by Lydia Rowan
He didn’t disappoint and held her steady through the waves of her orgasm, his thrusts never wavering. Then, suddenly, he stilled, and she felt the hot rush of his cum filling her. They stayed like that, joined, their heavy breaths the only sound filling the room.
She sighed when he pulled out of her, clenching her thighs to keep their combined juices trapped. She rested her forehead against the door, feeling the empty at the loss. She heard the rustle of fabric and then his zipper closing and what she assumed was him buckling his belt. She felt his hands on her ankles, and looked down, realizing he’d kneeled and was pulling her panties up her legs. When he reached her cleft, he pressed her thigh, silently asking that she spread her legs. She did so, and he placed his handkerchief between her thighs and then pulled her underwear up the rest of the way, settling her skirt to its proper place after he’d finished and placing a surprisingly tender kiss on that sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder.
Layla exhaled and turned around, settling her shoulders against the door. He looked as calm and devastating as usual, the deep flush of his skin the only clue that something was amiss.
He adjusted his tie and turned on his heel, tossing a casual, “Have the driver take you home, and call me when you get in. We’ll discuss this...situation further,” over his shoulder.
She left without speaking.
Chapter Eight
When she got home, she sat in her driveway a few moments before heading into the house. She’d taken her car, needed the drive to clear her head, if such a thing was possible.
I slept with Leighton.
She got out of the car and entered the house. She dropped her keys in the ashtray, took off her shoes, hung her jacket, same as she did every other day. But tonight was different.
I slept with Leighton.
The thought plagued her as she sorted her mail, rummaged through the fridge for a snack before settling on a diet cola.
I slept with Leighton.
The mantra continued as she walked through her bedroom and into the bath and as she peeled off her suit jacket, skirt, and blouse and placed them in the laundry bag. She reached for her underwear, and the movement was a reminder that Leighton’s handkerchief—and his cum—still remained.
Oh God. I slept with Leighton.
She walked over to the vanity and looked in the mirror, studied her reflection. She looked the same as she had this morning, didn’t see anything that would explain why she’d let her boss, sometimes nemesis, and occasional friend fuck her against his office door like she was a cheap whore. Or why she’d enjoyed it. Layla turned away from her reflection and pulled off her panties, refusing to acknowledge the little trill in her belly when she felt Leighton’s cum trickle out of her.
Her shoulders sagged. Her strength fled, and she could barely stand long enough to shower. A few short minutes later, she crawled into bed, sleep taking her almost instantly.
••••
Leighton paced in his office, careful to avoid looking at still-closed door. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t like he could think of anything else. He didn’t know what had come over him.
He’d fucked Layla. Seen her standing there, fire in her eyes and fierce anger on her face, and he’d kissed her. Kissed her and then rutted like an animal, her silence and the oh so snug grip of her walls pushing him into a frenzy he’d never experienced. It was too late to make difference, but he hoped her hadn’t hurt her. He stopped short, and his stomach dropped.
She’d been tight, tighter than anyone else he’d fucked.
Oh God.
She’d been a virgin. And he hadn’t used a condom.
He let the realization sink in. Tried to regret it and failed. He wished he could have made it nicer, been more tender, but he wasn’t sorry. It actually felt...good. Right.
She was Layla, his best employee, and if he was being honest, the only person he trusted implicitly.
Had trusted implicitly.
The memory flooded through him in wave, heating his skin and making his heart race. She was going to leave him. Cared so little about the business, about him, that she was moving on to another job like it was nothing.
“Damn it,” he yelled and slammed the decanter he’d been holding against the door, his earlier concerns about Layla shattering like the glass.
He knew better than to trust anyone, but he’d let her get under skin, seep inside him a little bit day by day, until her presence became a comfort, a necessity, he couldn’t imagine being without. And now he was stuck. He dropped down on the love seat in his office, the stress of the day finally getting to him.
Then it hit him.
He’d been foolish, weak, but no more. He’d fuck her, try to get her out of his system. But he wouldn’t, couldn’t, let her go.
Book Two
Chapter One
Layla snuggled into the covers, clinging to the last vestiges of sleep. She knew it was a futile task, but she was going to try anyway. Just a few more minutes. Then she’d face whatever challenge Leighton had in store.
Leighton!
She bolted upright, memories of last night flooding her all at once. She leaned back slowly, resting against her pillows, wanting to hide underneath them and never come back out. She lay there for long moments, contemplating her circumstance. As best as she could tell, she had two choices. First, she could move, change her identity, and hope the relentless man she wanted to avoid wouldn’t hunt her down. Second, she could pray he’d been in a fugue state last night and had no recollection of what had occurred. Both options lived somewhere in Slim-to-Noneville, so she was on her own. She didn’t know if she could face him after last night, but she was sure it was better to get it over with.
