Then I replace my fingers with my mouth.
Burying my nose in the thatch of dark pubic hair, I latch onto her nub and suckle like a newborn. Leila screams and thrusts upward, fingers tearing through the sheets to get a better grip. I lave her flesh with the pad of my tongue, around and around the bundle of nerves. A sob breaks through my concentration. She writhes beneath me, saying, “More, Byron. Please.” A shudder travels through her legs to the rest of her body. Her heels dig into the mattress.
I shove a finger inside and stretch her wide. Leila tries to impale herself further onto me, but I won’t let her. A hand goes to her hip, pressing her down into the bed. I shove a second finger inside and begin to pump. Her wet heat pours over my hand. Her clit flutters as the tension reaches its boiling point. Right before her muscles clamp down on me, I pull away, breathing hard. Looking at her splayed out before me, a tangle of hair and limbs, makes my cock jump. I have to squeeze its base hard to stop myself from blowing my load. Not until I’m inside her.
For ten or twelve minutes, I pass the time edging her. I bring her to the brink, then release. Do it again, and back off. Over time, I learn the signs of her body. The differentiation in the sounds she makes. Moaning means she’s thoroughly enjoying it. When her voice pitches higher, that indicates she’s close. I do this three or four times before I let off, kissing up her body and feasting on her mouth. Can’t wait to pound into her tight heat. My cock drips copious amounts of precome.
“Wrap your legs around me. Good girl.” After making sure she won’t slip off, I carry her like that to the living room, moving toward the windows. Across the street is an equally tall skyscraper. There’s nothing stopping someone from looking across the way and watching us fuck.
Leila finally realizes what I’m going to do. “Someone will see!” she says.
“Good.”
I slam her back against the glass. She hisses out a breath.
“Cold,” she manages, curling her arms tighter around my neck so our mouths are aligned. Her body is so feverish it creates condensation where her skin touches the glass.
“I’ll be sure to warm you up,” I growl, plundering her mouth. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
Soon, Leila forgets all about the chilled glass. It begins to steam as I rub up and down her core, smearing her wetness around. The glass squeaks. Leila whimpers into my mouth. When I bring her to the threshold of bliss, the pinnacle of pleasure and pain, I slide her down my body, holding her upright when her knees buckle.
“You’re evil,” she says, eyes slits as I take her in.
“Bed,” I say. “Now.”
She doesn’t have a choice. I swing her over my shoulder, hand to her ass and thighs, moving through the house at a near run. I’m so damn close to coming that I can’t tease her any longer.
Once we reach my bed, I lower her carefully onto her back. Her hair is everywhere, and it’s just how I like it. The smoky desire darkening her hazel eyes. Red smeared across her cheeks. The flush coloring her chest and breasts and throat. She is beautiful, she is heart-breaking, and she is all mine. Forever.
Reaching into my bedside table, I pull out a condom and roll it on with shaking hands. Fuck. I feel like a sixteen-year-old kid about to lose his virginity in the back of a beat-up Camaro. Being with Leila means everything to me. There’s no going back after this. I love this woman. I can’t tell her that though. The only way is to show her.
Normally, I like my fucking fast and hard, two people no better than animals. But I keep Leila on her back so we’re facing each other. Missionary is considered boring to many people, but I see it as the position of ultimate trust. A breaking down of barriers and walls. Staring into your partner’s eyes, holding nothing back…
As I position myself at her entrance, I wait until Leila nods, giving me the okay. Then I push in. Slow. So slow. Leila’s face pinches, so I stop. “Okay?” I ask, offering her a kiss in comfort.
“Yeah.” She nuzzles my cheek in affection. “Just go slow, okay? Don’t want you to break me with that thing.”
I laugh, then get to work.
Leila’s exhale breaks the silence. The air smells of promise and sex and the secrets I keep from her. I push them aside for now. Inch by inch, I push into her tight channel. It clasps me beautifully, like she was made just for me. Another few inches and I’m seated fully inside her. My head hangs as pleasure threatens to eat me alive.
