by Lydia Rowan
“I love you, Layla, but you’re a moron,” Squeak put in. “Why do you think he reacted so strongly? You’re beautiful—don’t roll your eyes at me, you are—and an amazing asset. Of course he wants you around, and if fringe benefits are involved, more’s the better.”
Layla’s shoulders sagged, doubt creeping in. “But you guys didn’t see him, how different he was...”
“I believe you, Layla,” Katrina said. “You have powerful feelings for the man. And I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to say he obviously has them for you as well. I don’t know much about the guy, but have you considered that he just might not know how to express them? Imagine it from his perspective: He has gobs of money and influence, but he works in a ultracompetitive field, and he’s always got to stay on his toes. On the other side, he’s not lacking female attention, but he has to stay on his toes there as well because who knows what motives Sally the Socialite has? Enter Layla, sharp, attractive, trustworthy, and eventually someone he relies on for years. Then, boom, out of nowhere, at least as far as he can tell, she decides to leave, and he’s left with approximately no one. It’s not my life, and I’m freaking out, so I can see why he got desperate, and I can imagine that he doesn’t quite have the life experience that would allow him to express these emotions in a reasonable fashion, so he used his personality and the attraction between you to speak for him.”
Layla nodded at Katrina’s sensible words.
“I don’t deal with the guy day to day, so I can’t speak to that, but good, bad, and ugly, you love him, and not at least exploring that wouldn’t be fair to yourself,” Katrina said.
“But how does she explore it?” Squeak asked. “If that means she’s stuck catering him by day and sleeping with him at night, that’s not right. Layla deserves more, and if he can’t give it, she needs to move on. And what about that other offer, Layla? You wanted open a micro-fund forever. You’re not going to give that up for Leighton, are you?”
“I don’t know, Squeak,” Layla said, frustration building. “All of you are at least partially right. But I can’t expect Leighton to be clear about what he wants and expects if I’m not.”
“And do you know what you want?” Katrina asked.
“I want to try. No business, no other job, just Leighton and Layla, see if this is going anywhere.”
“And if that’s contingent on you staying with Means?” M.A. asked.
“I won’t be controlled, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. I’ll just have to talk to him.”
“And if we need to bust out all the windows on however many cars he has, you know where to find us,” Squeak said.
Layla laughed and said, “I don’t think we’ll need to commit any felonies, but thanks for the offer.”
They finished dinner, and after well wishes and agreements to get together again soon, Layla drove off, thoughts of Leighton still on her mind.
Chapter Eight
The next day, Layla was still uncertain, but dinner with the girls had clarified some things. She loved Leighton, probably had for a long time, and it felt good admit it. But, love notwithstanding, she still had goals and dreams and she needed to figure out whether she could achieve them with Leighton. She’d briefly considered calling Anson to talk about his offer but decided against it. It felt wrong to talk with him before she’d settled things with Leighton, and, as ridiculous as it was, somewhat disloyal. It was settled. She’d talk to Leighton, really talk to him, and go from there.
••••
After dressing, Leighton went down to his office. He’d missed Layla last night, missed her now, but he was unsure what do to about it. And then, as if conjured from his imagination, she there. She wore her typical attire, but today her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, exposing her cheekbones and the soft, smooth skin of her neck. Then she smiled, and his heart lifted. It took every ounce of his self-control to resist rushing to her and wrapping her in his embrace.
“Good morning, Layla. What’s on the schedule today?”
She settled in her favorite chair and dove in to the day’s issues, and he sat down, let himself fall into business. They talked for about a half hour before Layla said, “Okay, I think that’s it for now.” She stood and turned to head out of the door before she stopped and looked back at him.
“May I come back before I head home? I’d like to discuss a more personal matter.”
“I’ll be here.”
She nodded and left. He tried to keep himself distracted throughout the day, but he kept thinking back to Layla. For a split second he worried that she wanted to call things off, but he didn’t think so. She’d seemed happy, and he doubted, hoped, she wasn’t cruel enough to string out a rejection.
He’d find out soon enough.
That evening, she settled into her favorite chair in his office, much like she had earlier. Layla squirmed and fidgeted, something he was unaccustomed to from her.
“I need to get this out. I don’t want you to do or say anything until I’m done. I know I don’t have to worry about you trying to placate me or soothe my feelings, but just for the record, please don’t feel obligated to say anything.”
Leighton’s curiosity, which was already peaked, was now on full alert.
She took a deep breath before saying, “I have, uh, feelings for you, and I’d like to see if there’s anything here.”
Deep satisfaction spread through him. He’d suspected as much, didn’t think Layla would have allowed him into her bed otherwise, but to hear her confirm it out loud again was nice.
