Chapter 3 #2
I silence my phone, slipping it back into my purse. I’m taking a break from work for a little bit tonight. I’ve earned it.
“Open a tab?” the bartender asks
“Please,” I reply, sliding the glass of wine toward me.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, moving on to help the next person at the bar. Sipping my wine, I watch the baseball game on the TV, feeling the stress of the day slowly slip away. No doubt the wine helps with that.
Stealthily as possible, I glance at the man at the other end of the bar.
By the looks of it, he’s nursing whatever he’s drinking.
I go back to watching the game when I feel the heat of someone’s eyes on me.
I don’t have to look—I already know who it is: the hot, older stud at the other end of the bar.
The time for subtlety is over. Glancing his way, my eyes meet his.
And—oh, wow!—they are a gorgeous shade of light green, standing out against his deeply tanned skin.
He’s got a chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones, topped off by long, dark lashes.
I’m admiring him when he gestures to me.
I don’t automatically see it, as I’m too busy ogling him.
Snapping out of it, I point to myself and mouth, “Me?”
“Yes, you,” he mouths.
I nod and grab my purse and wine. Ladylike as possible, I slide from the barstool and make my way over to him.
“Hi, I’m Gabe.”
“Hi, I’m Layla,” I reply, taking down the rest of my wine.
“So what brings you here tonight?” he asks me, as I slide onto the barstool beside him.
“Work. What about you?”
“Same.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Whiskey.” Judging by the aroma of the drink, it’s top shelf. Note to self: the man is classy AF and drinks like it, too.
“Would you like another?” he asks, glancing at my empty glass of wine.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I joke, a smile on my face.
“Uh… that’d be a no,” he answers, a horrified look on his face.
I laugh under my breath. He’s quite the gentleman. I’d better go easy on him. “Another, please,” I say to the bartender.
“You can put it on my tab,” he tells me.
“That’s not necessary,” I tell him, looking at the bartender, who’s looking between us.
“I insist. But, do what you like,” he says.
Good to know he’s not some old school Romeo that expects to pay for my drink and then get something in return. I mull it over, then nod, acquiescing.
“What do you do for work?” he asks.
“I run my own company.”
“So you’re the boss lady.”
I give him a wolfish smile. “I am.”
“So, boss lady, what kind of company do you run?”
“How much time do you have?” I tease.
“As much as you need,” he says, a sparkle in his eye.
“To keep it simple, I start businesses and sell them.”
“So, startups?”
“Yes.”
“How many have you created?”
“I’m on my sixteenth,” I tell him, my whole face lighting up. I really enjoy what I do.
“Impressive.”
I hum my reply and take a sip of my wine. “And what about you? What work brings you to Pittsburgh?”
“Baseball,” he says, nonchalantly.
He’s too mature to be a player, I would think. “Like a—”
“Yo, Coach!” a twenty-something male hollers, exiting the elevator. “You want in?”
I just smile at Gabe. He’s a coach.
“One moment,” he tells me, getting up to meet the young man coming toward us. “Hey, Javy. Not tonight. Go on without me.”
“Sure thing, Coach. Looks like you have something better to do.” The kid snickers, smirking at us.
Gabe sits back down. “Sorry about that. Sometimes after games, some of the players meet up and play poker.”
I can tell he thinks the player, Javy, is acting like a total punk and I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling. “I take it you’re a coach?”
“Manager.”
“I see. For which team?”
“Blue Valley Vipers.”
And then it clicks. “You’re Gabe Goldwyn.”
“Since birth,” he jokes.
I laugh and give him a full-on smile. And I’m about knocked out of my chair. I’m sitting here, at some random hotel in Pittsburgh, drinking and chatting with the Gabe Goldwyn.
“You a baseball fan?” he asks. Like he’s not semi-famous.
“Since birth,” I repeat back. It’s true. I’ve watched baseball with my daddy since I was a little girl. Just not the team he’s a manager for. Thus, why I didn’t immediately recognize him. But I have heard of him, at least.
He gives me a smile, laughing softly. I like him already.