Beneath me, Leila looks like she’s on the verge of flying. She bites her lower lip. Her cheeks hollow out. She says, just once, “Please.”
I begin to move. With my hands anchoring her waist, I take deep drags in and out of her body, heading for a slow build, an earth-shattering finish. The friction is exquisite, yet not nearly as good as if I were bare. Next time, I promise myself. We’ll get tested and there will be no more separation between us.
Leila tips back her head and bares her throat. She moans. Her inner muscles contract and suck me deeper. “Harder, Byron.” She weaves her fingers against mine so we’re connected.
“Look at me,” I demand.
She does. I fall into her eyes like they’re the answer to every question I’ve ever had. I jerk, and suddenly, I can’t hold back. Like a runaway train, I barrel toward release, plunging in and out of her body in hard, passionate strokes. My balls slap her ass, damp skin on skin. Heat fires through my thighs and up my spine, paralyzing me even as I increase the tempo, fucking her harder and deeper into the mattress. Leila uncrosses her ankles and spreads her legs wider, saying, “Deeper,” and I oblige. The pace is brutal. It’s a hard, continuous fucking, but I don’t want it to end this way. I slow down suddenly, then kiss Leila so deeply I swear our souls touch.
“Leila.” I sigh out her name.
“Byron.”
With a roar, I spill my seed into the condom, and am swept up into the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever experienced. I’m torn apart and pieced back together, over and over. And Leila stays with me, her moans merging with mine as she reaches completion. Her body bows upward. Her channel clasps my shaft, drawing the pleasure from me. I keep pistoning inside her, nailing her front wall, and impossibly, she comes again. Leila screams. “Byron.”
When I’m depleted, I collapse atop her. Can’t move. Can’t even think.
Leila gasps out harsh breaths. She gulps. “That—” She has no words. Neither do I.
“Wow,” she manages.
I groan, burying my face against her neck, happy to stay here for the rest of the night.
She trails her fingertips up and down my back. Long minutes pass of these touches—easy affection. She maps the contours of my muscles, squeezing on occasion with approving sounds. It’s so soothing I’m half asleep when Leila speaks.
“So, I have a question.”
I have barely enough brain cells to grunt, much less speak. A pleasant tingling sensation has taken over my body. “Mm?”
“When is round two?”
Jesus Christ, I think. She’s trying to kill me.
I’m never letting this woman go.
Chapter 29
Leila
I am sleeping on a cloud.
Seriously. Sensuous, fluffy fabric strokes against my skin as I shift deeper into the softness with a happy sigh. Warm sunlight flows over my body, though the air is cool, the perfect temperature. There’s no way I’m in my apartment.
I can’t be, because my bed doesn’t feel like a cloud. It doesn’t allow me to stretch to my heart’s content because there’s either a wall in the way or my feet hang off the edge of the mattress. There’s also, usually, a cat clawing me for attention. Those things are absent, however. The only thing I feel now is pure bliss, because I am in Byron Schaffer’s bed.
He’s warm against my back. One of his arms is thrown across my waist, heavy, the dark arm hair crinkly against my skin, the tips of his fingers cu
rled over one of my breasts. His breath fans against the curve of my neck, slow and steady in sleep. I’m curled into the hollow his body makes around me, our legs entwined. He smells of clean skin and man. It’s perhaps the only time in my life I’ve felt truly safe.
Last night returns to me in a flash. How he dragged me through his front door and ravished my mouth like an animal gone mad. His huge cock stretching me open, making me wetter and wetter as he edged me, only giving me relief when I was a sweaty, writhing mess beneath him. Then after round two, the luxurious press of his hands as hot water rained down on us. How tender he was tucking me into bed, pulling me against him, saying in few words how I was his, at least for the night.
We haven’t moved from the position we fell asleep in. I could stay here all day.
