble?” I ask her. She can only respond with desperate panting and a nod.
I plant a soft kiss on one thigh.
“Show me how much you love it,” I nearly growl, my voice strained at how turned on I am watching her writhe on the desk. I kiss the other thigh. “Come all over it.”
I run my tongue up the seam of her swollen sex, lingering there to brush my moustache against her clit. Lyla whimpers and fuck, does it make me painfully hard.
Lyla’s arousal drips down my fingers as I pump them into her, matching the rhythm of my tongue.
Before long, her body trembles, shaking with the orgasm that rips through her.
“Oh fuck,” she cries as her hips roll forward. She quivers and shakes, every last bit of her restraint coming apart at the seams.
I remove my hand from her and suck the fingers that worked her so thoroughly. She swallows thickly, watching me taste every last bit of her arousal.
“Do you know how fucking good you taste, Lyla?” I growl. “It drives me wild.”
I stand and meet her eyes level, my hand coming around to cup the back of her neck as I bring my mouth to hers, letting her taste for herself.
She hums as I kiss her, her body soft and malleable, she’s so relaxed. The afterglow of her orgasm radiates from her like rays of fucking sunshine.
“Another reason for me to stay,” she purrs when I pull away. Her hand cups the back of my neck, and I hold the other one between us. “I know I won’t find another boss who will do… that.”
“Trouble, you won’t find anyone who will do it like that,” I say, backing away from her now. Lyla is still perched on the desk, cheeks and neck stained pink, hair in a slight bit of disarray.
She looks wild and reckless, like a wildfire, and all I want is to let her burn.
She looks like chaos, and she looks like mine.
Lyla pulls her tank top back up, and I’m suddenly aware that my cock is very uncomfortable in my jeans, so I readjust, and then force myself to look away. It’s the only way my erection will fade.
I return to my spot next to the fireplace, to the boxes I was sorting through before Lyla arrived and stole my concentration. She pads over to me and sits on the floor next to one of the boxes, her legs crossed under her in an impossible pretzel.
“I thought I went through all of these,” she says, with a puzzled expression.
“There were more stacked behind the door,” I say. “Though none of them appear to have the insurance policy.”
She sifts through some documents, but clicks her tongue when they don’t reveal what she’s looking for. “It’s like, never-ending.”
“You’ve done a really good job here,” I point out, not because I’m surprised, whatever Lyla Morgan touches turns to pure gold. I say it because I want Lyla to know the obstacles we keep coming up against aren’t her fault. Most people would have tapped out by now.
Her brow is still furrowed as she looks over the papers in her hand. “This isn’t exactly my dream job, don’t know if you could tell.”
“What is your dream job?” I find myself wanting to know everything about Lyla, everything I haven’t been able to ask her while she’s been away from Sage Valley. All the questions that have popped up over the years.
“I went to business school so I could start my own. Not a business, but a non-profit,” she explains, looking up at me. “But with the know-how to make it sustainable, to maximize my impact. I’ve always thought maybe I’d have an animal rescue.”
“You’d be good at that,” I say. “Taking in all the misfits. You’re good with animals. I know Kenny Rogers loves you, and I mean it when I say he hates everyone, so that says a lot about you.”
“Hey, speaking of Kenny Rogers,” she says, looking up at me now. “Why was he standing outside the barn tonight?”
“He usually sleeps behind it, next to the back door. But with the flood, his spot got washed out. He’ll figure himself out. Kenny Rogers always does.”
Her mouth twists to one side, her eyebrows pinching together. “I don’t know, I’m worried about him.”
“He can find his way into the barn. I always leave one door open at night in case he needs shelter,” I tell her.
“He’ll never go in there. He only ventured inside the other night because of the storm. And because I was there,” Lyla says. “Willow and Bandit are mean to him.”
“I think Kenny Rogers brings it on himself,” I retort. He’s such a shit, I’m sure he antagonizes them in some way.
But Lyla breezes past my point. “Maybe we should bring him inside for tonight.”
I let out a huff of laughter. “I’m not bringing Kenny–”
I stop myself from mocking Lyla’s idea when I see the true concern etched on her face, the way her eyes shine like she might start crying, thinking about him all alone in the night.
Lyla may be a lot for some people, but all of her feelings are intense, including all the love and care and compassion she gives to every single creature she encounters.
“I’ll bring him inside,” I concede, standing up to go get him.
Her face brightens tenfold, and she jumps up off the floor and throws herself at me, wrapping me in a hug and planting a warm kiss on my stubbled cheek. “Thank you.”
“You keep looking for the insurance policy, I’ll be back.”
I leave her to keep working, and head out into the night. I find Kenny Rogers, still standing under the lamp post, and consider how I’m going to corral him into the house. He’s more of an outdoor goat, as are most goats, so I’m surprised when he follows me in with little difficulty.
Lyla has a makeshift bed for him in the corner of the office, a few blankets folded in a corner.
“He’s going to eat those,” I say.
“Nah.” She scratches Kenny Rogers between the horns and he closes his demonic eyes. “You wouldn’t do that, would you, Kenny?”
And then he lays down on the blankets and makes himself at home, like a fucking domesticated dog. Like he’s a cloven hoofed golden retriever.
“I found it, by the way,” Lyla says, tucking Kenny Rogers under a blanket, and pointing over at the desk.
“And?” I pick it up, but in the corner of my eye I see Lyla wince.
“I don’t think you’re going to like it.”