Decision made, Layla climbed out of bed and began her morning routine. She had pulled out her standard attire of a pantsuit and shirt, and stalled for a moment when she saw the skirt in her laundry. She’d never even worn the damn the thing before, only had it because some magazine article said a lady always needed a skirt. Though, she supposed, if skirts led to hot sex, she’d been missing out. The thought made her laugh and gave her the extra push to get going. By the time she’d had her coffee and was heading out the door, she almost believed everything would be okay.
••••
“Get me Smythe on the line,” Leighton said to his secretary Dawn through the intercom.
A few moments later, she responded, “Yes, sir, I have Mr. Smythe on the line.”
“That will be all, Dawn,” he said and put the phone on hold.
Let the bastard wait.
Leighton hadn’t slept much the night before, thoughts of Layla and Smythe plaguing him. He knew two things to be true: Layla had betrayed him, and he was going to keep fucking her. He recognized the incongruity of those two facts, hadn’t yet figured out how to balance them, but the thought of never feeling her wet heat gripping him was more unpleasant than the thought of keeping a viper in his midst. He still couldn’t quite grasp it. That he’d underestimated so much about Layla, how good it would feel to touch her, her capacity for deceit, shook him. He leaned back in his chair and picked up the phone. He couldn’t figure Layla out, but Smythe was easy.
“You’re losing your edge, Smythe,” he said without preamble. “You knew I wouldn’t let your little stunt slide, yet you tried it anyway.”
“I lost my edge a decade ago. It’s just taken this long for everyone else to realize it. And what stunt, Mr. Means? I simply offered a talented young person an opportunity.”
Leighton sneered at the phone and waited a moment before speaking to make sure there was no hint of emotion in his voice. “I don’t have time for your games. Call Layla and rescind the offer.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I told you to. And if you do, I’ll give you a reprieve.”
Leighton knew it was a bribe, hated the idea of giving Smythe anything at all, but it was the most expedient path to keep Layla close while he figured things out.
“Don’t push it, Smythe. I’ll back off, give you some time to scramble, and you’ll withdraw the offer.”
“Okay, but I don’t think Ms. Grayson will be pleased.”
Leighton couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Don’t speak of her, and do it soon.”
He hung up just as Layla walked in.
••••
“Who’s the object of your scorn this morning, Leighton?”
She’d decided to go for humor, but he didn’t seem amused.
“I told you to call me last night.”
Oo-kay.
“I didn’t call because I didn’t want to talk to you.”
He looked at her sharply, ice filling his eyes.
“I wanted to make sure you were all right. And protected.”
She felt the heat of embarrassment creep up her neck and covered it with abrasiveness. “Don’t worry, Leighton, you won’t have any little brown Means baby coming to shame the family name.”
She regretted the words as soon as they were out.
“That was low, and you know it.”
She looked him directly in the eyes. “I do. I’m sorry.”
She walked across the office and settled in the seat in front of his desk.
“Fine. Let’s drop it,” he said.
“But shouldn’t we—”
“Drop it, Layla. We have a lot to do today, and I don’t want you distracted. I’m leaving town until Saturday, but I’ll come over when I get back, and then we can talk.”
“I took another job. I’m leaving.”
That seemed to get to him.
“Then way are you here?” he said, voice low and dangerous.
She didn’t have an answer.
••••
Later that afternoon, safely ensconced in her office, Layla thought back on the day. After the initial discomfort, she and Leighton had fallen into their old rhythm, her the dutiful employee, he the boss. By mutual, and silent, agreement, she and Leighton hadn’t discussed the previous night. But Layla knew what lay underneath his suit now, had felt Leighton inside her, seen the heat of attraction in his eyes, directed at her no less, and despite the circumstances, she couldn’t deny the power of the encounter. Something that both terrified and pleased her. She knew how easy—and harmful—it would be to just pick back up where they’d left off, but she couldn’t deny how happy she was to know they still had some of their old bond. No matter how twisted it actually was.
Layla stood and stretched, trying to clear thoughts of Leighton, suppress memories of the feel of his hard body pressed against her much-softer one. Her core clenched, and she tried to ignore the low hum of arousal that was spreading through her. Clearly she was getting nowhere, and she needed a distraction.
Layla grabbed her bag and retreated to the one person she knew would make her feel better.
Chapter Two
“It’s about damn time,” said Marla Hampton.
Layla gave her friend what she knew was a quizzical look. “You aren’t exactly a member of the Leighton Means Fan Club,” Layla said.
“But you are,” Marla tossed back, “and if smutty office sex is what it takes to get him out of your system, I’m all for it. And besides, you’re too young to spend all your time working or sitting at home, and, as execrable as he is, Leighton Meanie is nothing if not hot.”
Layla snapped her mouth shut and could feel the heat rushing over her face. “Marla...” she stammered.
“Don’t ‘Marla’ me. I’m just telling the truth. You spend night and day with that man, catering to his every whim, while denying your own. You have so much potential, so much to offer the world, and you used to dream, talk about all the things you’d do if you had a chance. And you know what happened?”
“No doubt you’ll tell me, “ Layla said with a snort, which earned her a sharp look of reprimand.
Marla’s brown eyes softened and took on a wistful look.
