by Piper Rayne
I run a hand through my hair. “You’ve lost me.”
She blows out a stream of air and sits up on her knees, pulling her blouse open.
Damn, her tits are edible. Give me some chocolate sauce and whip cream and let me lose a few hours playing with them kind of edible.
“See?” she says, in a tone that suggests I’m supposed to know where she’s going with this.
“That you have great tits? Yeah, I know.” I close my fists, resisting the urge to grab them. No way do I want to scare her.
“No.” She glances down at herself and then back up to me. “The rest of me. See how imperfect I am?”
I lean back on my hands. I should have known. She’s an actress and actresses are all perfectionists. “Layla, you’re gorgeous.” I say this in a tone that suggests she’s off her rocker.
“No, the vision you had in your head before my clothes were off was gorgeous. See the stretch marks that Via left me with? They’re always airbrushed out of the magazines if I happen to show my stomach. My C-section scar is hidden during a love scene on camera. I lost my perfect figure the minute I was pregnant with Payne. Now, you’ll know you’re getting a subpar-looking actress for your film and you’ll want to cast someone else.”
“Not true.”
She ignores me, rushing to get off the bed and moving toward her bathroom. “But you know what? I’m fine with that,” she continues on. “Maybe I should start applying for the mom roles. So what if I had my kids young and that ruins my chance of playing high-school parts even though I’m in my twenties? No Andrea Zuckerman for me.”
Now I’m really confused. “Andrea Zuckerman?”
“You know, from 90210? She was almost thirty playing a high-school junior. It’s fine though, I’m fine with it. Because I think I do look pretty darn good for having two kids. You’re right, my tits are great.” She looks in the mirror outside her bathroom and places her hands on the bottom of her breasts, pushing them up. “With a little bit of tweaking they’ll be good as new one day.”
I walk up behind her, slowly, to not startle the crazy chick that has taken over Layla’s brain at the moment. Sliding my hands under her arms, I cup her breasts with my hands, letting my thumbs run over her erect nipples.
“You’re beautiful just the way you are. I wouldn’t want to change anything about you. As far as the part, it’s yours. You know that.” I brush the loose strands of her hair away with my face and kiss her neck. “Don’t ever be self-conscious around me because when I see you”—I purposely let my eyes meet hers in the mirror—“I always see perfection.”
Her cheeks flush and it makes her even more beautiful.
“You’re just saying that to get in my pants.”
“Well, yeah, the raging hard-on I’ve had since we met is getting more and more distracting, but I’m not a liar. Also, I don’t tend to get hard-ons from girls I don’t find attractive.”
Her head falls to my shoulder and I take the opportunity to devour her neck. Let her be a voyeur and witness first-hand in the mirror how much I want her with how I’m squeezing her tits in my hands and kissing her neck. Keeping one hand on her tit, I slide the other down, unfastening her jeans and pulling down her zipper. Digging my hand down the denim and under her lacy panties, I find her soaked, which elicits a growl from deep in my throat.
“Just relax.” My lips travel the path of her neck, while my hand slowly eases the fabric off her body. “Watch me,” I whisper and her eyes flutter open to stare at our reflection in the mirror.
Our eyes meet and the blouse drops to the floor, followed immediately by her bra, which leaves her only in her in jeans with a glimpse of her lacy red panties.
My hands move down either side of her waist, bypassing the small white lines, and I push her jeans down. Little by little she shimmies them down her legs and steps out of them, pushing them to the side on the floor.
“Look at you,” I say. She stares back at me and then her gaze drops to her stomach. “How can you be blind to your beauty?”
With one more piece of thin fabric blocking the full view of her naked body, I hook my pointer fingers, push and slide the red lace down her thin legs.
Again, my lips travel a path from her shoulder up her neck and the light scent of her perfume lingers even after a long day.
“Look how mouth-watering you are.” My hands explore the curves of her body. She’s so much more than I ever imagined she’d be.
