The Layover

by Whitney Gracia Williams

More tears stream down my face and I check the time: Three o’clock in the morning. I know that I shouldn’t have picked up, but a small, foolish part of me honestly thought that he would beg to have me back, that he would finally act like the man I wanted him to be.

  I turn on the lamp and pull out my list—looking at number two, “Stop thinking about [him],” and place a large checkmark by it.

  I won’t be answering his phone calls anymore.

  ***

  “Paris?” Blake’s voice is in my ear. “Is something wrong? Are you sick?”

  I murmur and roll over to face him.

  The second I open my eyes, I almost fall out of the bed.

  He’s damn near naked. He’s only wearing a towel around his waist, and small droplets of water are trickling down his tattooed chest. To make matters worse, the imprint of his dick—his HUGE dick, can clearly be seen through the towel.

  Holy shit...

  “Paris?” He places his hand on my forehead.

  “Why the hell are you naked?” I’m sure my eyes are as wide as they can go.

  “You were screaming.”

  “I screamed for you to come in here and take your clothes off?”

  “No.” He laughs. “I heard you while I was in the shower... Are you listening to me?”

  I try to keep my eyes on his, but they keep wandering down to that towel—attempting to get a better look at exactly what’s behind it.

  “Would you like for me to take the towel off?” he asks. “I’m starting to think that would really make you feel better.”

  “It wouldn’t.” My heart flutters. “And I’m perfectly fine. I think I might have just been moaning about menstrual cramps.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Because they taught you how to predict menstrual cycles in law school?”

  “No, but you took a birth control pill while we were on the plane—a first week Thursday one...You won’t get your period for another two weeks, so I highly doubt you’re having menstrual cramps—if you’re even cramping at all.”

  My jaw drops and the fluttering in my stomach intensifies.

  He smiles at me, damn well knowing that he won that last conversation. “Did you want to sleep the rest of the day away, or do you want to join me for dinner?”

  “Depends. Do you want to put some actual clothes on?”

  “If you insist.” He helps me up and walks me into his dining room.

  After he pulls a chair out for me, he disappears for a few minutes and returns in grey flannel pants. He places a plate of grilled chicken and rice in front of me, and pours me a glass of red wine.

  I avoid eye contact as I eat—trying not to murmur with each and every bite.

  God, he’s an amazing cook...

  “Paris?” He calls my name, but I don’t look at him.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I ask you something? It may be slightly invasive...”

  “I don’t think you’re capable of being anything but invasive.”

  “If the sex wasn’t as good as you wanted it to be with your boyfriend, why didn’t you ever tell him how you felt?”

  I immediately look up. “Why would I do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  I lean back in my chair, thinking.

  The first time Adrian and I had sex, we were at a luxury hotel downtown and he’d paid for us to have the room all weekend.

  He was the third guy I’d been with, and I was just grateful that he wasn’t being rough and rushing through it like my last “kind of” boyfriends had. He’d kissed me gently all over, whispered sexy things into my ear, and when he’d slid into me it felt nice.

  Just nice.

  The times after that—for the first two years that we were together anyway, the sex was good, but it gradually became all too similar. Slow. Gentle. Calculated.

  No matter how frantic and heavy the foreplay was, the actual sex was never spur of the moment, never “right here, right now,” never interesting. In fact, I could practically predict how many times he would kiss me before and after, could practically predict all the words he would say: “You’re amazing, Paris...” “Is this good?” “Keep going, Paris...”

  Still, it was never “bad sex,” just “nice sex.”

  “We didn’t really talk about sex,” I say, avoiding Blake’s eyes. “We just did it. And honestly, it wasn’t terrible. It just wasn’t—”

  “Hot and sweaty?”

  “Passionate.” I correct him. “After our third year together, we were both working so hard that sex kind of faded into the background. We were working like crazy, and staying on top of everything was way more important than a romp in the sheets...Besides, sex can always get better with someone you love. You don’t dump someone just because it’s not ‘out of this world.’ You just work on it together.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me with a blank expression.

  “You’d dump your girlfriend if the sex wasn’t good?” I scoff.

  “I’ve never had a girlfriend.”

  WHAT?! “Who’s lying now?”

  “It’s the truth. I’ve never had one.”

  Unbelievable... “Next thing you’ll tell me is that you’re a virgin.”

  He blinks.

  “Wait, wait, wait...” My eyes widen. “Are you? Are you a virgin?”

  “A what?”

  “A virgin.” I stare at him in shock. “That would actually explain a lot...A whole lot.”

  “Would it really?” He stands up and walks over to me, leaning against the edge of the table.

  “It would...You really are a virgin, aren’t you?”

  “Care to share how you could ever come to that conclusion?”

  “Simple really.” I replay the past few days in my mind and realize that it really does make sense. He could really be a virgin “Well first of all, you flirted with me a lot on the plane and you said some outrageous sexual shit, but you admitted that you only did that because you thought you’d never see me again. Because you knew you’d never have to prove it, because you couldn’t due to your lack of experience.”

  He raises his eyebrow, but I continue.

