by Cher Etan
“Home time already? It feels like you just went to work,” he said holding his hand out for her to take.
“Yeah that’s coz you have nothing to do all day but watch daytime soap operas. It tends to make the time fly by.”
“You calling me a bum?”
Leila laughed. “If the shoe fits,” she said with a shrug.
“Well as a matter of fact, I’ve been very busy. Renovations are almost done. We can move in by Friday.”
“That’s great. Sheila offered to pack for me in return for an introduction to one of your friends. So choose the nicest and invite him over for moving day.”
Jonathon smiled, “Is that an order?”
“Yep,” she said discarding her shoes and flopping down on the couch. Jonathon handed her a drink.
“So how was work darling?” he asked.
“Great. We’ve started the moving process to the premises you gave us…super fun.”
Jonathon laughed, “I’m not feeling the love.”
“That’s because its not here. Its hiding behind the utter exhaustion of packing files.”
“Aww, poor baby. Good thing you don’t have to cook for your husband. I’ve made some tacos for dinner.”
“Whoot? You cook?” Leila was genuinely shocked.
“Hey. I feel judgment coming off you in waves. Why wouldn’t I know how to cook?”
“You spoiled brats rarely do,” Leila said with a teasing duck face.
Jonathon took it as an invitation and leaned in to plant one on her. She pulled back looking startled. “I thought we weren’t doing that,” she said, the last word on a higher note like it was maybe a question.
“I’m sorry. Did I read you wrong? I thought you wanted me to.”
“You thought I wanted you to what?” she asked.
“Kiss you,” he said staring into her eyes, his own glazed with desire.
Leila grimaced and shrugged, “Well I didn’t.”
“I apologize then,” he said still staring at her with the same expression.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Well then, let me get cleaned up and we can eat these so-called tacos you made.
“Yeah. Lets,” Jonathon said watching her as she got up and went to wash up and change. Leila took a deep breath, reminding herself that this was not happening.
*****
“Does consummation count if you’re drunk and you can’t remember anything but the highlights?” she found herself asking after her third taco and second glass of wine.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for such a light weight; you only had four glasses of wine that night,” Jonathon teased.
“I had two glasses of whiskey while I was changing,” Leila told him.
“Oh…in that case here’s to that Black Irish liver,” he said toasting her with his glass.
“I don’t think you’re using that right,” she replied amused.
Jonathon shrugged, “Who cares?”
“Probably the actual Black Irish?”
“Eh, they’re not here are they?”
“Point…anyway, going back to my question.”
“If you want some of this all you have to do is say so Leila. My dick is yours to command.”
Leila burst out laughing, “Talk about light weight. That’s only your second glass.”
“I’m not drunk!” Jonathon protested.
“So deliberately mangling the language? Tsk.”
“So are you gonna say so or what?” he asked leaning toward her and staring at her mouth.
“So,” Leila said looking him in the eye…or at least looking at his eyes because his stayed trained on her mouth. At her words though, he glanced up in surprise and he smiled.
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
“That is a ‘so’, that you asked me to say,” Leila hedged.
“Okay. So if I lean forward like this,” he said matching actions to words. “And do this,” he kissed her lips. “You’re fine with that?”
Leila tasted her lips assessingly, “Mmm, it's fine.”
“What if I did this?” He asked reaching out to thread his fingers through her braids.
“Depends on where you’re going with that,” she replied not lifting a hand to stop him though.
He grasped her braids and pulled gently, bringing her head closer, still looking into her eyes for clues as to whether she was liking this or not. He stopped when her mouth was an inch away from his.
“How about this?” he whispered.
“It's…not close enough,” Leila said and bridged the remaining distance.
He shuddered as Leila’s tongue flicked out to lick along the rim of his ear. His hands opened and closed weakly on the table and Leila chuckled against his skin.
“Oh God,” Jonathon said thinking Leila should never sound like that. It wasn’t fucking legal.