Byron still sleeps, even though the sun has risen. He must be worn out after last night. Slowly, I roll over to face him, my gaze tracing the strong planes of his handsome face. Dark hair falls over his forehead, oddly boyish. His lips look incredibly soft when they’re not pressed into a ruthless line. The face of a fallen angel, or more likely the devil. The filthy things he said to me…
As if thoughts of the devil call him to wake, he stirs with a low groan, opening his eyes. The blue is so light and clear, like two pools of frozen water. Dark lashes frame the mesmerizing color.
Leaning forward, he buries his nose into my hair and inhales like I’m a buffet and he’s a starving man. “Good morning, Leila.”
His voice. Deep and gravelly, it makes goosebumps roll down my arms. I shiver, trying to hold back the grin threatening to take over as his hand moves to cup one of my ass cheeks, squeezing in affection.
“Good morning, Mr. Schaffer,” I say playfully.
A spark lights his gaze. He looks pleased. And turned on. Oh, boy, after last night I am ready for rounds three, four, and seven.
He tugs me even closer so his erection pushes against my stomach. He is very, very well endowed and one of my favorite things was watching his control fray when I took him in my mouth. It made me feel powerful. Like I was the one in control.
“Ms. Engleton, you know how I feel about formalities.” His mouth is at my ear, and he bites the lobe, worrying it between his teeth, before soothing the sting with his tongue, tracing the shell of my ear and moving down to my neck with small love bites. I lean back to give him better access, eyes fluttering shut. His hands start wandering, and oh, it feels so good. I’m moaning like a beached whale and I hope he doesn’t think that’s weird.
Instead, he laughs and plants a million little kisses on my skin. I wiggle happily and touch his rigid stomach, the breadth of his shoulders. It’s unfair how taut Byron’s body is. When does he have the time to work out? I thought he lived at his office.
So I ask him. “When do you work out?”
His smile deepens. It makes him look so much younger. Approachable. Hell, almost friendly. “You think I work out?”
I scoff. “You have to. I mean, look at your body.” I pull the comforter back and ogle him like the hussy I am.
He makes a soft sound of contentment and continues rubbing circles into my skin, warming it up further. Every place he touches buzzes with electricity. “I go running every morning before work. It helps clear my head.”
Makes sense. “My exercise routine is more like doing the laundry. Sometimes I chase Henry. He’s been getting a bit chubby.”
Byron laughs at that. Then his expression turns serious. “Leila, your body is beautiful. Don’t change a thing.”
I wince. “I mean, I’m not college-aged anymore. I have stretch marks. Flab. Ugh. Why does that word have to sound so gross? Flab.” I make a face.
“Hey.” He cups my face. His thumbs brush across my heated cheeks, gently. “You’re perfect. Every inch of you.” Then he pulls me into a deep kiss, effectively banishing my insecurity. With our mouths locked, he shifts so he’s lying over me, his forearms caging either side of my head. The heat and strength of him slips into my blood and bones.
The kiss descends into one of hunger, of madness. Soon, I moan into his mouth, and his answering growl vibrates against my tongue. With his hips grinding into my own, I shift so his cock rubs against my clit, and I’m almost embarrassed by how fast I come. It’s been so long since I’ve felt desired, and my body is making up for lost time.
I stiffen in his arms, my nails digging into his shoulders as my hips bow upward, seeking further friction, more, more, more. Byron curses, shifts back onto his knees, yanking me onto his lap, my legs splayed open over his thick thighs. He continues to grind against me through the length of my orgasm, drawing it out. When it’s over, I slump in his arms, pliant, unable to move or speak.
“‘S good,” I slur, brushing my nose against his.
He chuckles and lays me back down. The look in his eyes makes my heart beat faster. It’s not lust in his gaze. It’s something else.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” he says, giving me a sweet kiss on the cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“As if,” I mutter, watching his incredible backside disappear into the bathroom. The door shuts, and the shower turns on a few seconds after that.
With a blissful sigh, I sink back into the pillows. There’s really no better place than this bed. I’ll bet he has access to room service too. If he’s paying this much money for a penthouse, he can probably ask for whatever he wants and the complex manager will get it for him.