She continued, “I know we’ve talked about it a little, but we haven’t discussed this in detail, and I don’t think we’ll get anywhere until we do. So here’s what I’m proposing. I’ll stay with the company for the time being”— she cut a sharp look at what he knew was a self-satisfied smile— “with understanding that I’m still considering Smythe’s offer and may consider others with no interference from you, subtle or otherwise.”
He didn’t have to worry about Smythe, but it was still a tough pill to swallow. He didn’t like the idea of Layla working for anyone else, but from the firm set of her lips and shoulders, he knew this was a deal breaker.
He nodded his assent, and she went on. “Okay. And like we said, we keep personal stuff away from work. Oh, and you’ll be nice to me and do whatever I say.”
He laughed, and she joined him, the melodic tone something he could get used to.
“Figured that would too much of an ask, but it was worth a shot.”
“You’re a brilliant negotiator. I’d expect no less.” He sobered. “I don’t know what I feel, Layla. I hate the idea of you working for someone else, and I love making love to you, spending time with you. I want to do more of both.”
“And other people...” She trailed off.
He sat up straight and barked out, ice, and possessiveness, in his tone, “What about them?”
“We both agree not to be involved with anyone else while we’re involved with each other. This can’t continue otherwise. I know I don’t have the right to demand fidelity, but this won’t work without it. I don’t share.”
He relaxed a little at her words. He didn’t share either. In truth, he hadn’t be with anyone for almost a year, and one taste of Layla had ruined him for other women. And Layla would be with another man over his dead body. He’d keep her so satisfied she wouldn’t have the time or energy to even consider it.
“Agreed. For as long as we’re...doing whatever we’re doing, we’re exclusive.”
She brightened.
“And If you come upstairs and spend the night with me, I’ll be very nice to you,” he said, the invitation, the promise, clear.
Her smile dampened a bit, and she shook her head.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t want anyone to see my car still here in the morning.”
He couldn’t help but question her. “Why? It’s not like you haven’t worked all night before.”
“I know. I’
m just not comfortable with it. But,” the hesitance in her eyes faded and was replaced with a mischievous gleam, “this might tide you over.”
She stood and removed her jacket, and Leighton leaned back in his chair, his cock stirring as he tried to imagine what she had in store.
••••
Layla was relieved. Their conversation has cleared the air, and now she wanted to play. She walked around his desk, trailing her fingers across the edge.
“Have I ever told you how much I love your desk?” she asked as she stopped in front if him and leaned against it.
His eyes had turned the stormy gray that signaled his arousal and that was quickly becoming her favorite color, and she could see the confusion in their depths.
“Uhh, no, you hadn’t mentioned it,” he said as she leaned forward and placed her hands on his chest.
“Well, I do,” she said, running her hands down his chest before resting them on his belt. “It’s so sturdy, powerful.”
“Is it now?”
“Um-hmm,” she said, as she slid down to rest on her knees between his thighs. “It makes me imagine the man who sits behind it, being on my knees before him ready to serve.”
She traced the ridge of his cock through his pants as she looked up at him, his gray gaze so hot it almost felt like a physical touch. His scorching look ignited an explosion in her belly, propelled her to action. She rubbed the smooth, supple leather of his belt with the tips of her fingers, letting the heel of her hand rest against his crotch. Leighton squirmed in his chair, tilted his hips to increase the contact.
“And how would you serve him?” he asked, the strain in his voice as arousing as his heated gaze.
“First, I’d open my shirt.” She leaned back and slowly unbuttoned her shirt.
“You wouldn’t take it off?”
She shook her head. “I know he likes the way the I look with my shirt open, bra exposed so he can make out the points of my nipples through the fabric, see the way my breasts spill out of the cups, barely contained.”
She could see Leighton’s cock twitch as she said the words.
“Then?” he asked, strain still evident in his voice and in the way he gripped the arms of his chair. The action made Layla appreciate how difficult this was for Leighton. He usually took control, was the one who had her on the edge, and she enjoyed the prospect of returning even a small taste of the pleasure he gave.
“Why, then I’d lean forward, kiss his cock through the fabric of his pants, revel in the heat and hardness of him, the faint scent that could be cologne but that I know is just him.”
She did just that when she finished speaking, loving the feel of the hard ridge of his erection beneath her lips, inhaling deeply to get more of his intoxicating scent.
She leaned back a fraction, her actions now mimicking her words. “Then I’d open his pants and lower his zipper. Slowly, carefully, because the anticipation makes me so wet, so desperate, and I want to draw it out. And the man who sits behind this desk expects the best, so rushing just won’t do.”
Leighton moaned as she completed her task, the bulge of his cock now lovingly framed by his pants, the barest hint of his cockhead visible through his underwear.
“I’d slide his pants down and then guide his boxer briefs over his cock, relieved, and humbled, when it is finally free.”