“Legal? Sounds are legal now?” Leila whispered in amusement. The timber of her voice, was so low it did funny things to Jonathon’s insides.
“Oh Jesus,” he said.
Leila laughed out loud and moved away from him, smiling her amusement as she stood up and held a hand out to him. Jonathon couldn’t quite hold in a moan at the loss of contact. His groin ached with a building pressure that didn’t make any sense at all because he doesn’t … he isn’t …
Zero to one hundred real quick…
“Are you coming?” Leila asks, pressing her hand hard against the line of Jonathon’s cock, prominently displayed now that he was standing too.
He nodded biting his lip and forcing himself not to buck forward against her hand.
“Jonathon,” Leila prodded, and her voice was a drug, muddling Jonathon’s thoughts and setting his head spinning. “Are you coming?”
Yes.
He followed her slowly as she walked to the bedroom. The tent in his trousers made it difficult to move.
“L-Leila, are you sure about th—fuck!” Jonathon dropped his head back. His skin was hot and tingling all over, and things officially went beyond the point of no return as Leila shoved her hand down the front of his pants.
“What were you saying?” Leila asked pulling him out. “Something about…fucking?”
“Leila,” Jonathon panted as she started to jack him off, hard and relentless right there in the middle of the hall. He didn’t know if he meant ‘stop’ or ‘more’. His thighs trembled with the effort of holding himself up. “Leila.”
“Wider,” Leila demanded. “Come on.”
Someone was moaning in Jonathon’s ear, and he’s already widening his stance before he realizes the sound is coming from him. Oh God, this was totally fucked up especially for them and Jonathon wasn’t sure he even cared.
Gawd what made me think she was a good girl again?
“Perhaps it's my baby face,” Leila said and Jonathon realized he'd said that out loud. “Or the fact that I work for a non-profit? Maybe you think lawyers are boring? Or maybe, it’s the fact that I’m surprising myself as much as you. Who knew that crazy bitchery lay beneath this innocent exterior? Certainly not me” Her hands never left his dick as she conversed.
Jonathon wanted to protest her actions, her words; she’s so cool, calm and collected; like nothing about this fazed her - Jonathon’s brain had short-circuited and left everything in the dark—and he couldn't quite remember how to speak. He panted frantically for a few moments, Leila’s scent heavy in his mouth, and then swore as Leila dragged her thumb over the slit of his cock.
“Look at me,” Leila insisted.
Jonathon made a concerted effort and somehow managed to get his eyes open again. Leila looked fascinated as she looked him over, as if his arousal was the most interesting thing she’d seen in a while. Her breathing was as erratic as Jonathon’s, the rise and fall of her chest not quite as even as it could be. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes were glazed.
Jonathon had never seen anything so hot in his life. His tongue suddenly felt three sizes too big: his mouth was desert dry. He licked his
lips, arched into Leila’s rough strokes, as Leila’s gaze sharpened.
“Wow, you really love this control shit huh?” she purred and then her mouth crashed onto Jonathon’s. She cupped his cheek, pulling his face into the kiss.
Jonathon made a tiny, wrecked noise that was swallowed up by her mouth. He was so turned on he hardly spared the time to be embarrassed. He grabbed Leila’s braided hair trying to pull her even closer, deeper. Leila yielded to him, and yet still bit and licked at Jonathon’s mouth until his lips felt bruised and swollen. Her hand on Jonathon’s cock keeps working, massaging and caressing with maddening intensity.
Leila pulls back to regard him with quiet consideration.
“You’re a gorgeous man you know,” Leila said, her eyes traveling down his frame. “Did I hit the jack pot or what?”
Leila’s declaration rips through Jonathon with a physical shudder that’s almost like an orgasm.
“Careful now. You don’t want to say stuff you might regret,” he breathed.
Leila smiled, “My hand is down your pants, caressing your cock. I think that ship has sailed.”