Must be nice.
Turning onto my side, I stare out the window. He has an excellent view of the city. Central Park is right there. On his doorstep. Amazing.
Sliding out of bed, I search for my phone. Henry will probably spit on me for not feeding him at his normal breakfast time. I need to do that. I also need to change into something less sparkly, I think, catching sight of my abandoned dress. In the moment, Byron was ready to rip it to shreds. I’m glad he had enough patience to unzip it. It’s an expensive gown.
I find my phone in my purse. The battery is almost dead. I check for messages. None. As I’m scrolling through, I spot the last correspondence I had with Pizza Guy, when he ordered me to get myself off in front of my boss. Sex with Byron blew that out of the water.
It’s time I make a choice, and I want to see where this thing with Byron leads. Which means it’s time to cut contact with Pizza Guy once and for all.
I begin to type. Hey. I just wanted to say that I enjoyed our interactions, but I’m seeing someone else now. Well, I hope to keep seeing Byron. That sex was out of this world. Old-me thought him rude, cold, distant, but that’s not true. He’s actual a very caring, if domineering, person.
A faint buzzing sounds in the background when I hit send. I glance up, spotting Byron’s phone on the edge of his bedside table, face-up. Someone texted him. I’ll let him know when he gets out of the shower.
I end the message with, I wish you all the best.
Byron’s phone buzzes again. Sheesh, he’s popular. Thinking it might be something important, I crawl over to the other side of his massive bed and peek at the incoming messages.
Hey. I just wanted to say that…
My heartbeat slows.
Then stops.
My world narrows to the second text message.
I wish you all the best.
A farewell, but to someone else.
I’m confused. Why is Byron receiving the text messages I sent Pizza Guy? Or does Pizza Guy live here too?
The thought almost makes me laugh. Right. Byron doesn’t share anything, much less his living space.
Out of curiosity, I check to see if there’s a passcode for his phone. There isn’t. The shower still runs, so I click on the text app and scroll through his messages. My entire conversation with Pizza Guy is here. It’s all here, down to the very first text.
Thanks for stealing my pizza, chump!
It�
��s growing increasingly difficult for me to breathe. My fingers grow numb from how tightly I clutch the phone. My heart beats so fast it feels like a bird is trying to escape my ribcage.
There has to be some explanation as to why Byron received my messages with Pizza Guy. Maybe they’re best friends and Pizza Guy shared the messages with Byron for advice. Or maybe this is Pizza Guy’s phone and Byron happened to stumble across it on the street. He picked it up because he’s a good citizen and was planning on returning it to its owner. Or maybe the network is having issues and somehow my messages were accidentally sent to the wrong person.
Then I see my contact information at the top. It says Leila, not Rose. Pizza Guy doesn’t know my first name, only my middle. I never told him.
It suddenly hits me, like a freight train to the head. There never was a Pizza Guy. He doesn’t exist. This whole time, I’ve been having phone sex not with a random person, but with my boss.
Shakily, I push strands of hair away from my sweaty face. Black creeps into my vision, and I have to balance myself with a hand to the mattress. No. That’s not true. Byron Schaffer may be a rich, entitled sometimes-asshole, but he wouldn’t take advantage of me like that. Not after he took time to get to know me. Not when I started to think he cared about me more than the bottom line. And anyway, how could he possibly know I was Rose anyway?
The answer comes immediately. Of course. Glass. The night I was supposed to meet Pizza Guy in person, Byron showed up instead. I thought it had been a horrible coincidence.
And when I masturbated in his office, he knew about that too. He must have been messaging me through his computer. The tension in his body, the frustrated mutterings I overheard…
Shame blasts across my face in the hottest blush I’ve ever experienced. Byron knew who he was sexting with, who he spoke to over the phone. He lied to me. How fucked up is that?
The small voice in my head, the one telling me I’m wrong, quiets. In order to survive a place like New York City, you learn to trust your instincts. I’m right. I know I am.
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