“Vance,” she sighs, tilting her head further back, clearly enjoying what I’m doing.
“What do you want?” I cup one breast and massage her clit with my thumb.
“You. I just want you.” She turns around in my arms and then grabs the hem of my t-shirt. “I think it’s time for you to join this party.”
I step back, teasing her with the hem of my t-shirt in my hands. “You want a Magic Mike show?” I chuckle, but she grabs a fistful of my shirt and pulls me toward the bed.
“Nah, we’ll save that for later. I’ve wanted to strip you down for some time.”
I stand there with my back to the mattress. “I had something similar on my wish list.”
She shakes her head, unbuckling my jeans. “Well, I’ll be sure to get the full list later so I can check all the boxes.”
My jeans drop seconds later and she’s quick to shed my boxer briefs right after. On her way back up my body, her hands glide along my sides, bringing the t-shirt up my chest as she goes. Since I’m a helpful kind of guy, I raise my hands and toss it over my head to join my pile of clothes on the floor.
“Now we’re both ready for some fun.”
I pick her up and throw her down the bed. She yelps and I cover her mouth with my hand so she won’t wake the kids.
Leaning down on the bed, I remove my hand and cover it with my mouth, allowing our tongues to savor the taste of each other. Her hands move to the back of my head, her short nails running along my hair. Our movements are slow and deliberate, searching for the area of each other’s body that will drive the other to the brink.
For Layla, it’s the tiniest spot right under her ear. She arches her back when I push her hair off her neck and sprinkle the lightest of kisses there. Goose bumps break out across her silky skin when my knuckles run down her stomach. Her soft moans and deep breaths turn her into a goddess sprawled out on top of her pink sheets. I’m not sure I could ever get my fill of exploring her body. I’m already addicted to finding every inch of exposed flesh that makes her squirm beneath me.
We’re so lost in each other that I fail to realize the position we’re in. I’m on top of her, my cock poised at her slick entrance. Her arms are stretched around me now, her hands on my ass, pushing me toward her. I use my knees to open her legs further.
I push up and ask, “Condom?” praying I don’t need to dig into my jeans on the floor because that would mean separating our bodies.
“Drawer on the right,” she pants out, looking up at me with heavy-lidded eyes.
I smile. Perfect. I only have to shift my weight but can stay between her legs and her hands can continue to knead my flesh.
I find one loose condom in the drawer and sit up on my knees in front of her.
She runs her hands up and down my torso while I rip the foil packet open. I’m sure I set a new record for myself in the wrapper-to-dick race. When I lean back over her, her hands find their place on the back of my neck.
The heat between her legs is like a priceless piece of art, coaxing me closer with its beauty as I slip into her slickness. Fuck, she feels like heaven. Again, I move my knees to widen her legs, wanting to be as deep inside her as possible.
“Oh, my God.” Layla’s head falls off the edge of the bed and her legs wrap around my waist.
The contraction of her thighs on my waist while I thrust in and out of her becomes unbearable—in the best way.
“Whatever you’re doing with the legs, keep it up. You’re driving me insane.”
She smiles up at me and the pig in me can�
�t help but admire the way her tits bounce up and down as I drive into her. How could this woman not know how beautiful she is?
Her pussy and my dick are like some damn pulley system, moving with a smoothness I’ve never encountered. You’d think we’d mastered this sex thing with each other through a long relationship, but this is our first time. There should be some sort of awkwardness as we work to discover one another’s bodies, but our sex is fucking perfect. Like a scene from a movie that looks spectacular, without the fifty takes to get there.
“Look at me, Vance,” she whispers. “Be in the moment.”
I glance down, realizing I’m so busy psychoanalyzing our relationship that I’m missing the best part—watching her get off. Staring into her eyes, eyes that are now glossed over with heavy lids, I grind small circles into her.
Her fingers tighten, and for the first time I wish I had long hair for her to pull. She rises and her lips crash to mine. Caging her head in between my arms, I kiss her while I grind in and out of her slick heat. I brush away the hair on her forehead and savor the last moments before we both fall into ecstasy.