  “The other night, when you asked me for a kiss, you just kissed me and that was it. No non-virgin would do something like that. He would at least try to take things a little further, try to touch me somewhere else.” This is all adding up and I almost feel silly for not picking up on this sooner. “And then last night, when we were in the middle of playing Never Have I Ever, you tried to make it seem like you were sooo good at sex. Typical virgin behavior. And you finger-fucked me. Seriously? I haven’t been finger fucked since I was in tenth grade...Oh, and it was by a guy who was also a virgin.”

  “Are those all of your reasons?” He leans closer and blows a strand of hair away from my face.

  “You need more? Everything I’ve said is pretty concrete.” I cross my arms. “Oh, and add in the fact that you’ve never had a girlfriend. That’s a dead-ass give away...You know what else? I’m pretty sure you have a porn collection buried underneath your lifetime supply of condoms. So if you’d like, we can watch a video together and I can explain sex to you. I can tell you all about it.”

  He’s silent for a long time, simply looking at me—letting me know that I’m completely right about his virgin status. Then he suddenly grips me by my hips and lifts me up, setting me on top of the table.

  He slides his fingers against the sash of my robe, slowly pulling it open.

  “Let’s get a few things straight, Paris.” He sits in the chair I was sitting in, positioning himself right between my legs. “I haven’t been a virgin since I was fifteen years old.”

  My cheeks immediately turn red.

  He opens my robe a little more. “I have flirted with you a lot this weekend and changed the subject quickly after I said something sexual, but only because if I actually told you how much I wanted to fuck you, you might’ve never come out of your room.”

  I ga
sp as he slides a hand up my bare thigh.

  “The other night,” he says, mocking me, “when I asked you for a kiss and that was it...I did want to take things further and touch you somewhere else. But I didn’t want you to feel like I was taking advantage of you.”

  He leans forward and places his hands on my shoulders, slowly pushing my robe down my body—exposing the fact that I’m wearing nothing but a bra and panties underneath. “And last night, during Never Have I Ever, I wasn’t trying to make it seem like I was “sooo good at sex.” I am good at it—very, very good at it. And the only reason I slipped my fingers inside of you, was because I thought you would run off if you felt my dick.”

  I am utterly speechless.

  And I can’t move. I’m frozen to this spot on the table, unable to control my body’s reaction to him anymore.

  “What was that last reason you gave that made you think I’m a virgin?” He presses a kiss against my stomach.

  “You...” I murmur as he pulls my panties down to my ankles. “You’ve never had a girlfriend...”

  “Right.” He blows a kiss against my thigh. “I’ve never had a girlfriend because I’ve never had the time.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you...”

  “No need to apologize.” He spreads my legs even further. “For the record, I don’t have a porn collection. But if I did, I think I would be the one explaining sex to you. Don’t you think?”

  My heart nearly jumps out of my chest, but before it can, Blake grips me even tighter. “Lie down.”

  “Um...I’m not sure if—” I don’t get a chance to finish that sentence. The next thing I know, my back is being pressed against the table and Blake is kissing my neck.

  Trailing soft kisses down to my stomach, he slides his hands underneath my thighs and pulls me closer to his mouth, softly blowing against my clit.

  “Whoa, wait.” I immediately sit up. “Are you about to—”

  “Fuck your pussy with my mouth. Is there a problem?”

  “No...but—”

  He presses his finger against my mouth and pushes me back against the table. Before I can take another breath, I feel his lips sucking on my clit, feel two of his fingers plunging deep inside of me.

  “Ahhh...” I reach down and thread my fingers through his hair. “Fuck...”

  I shut my eyes as his tongue swirls around my lips, as he whispers, “You taste so fucking good...”

  As he starts to flick his tongue against me harder, I try to push his head away—to get him to slow down, but he doesn’t. He grips my thighs tighter, and slips his tongue inside of me even further.

  I expect him to stop any minute now, for him to take a break, but he never breaks his rhythm; he never slows for a single second.

  “Blake...” My legs are quivering and I can’t control my breathing. “Blake...”

  Not answering me, he lifts one of my legs up and places it over his shoulder.

  “Blake....Blake, stop...”

  He squeezes my ass and continues to fuck me with his tongue, attacking my clit with kisses that make me scream his name louder and louder.

  With my eyes still shut, I try to grab his head one last time and push him away, but he takes my hand and holds it still. Just as I’m about to yank it free, my body starts to convulse.

  Tremors travel up and down my spine, and I feel myself getting closer and closer to an orgasm.

  I feel Blake leaning over me and kissing my neck, whispering, “Let go, Paris,” and I scream—letting waves of pleasure roll through me over and over again.

  My hips continue to shake as I open my eyes, and Blake rubs his palms against my thighs until they stop.

  I lie there, panting, for what feels like forever—unsure of what the hell just happened. I mean, I’ve had that done to me before but not like that. Never like that.

  Jesus...

  Blake closes my legs and slips an arm underneath my hips, slowly lifting me up.

  He re-fastens my robe without saying a word, and then he looks into my eyes. “I’m going to finish my shower. I’ll meet you in the living room in a little bit. Maybe you can think of another game we can play?” He trails his fingers against my lips before walking away.