“Looks like you’re about to make the postseason,” I say.
“Looks that way,” he answers casually. Like it’s no big deal. He’s humble, too.
“Cheers to that,” I say, holding up my wine glass.
I gently clink my wine glass against his highball and then we take a drink. To baseball.
All too soon, both our drinks are empty.
“Good?” he asks, holding up his empty glass.
“I’m good.”
He signals to the bartender to add my drinks onto his tab and close it out.
“Thank you for tonight,” I tell him. Because it’s true. I’ve genuinely enjoyed chatting with him. He’s charismatic and seems like a genuinely nice guy.
“The pleasure is all mine. Good night.”
“Good night,” I reply walking away, happy with tonight.
“Wait!” he calls out. I stop and turn, not far from the elevator.
“Let me walk you to your room.”
I put a hand on my hip, waiting. He pays the tab and walks straight to me. We walk in silence to the elevator and once the doors swish open, we get inside.
“What floor?” he asks.
“Eighth. You?”
“Tenth.”
The entire ride, we just stand there, the sexual tension between us so thick you could cut it with a knife. But neither of us says a thing. Finally, the doors open and we step out. “This is me,” I say, not giving away what room I’m in, out of habit.
“Goodnight, Layla.”
I purse my lips and tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear. “Goodnight, Gabe.”
I watch as he walks back to the elevator. And the entire way, all I can think about is how much I wanted to kiss him. But it didn’t happen, so I focus on the positive—I got to spend some time with an amazingly normal, yet hot as sin, age-appropriate man.
As soon as the door snicks shut, I have to lean back against it and take a steadying breath.
I just met the Gabe Goldwyn and he's even better in person.
The entire time I was chatting with him, the wetter I became.
The man exudes masculine energy and my body picked up on it immediately.
Getting myself under control, I take myself to bed.
“Oh, just like that,” I moan, my clit throbbing as my pleasure pours out of me, soaking my panties.
I’m so wet, I’m drenched. The pressure on my clit and the ache in my pussy is becoming unbearable.
Needing relief, I push my fingers into my sopping wet pussy, my fingers working their way in and out.
“Gabe,” I breathe, “don’t stop.” Using my other hand, I rub my swollen clit, bringing myself closer to the edge.
Mimicking what Gabe’s nimble fingers would do to me, I soon climax.
“Fuck,” I whimper as I wake up, my fingers and inner thighs sticky.
Sighing, I get out of bed and wash up, a bit sad that Gabe didn’t make a move.
While I appreciate him being a gentleman, I wish I’d had the real thing tonight: his large hands all over me and sizable dick driving me wild.
I’m sure a man like him knows how to pleasure a woman.
All done, I head back to bed, a satisfied smile on my face.
Gabe Goldwyn will be in my spank bank for the foreseeable future.
Gabe
As soon as I’m back in my hotel room, I have to unbutton my pants.
My dick is so hard I could pound nails. Watching her backside sway as she walked has me all worked up.
I try to focus on the unsexiest things imaginable, but it’s no use.
All I can picture are Layla’s lush curves, tight ass, and ripe tits.
I try to tamp down my desire, but all it does is make my balls ache with the need to come.
I take a few deep breaths. In. Out. In, out.
My raging hard-on doesn’t get the memo. Giving in, I pull out my dick and give it a few strokes.
Fuck, this feels good. Pushing down my boxers, I sit down on the bed and remove my shirt.
Stroking my dick, I imagine it’s Layla’s soft hands on me. “Mmm, Layla,” I mutter, my eyes closed.
Picking up the pace, I stimulate the head, and all too soon I erupt, shooting cum all over the place.
“Fuuuck,” I groan from the pleasure of it, my dick spasming.
Laying back, I gulp air into my lungs, my body feeling sated and relaxed.
Once I catch my breath, I crack my eyes open and snort at the mess I made of myself.
Cum is literally dripping through my fingers, sprayed all over my abs, and hell, I got cum on my left pec. Holy shit!
“Time to clean up,” I mutter to myself. I just came like a teenager. All because of one woman.