“I love you, Layla,” she said. “I love you like you’re my own, promised to look after you, and we both know if Francis was here, she’d tell you the same thing.”
Layla’s heart dropped a bit at the mention of her mother. It’d been a couple of years, but the hurt was still fresh. She could see the same was true for Marla as well, her brown eyes slightly watering and a flush creeping up her cheeks. Marla and her mother Francis has been friends long before Layla had been born. No easy feat for a black woman and a white woman in Texas back then, but they’d stuck together through everything: marriages, divorces, kids, work. And after, Marla had refused to let Layla go, had stepped right in, not ever attempting to replace her mother, but always providing shoulder she could cry on, someone she could turn to. Marla, her daughter Lisa, or Squeak as she was most often called, and Marla’s three sons were the closest thing to family Layla had.
And Marla was a damned good baker too, which was why Layla was currently leaning against the cash register at her shop scarfing down a chocolate croissant while Marla extolled the virtues of “smutty office sex”—she’d need to bleach her brain to erase the imagine of the sixty-five-year-old grandmother saying those words—and attacked her choice of employment.
“I’m not attacking you, sweetie” Marla said.
“I didn’t say that!”
“Layla Grayson, I’ve known you longer than you’ve known yourself. I think I can tell when you’re feeling attacked. Don’t, baby. I want you to have everything you want and deserve, so don’t be embarrassed about taking a little pleasure where you can find it.”
“Oh, God, Marla, he’s my boss. Well, sorta ex-boss, maybe.”
“What?” Marla raised a brow. “What is this about ex?”
Layla sighed heavily and discarded the remains of her croissant.
“Well, right before our...tryst, I kinda told Leighton I was taking another job.”
“Ooh! The plot thickens. These old bones need to sit for this,” Marla said, glee animating her entire body.
“So dramatic!” Layla rolled her eyes. “Anyway, one of Leighton’s competitors offered me a job running his micro-finance fund.”
“That’s amazing! You’ve been talking about doing more community-focused work for years. Oh, but let me guess, Meanie doesn’t like the idea.”
“Don’t call him that. And no, he was displeased.”
“He’s a bigger bastard than I thought.” Marla shot up from her seat.
“What are you talking about?”
“That fucker—excuse my language—took advantage of your feelings to keep you from leaving. Oh, what an asshole. You should sue his pants off.”
“No one’s suing anyone, Marla. And what feelings? I don’t have feelings for Leighton.” Layla said the words with a confidence she didn’t feel, and Marla’s skeptical expression made it clear she wasn’t buying it either.
“Of course you don’t, dear. You just give yourself to any old swinging Richard that happens by, right?”
“Well, no, but there were extenuating circumstances. Things were tense and just got out of hand.”
“Layla, you don’t believe that, and I know that putz doesn’t either. You know what I think? I think, on some level, that”— Marla paused at Layla’s sharp look— “nice young man believes if he gives you a few crumbs, it’ll be enough to keep you right where you are, right under his thumb.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. I’m really good at my job, but so are lots of people. Leighton doesn’t need me, certainly not enough to go to those lengths.”
“You see what you want, sweetie, but from over here, he’s got a nice setup. A dedicated, loyal employee who feels indebted to him and ain’t too hard on the eyes either. What’s not to like?”
She tried to smile, but it fell flat. “You just love me. It’s clouding your opinion. As far as looks go, I’m so far out of his league, I doubt he even sees me.”
“Which is why he had sex with you yesterday.”
Ma
rla raised her hands in surrender at Layla’s exaggerated sigh.
“And I am indebted. For what he’s done for me, for what he did for Ma. I can never repay him.”
“I’m certain he wants you to feel that way. Look, honey, you’re an adult, you make your own decisions, but be careful, okay? If you want to continue this thing with Leighton, then fine, you deserve to have some fun. But don’t let him make you lose sight of everything else. I know you don’t believe me, but he didn’t make you, and you don’t owe him anything, least of all your love.”
And with that, Marla left to serve the customers who’d just walked in.
Chapter Three
Marla’s words still weighed heavy on Layla’s mind that Saturday as she ran errands, and she had to acknowledge that Marla had hit closer to home than she was comfortable with. Though she hadn’t seen Leighton for the remainder of the week, her mind was a jumble of conflicting thoughts and emotions. But out of that morass, she’d determined that she wanted Leighton, and that she couldn’t work for him anymore. Two indisputable facts that were totally incompatible, each a different but no less certain path to her doom. She could sleep with him, knowing the price was the death of dream and eventually the loss of her heart. She could quit and destroy one of the most important relationships in her life. And leave an angry Leighton hell-bent on punishing her, unwilling to stop, she knew, until she had nothing.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Ma, I wish you were here.
She tried to pull herself together. She’d faced challenges before. She could do this.
She turned onto her street and almost turned right back around when she saw the $200,000 sports car parked in her driveway—in her spot no less. The car was beautiful, as was the man behind the wheel, though the pissed-off glare he shot her when their gazes met through the window gave him an edge of danger.