Her own grinding quickens and I match her pace, pulling my mouth from hers. She grips the sheets in her hands but she keeps her legs wrapped around me while I push her body to the limit, sending her tumbling over that cliff and straight into undiluted pleasure. She moans and tries to keep her eyes open, but fails and she bucks underneath me, her thighs squeezing me tight. Eventually, she comes down from her high, her body losing the stiffness, the sheets finally free from her grip.
I come seconds later, my sweaty body falling onto hers.
Jesus, I can’t wait until we can do that again.
Chapter 16
Vance
Someone is banging on the door.
“Fucking Jagger.” I roll back over, grabbing my free pillow and covering my head.
“Hello, that’s my pillow,” a soft voice says and then soft fingers touch my stomach. “We have a problem.”
I whip the pillow off my head and turn over.
Layla. Yes. Layla. We fucked four times last night. Everything rushes to the forefront of my mind and I sit up, the sheet twisting around my leg.
I stare at the door and Layla giggles.
“Mommy!” Payne screams on the other side of the door.
“Ma?” a sweet voice says from inside the room and I jump out of the bed. The twisted sheet around my leg catches me and I fall buck ass naked head first to the hardwood floor.
Layla’s laughing so hard when she peers over the edge of the bed that her entire face is lit up like the Rockefeller tree at Christmas.
“Where’s Via?” I ask, taking in every inch of the room and not seeing her.
She holds up a video monitor and wiggles it side to side. There’s Via, standing up in her crib.
“I should have left.” I finally free myself from the sheet and stand up.
Layla’s gaze rakes up and down my naked body.
“I’m glad you enjoy what you see, but what are we going to do?” I whisper-shout.
“Mommy!” Payne tries the doorknob and I hurriedly grab my jeans.
“Well, we can’t let Payne see you. He’ll be upset he missed the sleepover.” She giggles again. Now I see what makes Layla giddy—orgasms. Six to be exact.
I toss my t-shirt over my head.
“You go hide in the bathroom. I’ll grab my robe and get him and Via downstairs. You can sneak out the front door.”
She rises from the bed and walks as fast as she can to the bathroom. A minute later she comes out with a silk robe wrapped around her mouthwatering body.
“Hey,” I say, pulling her toward me with the tie of the robe.
“Mommy!” Payne bangs on the door.
“Just one second, honey,” Layla says and he stops his pounding. “Go downstairs and turn on the television, I’ll be down in a second with Via.”
“Okay.”
We both wait until we can no longer hear his footsteps walking down the hall.
I slide my hands through the robe, spreading the silky fabric in the front wide and bringing her naked front to my body. “I really enjoyed last night.”
“Me, too.”
I kiss her forehead. “What are you doing tonight?”
Her eyebrows scrunch and she puts on her best thinking hard expression. “I don’t have anything. I have shooting first thing tomorrow.”
“Oh.” My head falls forward so that our foreheads meet. “My last week as the manny.”
She pushes up on her tiptoes and places a sweet kiss on my lips. “You can play manny anytime you want.”
A wail of a cry rings out from the video monitor. To make matters worse, Payne’s stomping footsteps up the stairs can probably be heard in the house next door.
“One, two,” I say.
Bang. Bang.
“Mommy, the TV doesn’t work.”
“Okay, give me a second.” Layla’s head falls to my shoulder.
“I wish I could help you this morning, but I feel like a teenage boy who’s about to be caught by his girlfriend’s dad after he felt her up on the couch in the basement.”
She muffles her giggle into my shoulder. “Nah.” She stands straight. “It’s better this way.”
I place my hands on either side of her face and kiss her, hoping like hell it conveys how much I’m going to miss her company today.
“Talk to you later?” I ask when I pull away.
“Of course. Thanks for a great night.” She heads toward the door and I walk toward the bathroom.
“Ditto,” I say and sneak through the door, shutting it behind me.