“You know what I would like?” he said, really surprised he was able to speak at all.
“What?” she whispered as she took hold of his ear with her teeth.
“I wanna fuck you right here. Right now. You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” Jonathon’s hand curled around Leila’s right thigh and gave it a suggestive tug. “You’d wrap your legs around my waist and just take it, so goddamned pretty and tight and—” Jonathon’s breath caught as he imagined it. All the rules of this marriage were officially out the window.
“I might…I might just let you. But don’t you think we’d be more comfortable on the bed?” He could imagine the impish smile on her face even though he couldn’t see it.
“I’m afraid if we move you’ll come to your senses,” Jonathon breathed.
Leila laughed removing her hand from his dick and stepping back.
“You think I’m high?” she asked.
Jonathon shrugged, “There are various types of high.”
“Which one is this?” Leila laughed.
“Adrenaline high?” Jonathon suggested.
“You mean from all the kissing and touching,” Leila’s eyes twinkled with delight.
“Not doing much of ‘anything’ right now, are you?” Jonathon needled. The contract might not specifically provide for this and all, but Leila jumped him for fuck’s sake. Leila was … with the eyes and the … the hands … and then she just stopped.
Jonathon had heard somewhere that a guy could die from blue balls.
But Leila just smiled at him, slow and warm and dangerous, and then tugged his pants down on his hips.
“Jesus!” Jonathon yelped, reaching down to put a stop to that, at least, because he had limits and he was not sure how he felt about being stripped in the corridor. Never mind that it was his idea to have sex in the corridor.
“What Jonathon? Something the matter?” Leila asked. She had hold of Jonathon’s pants with both hands, anchoring them low enough on Jonathon’s hips that he might as well not be wearing them at all.
“No,” Jonathon replied shakily. “Nothing.”
“Hands above your head,” Leila said implacably, and then, as an afterthought: “Or on me.”
Jonathon hesitated, not sure what the hell was on Leila’s mind and she just raised her head and bit his neck. Hard.
“Fuck,” Jonathon said, hands flying to rest on the wall behind him for support as his legs buckled. Leila smiled against his skin and then soothed the sting of the bite with a slow stroke of her tongue.
“Good boy,” she purred, and Jesus Christ, was Leila trying to kill him? It wasn't fair: Leila’s pushing buttons Jonathon didn’t even know he had, leaving him too turned on to do more than tighten his grip on the wall, close his eyes and pray.
“You taste really good,” Leila murmured, pressing a slow, wet trail of open-mouthed kisses down across Jonathon’s collarbone. Jonathon could feel his pants being inched even lower and God, he was going to fly apart at the seams if he didn’t come soon.
“Leila,” he panted. “Leila, what the—what’re you—I need—” Fuck, he didn't know what he needed.
And Leila stopped again.
Raising her head, she leaned one hand against the wall. She didn’t look anywhere near as wrecked as Jonathon felt, but her eyes were glazed as Jonathon reached for her and pulled her so she was flush against him.
“Hey,” he said looking into her eyes.
“Hey,” she replied looking back.
She blinked at him, eyes a warm chocolate brown and then smirked. “Take your shirt off Jonathon,” she said, biting her lower lip as her eyes slid down to his mouth.
“Okay,” Jonathon said all the while searching frantically around the room for his manhood.
He caught hold of his shirt anyhow and yanked it over his head hearing the appreciative noises that Leila was making but trying to work through them anyway. Jonathon realized he was harder than ever, his dick was hanging out of his low-riding pants and leaking pre-come. He was raw and yearning and completely fucked up.
“You like that, don’t you?” Leila murmured. “You like me when I’m bossy.”
“Not really. I’m just in hypovolemic shock right now,” he replied, surprised he was still coherent.
“Ooh, look at you with the five dollar words,” Leila teased.
Jonathon’s mouth has gone dry again. He tried to swallow and couldn't quite remember how.