  At this very moment, I wish I had a set of giddy girlfriends to call, someone who can relate to this, but all I have is David.

  Oh well...

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and call him.

  “What’s up, Pear Pear?” he answers.

  “He fucked my pussy with his mouth.”

  “What?!” He sounds as if he’s choking. “What did you just say?”

  “The guy I’m staying with...”

  “The Blake? You decided to stay with him the entire time? No hotel?”

  “No, but that’s not what I called to talk to you about.” I am literally grinning from ear to ear. “He just went down on me and I fucking loved it!”

  “We need to redefine the lines of our best friend partnership, Paris. This is so out of bounds for appropriate conversation.”

  “It was amazing! Like, more than amazing! Adrian was good, but he wasn’t memorable good when it came to doing that to me. I mean, I usually had to force him to do it and he would only do it for like ten minutes. Did I ever tell you that?”

  “Why are we still having this conversation?”

  “Blake was down there for a very long time—a very, very long time.”

  “Paris...”

  “And he made me cum! HARD! I haven’t cum in over a year, and I’ve never cum like that before!”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that.” The sound of Blake’s voice makes me drop the phone to the floor.

  I stand completely frozen to my spot, unsure of what to say next.

  “That sounded like a really interesting conversation.” He walks over and picks up my phone. Then he looks into my eyes—smoothing my hair with his hands. “Good to know you thought it was amazing.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you.”

  “Someone else made you cum within the last hour?”

  I take my phone from him and turn to walk away, but he pulls me into his arms.

  “Did you think of something we could do tonight?”

  “We’re not playing Never-Have-I Ever...”

  He grins. “I wouldn’t want to play that if I were you either. What do you normally do when you’re stuck at home?”

  “Write or catch up on work, but snowstorms don’t come down south that often.”

  “Okay.” He lets me go. “Wait here.” He walks away, and I take a seat on the couch.

  I honestly want to suggest a repeat of what he did to me, but I don’t want to come off as needy. I guess I’ll just replay the feel of his lips over and over again for the rest of my stay here.

  If he’s that good with his mouth, I wonder how amazing it would be if we—

  “You’re mumbling to yourself...” He hands me my laptop. “Do you prefer hot chocolate or coffee?”

  “Hot chocolate.”

  He disappears again.

  Minutes later, he walks into the room carrying two bright red mugs. After setting them on the table, he pulls a stack of files from the coffee table’s drawer.

  “Do you write with the TV on or off?” He sits next to me.

  “On.”

  He clicks the remote, and then he pulls me close. “Are you comfortable sitting like this?”

  I nod. I am absolutely speechless.

  I was expecting him to return with more drinks and another game of sexual innuendos, not work. This doesn’t make any sense.

  “Something wrong?” He puts on a pair of reading glasses.

  “No, I just thought...”

  “That I would fuck you?”

  “Do you always have to be so blunt? Didn’t they teach you anything about social graces while you were in school?”

  “Is that what you thought, Paris?” he whispers. “Tell me.”

  “Yes...”

  He smiles, but he changes
the subject. “What type of stuff do you write?”

  “Reflective pieces on new laws, culture reviews, things like that.” I pause. “I want to be an investigative reporter. I know I’m getting a late start on that career path, but...I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “Your over the top suspicions make perfect sense now.”

  “Whatever.” I laugh. “You know, I was too scared to tell Adrian my real dream after we settled in together because I didn’t think he would be supportive of me having a career like that...Now that I look back, I see how crazy it is that I—” I feel his lips on mine and completely forget the rest of that sentence.

  When he finally stops kissing me, he whispers against my mouth, “We’re not going to talk about your ex-boyfriend for the rest of this trip. That was number two on your list, correct?”

  “Yes...”

  “I’m going to help you try and fulfill that one, too.” He kisses my lips again. “Try to get some work done.”

  “Wait. Can I ask you something else?”

  “You can ask me anything.”

  “What are your expectations as far as us?”

  “What makes you think I expect anything from you?”

  “Well, aside from the fact that you’ve assaulted my lips, fifteen minutes ago you were putting your head in my...”

  “Do you know what that part of your body is called?”

  “I know exactly what it’s called.” I still can’t believe he affects me like this. “Anyway, I enjoyed it a lot and—”

  “Paris...” He cups my face in his hands. “I told you that I wouldn’t do anything that you didn’t want to do. I meant that. If sex never happens while you’re here, that’s fine. If it does,” he says, smiling, “more than fine. But I’m not going to pressure you into it. If you ever want to do that, just tell me. If not, we can just get to know each other better until it’s time for you to go home.”

  “Seriously?”

  He kisses my forehead. “Seriously.”

  Chapter 8

  The snowstorm was at its worst last night. The city’s power lines froze and the amount of snow that fell totaled thirteen inches. The skies were pitch black—only lightening to a dusty grey by the afternoon, and the gale force winds whipped against billboards and toppled several trees.

  I’m not sure how I ended up in bed with Blake in the middle of the night, but when he’d heard me coming into his room, he immediately sat up. I’d expected him to say, “About time you admitted you wanted to fuck me,” but he didn’t.