A second later I hear Layla talking to Payne and through the monitor, I hear her talking to Via as she changes her diaper and her clothes before taking her downstairs.
I stand there listening to their morning routine and think about what a great mother she is and how until her, I didn’t know how attractive a quality it would be.
I gotta give it to Layla, she’s good at stealth maneuvers. She had the kids in the kitchen eating breakfast in record time as I shot down the stairs and out the front door as quickly and as quietly as I could.
It wasn’t until I reached the car that I realized something was off.
I’ve slept with my fair share of girls, most of whom I didn’t do the sleepover thing with. But the odd time I did spend the night, it was like I had poison oak from the way my body itched around them until the time that I was safe and secure in my car. With Layla though, it’s different. I want to be back in that house. I want to be making pancakes with her for the kids. I want to sit on the couch and read the paper, drinking coffee, and feasting my greedy gaze on her whenever I want.
What the hell is happening to me? I’m not good with kids. I’m not a family man. I’ll only end up hurting them all, and after what Carver did—Layla hasn’t said much on that front, but I’m not an idiot, I can read between the lines (and, okay, the gossip mags)—they don’t need me adding gasoline to their lives.
Regardless of the speech I’m giving myself, my car has a mind of its own and heads north when it should go south and a few minutes later I find myself in front of the donut place. Even worse, I walk in and order a dozen donuts, two coffees, and two chocolate milks. Then somehow, I end up outside Layla’s house again.
Walking up the walkway, I realize that I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. I have to tell Layla how I sabotaged her career.
But when Layla opens the door with that robe on and a spatula in her hands with a confused expression on her face, I realize the truth—I’m too scared. This woman and her children have come to mean too much to me to risk it. I’ve sabotaged a lot of things in my life, but this, whatever this is between us, I refuse to ruin.
“Hey,” she says, the softest smile gracing her lips.
“Breakfast?” I ask, holding up the donuts.
“You didn’t.” She shakes her head and I bend down, kissing her to quiet her.
“I wanted to.” Then I slide past her and head toward the kitchen where I get the best thank you from both kids when they attach themselves onto my legs.
Who needs to be a rock star? These kids treat me like I’m Pablo from the Backyardigans—who up until a couple of weeks ago I would have had no idea existed.
“You’re fucking this entire thing up.” Jagger slams the magazine down on the table.
The magazine with a picture of me at Layla’s front door with donuts and coffee. We should be thankful they didn’t catch me leaving fifteen minutes before that.
“You should be glad they haven’t figured out who you are yet. I say yet, because they will.” He flips his tie back over his shoulder, dousing his pancakes with syrup. “Not to mention, when is this whole manny shit over? I need your undivided attention on getting this movie off the ground.”
Jagger glances over his shoulder to Payne, who’s playing the claw game again, just like he was the time he and Layla were here.
“Lower your voice. This is my last week.” I cut up Payne’s blueberry pancakes and ask the waitress to refill his chocolate milk.
“Aren’t you a regular Alice from The Brady Bunch.”
I roll my eyes because he’s probably never even watched one episode of that show, it’s so old.
“What about that one?” He nods to Via in the high chair.
She had a stomach bug yesterday so I told Layla I’d watch her today, too.
“Why don’t you stop acting like”—I cover Via’s ears and she squirms—“an asshole.”
“What are you, Vince Vaughn with the earmuffs thing? I shut up when you made this deal because I thought, man, he’s really going balls to the wall to get this script made. But now—” His manicured nail points to the magazine again. The title still puts bile in my throat.
Watch Out, Carver, There’s A New Daddy On Duty.
“You’re being called daddy and about to get down on bended knee, according to the press. Let’s remember”—he leans forward and lowers his voice—“you had her fired from what was her best opportunity to catapult her career after she was too old to be the star over at the network that shall not be named that starts with a D.” He shakes his head while he chews. “This whole thing is going to blow up in your face,” he says, pointing his fork in my direction.