“Kinky, Jonathon. Got a few control issues there?” Leila sounded so goddamned smug that Jonathon’s response was automatic.
“Fuck you.”
Leila shook her head, eyes filled with a heated amusement. “Haven’t you been paying attention? That’s what I’m trying to do.”
Leila leaned forward again, mouth brushing over Jonathon’s collarbone before coming to rest slightly lower down. Her tongue was hot and wet against Jonathon’s chest, tracing along his muscles. She sucked on Jonathon’s skin and he put his arms around her head, pulling her closer.
“And you … call me … kinky …” he panted as she lapped at his muscles.
Leila forced herself back at the sound of Jonathon’s voice and his hand lifted. She blinked, startled by the abruptness of the movement, and suddenly the fingers of his right hand were resting against her lower lip. Leila might have been a little dazed with lust at the time, but she recognized a command when she saw it.
She opened her mouth.
Jonathon’s eyes were ravenous, fixed on his index finger as he slid it past Leila’s teeth, but he wasn't nearly as out of control as Leila would obviously like. He was willing to correct that, with her help; wanting to be lost in this, wanting to be needy and too desperate to do anything but take. He was quickly getting there as Leila worked his finger like she was starving for it.
Jonathon groaned and she sucked harder, flicking her tongue along the salty flesh in frenzied licks. Leila was so focused, all of that intellect and emotion narrowed down to the finger in her mouth, what she was doing to him, and Jonathon had never felt so wanted before in his life. The whole thing was spiraling out of control faster than his heart was racing, screwing up his relationship with Leila—with his fake wife—to hell and back, and Jonathon didn't know how to stop it.
He didn't want to stop it.
Jonathon removed his finger from her mouth suddenly, and before her tongue had even stopped moving, Leila’s left hand was clutching his hip and her right was shoving back into his pants. Jonathon shifted automatically, widening his stance in an attempt to give her more room to maneuver. He didn't know what Leila was going to do, but he was pretty sure it’d feel awesome.
Leila’s breathing was ragged as she pushed her hand back past Jonathon’s balls, and the sensation of her wrist rubbing against him there made Jonathon hiss. He thought for a moment that she was going to give the boys a little attention, but that thought was immediatel
y shot to shit because Leila was still reaching, using her hand on Jonathon’s hip for leverage as she wormed her way back to—
“Whoa!” Jonathon yelped. Pulse skipping nervously, he lifted up on his toes in an attempt to avoid the press of her finger against his asshole.
“No?” Leila asks. “I hear it feels really good”.
“Yes but…no,” Jonathon protested. He felt enough like a girl already without his wife treating him as though he had a set of tits instead of a cock. It’s a stupid thing for him to be fixated on and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to confront the real issue here. He was thinking about it enough without actually vocalizing: heart working overtime and stomach clenched in anxious knots.
Jonathon has not made good decisions in the past when it came to relationships. He’d been ruled by his dick too many times. He didn't want to do that anymore; this marriage was supposed to be strictly business but that really seemed to have flown irrevocably out the window. So now what? The future yawned in front of him like an abyss.
His fear didn’t mean that he didn’t know what to do with himself, though. Leila’s finger was withdrawing from his cleft as her eyes intently marked out every twitch of discomfort across his face, and for once there was nowhere for Jonathon to hide.
“Just relax,” Leila said, flexing her hand on Jonathon’s hip.
He couldn’t believe it was her saying that. Wasn’t that supposed to be the guy’s role? Was he stuck on gender roles?
“You’re stealing my lines,” he said.
Leila smiled, her fingers flipping his balls between them like they were Chinese medicine balls.
He opened his mouth to tell Leila to cut it out already and then choked as Leila tweaked something that caused an intense burst of arousal shooting through his body like electricity. It was like a bolt tumbling into place, hot frissons of pleasure shooting through him and loosening him up. He thought it was time he got in on this action; might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.