And she was. She’d seen him before, had him in her mouth, but he still took her breath away. The sight of his cock, thick and heavily veined and at the moment flushed deep red, never failed to amaze her. She went still for a moment, and silence reigned briefly before she reached up and encircled him with her fingers, the rough brush of the tuft of hair at his base against her hand sending pinpricks of desire directly to her core.
She continued, “Then I’d stroke him, take in the contrast of the velvet-soft skin over the steel of his erection.”
She did, and he moaned, the sound low in his throat and a clear indication of his deteriorating restraint. She decided to give him a reprieve when a single drop of precum, followed by another, then another, leaked out of the mushroomed tip of his cock.
“And then I lick precum from his tip, shivering when the salty flavor hits my taste buds, run my tongue over his slit and spread the moisture around his cockhead until it glistened. Once I had him wet and almost panting, I’d take him into my mouth, my throat, as deep as I could.”
And she did.
Layla raised slightly and lowered her mouth over Leighton’s cock, working her tongue up and down as she went. She paused for a moment when tip of Leighton’s cock hit the tender flesh at the back of her throat, but then went on, sealing her lips around his cock and latching her hands around the base. Layla put everything she had into this, tried to show the depth of her feelings through the pleasure she gave.
Leighton twisted in his chair, reached down and grabbed her tits, cupping them with her palms and pinching and twisting her nipples. She knew what he wanted, so without slowing, she reached down and grabbed one of his hands, settled it on the back of her head. Leighton followed suit with the other and rested them there, seemingly seeking permission.
“Ah, Layla, are you...ah, sure?”
She hummed her response and relaxed her muscles, and Leighton took the lead. He laced his fingers through her hair and pushed her head down, releasing a low almost growl as the head of his cock slid down her throat. They stayed that way for an instant, or an eternity, she wasn’t really sure, but then he let out an actual growl and said, “Oh, Layla, can’t...I’m com—”
His words were reduced to a series of grunts, and cum flooded out of him and down her throat. Layla tried to swallow, which earned her another groan and full-body shudder from Leighton. He released her and pulled out of her mouth, strings of his cum and her saliva coating his cock and her lips. Leighton leaned back, deep, full breaths shaking his big body.
Layla had never been more proud.
••••
Layla pulled into her driveway and wasn’t surprised at the sight that greeted her. Leighton leaned against his car, looking like he’d stepped off the cover of a magazine. She idly wondered how he’d beaten her there, but her thoughts scattered as he walked over to her car.
“I missed you,” he said as she got out.
She chuckled. “It’s been less than an hour since you saw me.”
“Still missed you.”
The walked up the driveway and stopped at her front door.
“May I sleep over tonight?” Leighton asked.
“Here?” Layla said.
“Yes,” he responded.
She looked him up and down and then smiled. “Sure.”
Chapter Nine
One month later
“Pretty please? I’ll make it worth your while.”
He made an exaggerated face and narrowed his eyes into a come-hither look, more than hinting at what he had in mind if she stayed over.
“Nope. Rules is rules, but I’m not totally inflexible. I will allow you a chaste hug and kiss.”
“So generous.” She quirked a brow and then he said, “Deal. I taught you so well. The student has become the master.”
“Ha. Doubtful. You just find me irresistible,” she said.
“Oh yes I do,” he said, his tone low and sensual as he stalked toward her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “I want you with me every night.”
“You see me most nights,” she said as he leaned down and peppered kisses along her jawline, eliciting moan and making her pussy ache for him as his touch always did, testing her resolve to keep their relationship out of the office.
“Most isn’t every,” he said as he pulled back, “but I’ll take what I can get.”
He cradled her in his arms for several long moments, his tenderness shining through the sexual heat. These embraces, when he held her like she was precious, like he didn’t want to let her go, had become more frequent over the last couple of weeks. They’d settled into a routine of sorts, spend
ing several evenings a week at her house and even visiting his estate on occasion. They made love, amazing love that only seemed to get better as they learned each other. But they did other things as well, ate breakfast on Sunday morning, him reading an actual physical newspaper, while she teased him for being a Luddite, watched teen dramas on television, though he insisted they were background noise that helped him concentrate on his push-ups. And they talked, talked about most everything. He was reluctant to discuss his family, especially his father, quick to distract her when the subject came up, but he was still open and free. And true to his word, he respected her boundaries at work, well, except the for occasional late-night kiss, and treated her the same as always. Which meant she was overworked, a little frazzled, and sometimes mad enough at him to spit fire. But he always made it up to her in the most creative of ways.
She’d loved him before, but now, she was a complete goner. Every moment spent with Leighton, good and bad, only revealed more of the man, made him a real, and made him a part of her, so much so that she didn’t even try to fight it. She just accepted it and hoped. For what she wasn’t quite sure. He’d never discussed what feelings, if any, he had for her, and she didn’t press. She knew there was no happily ever after in their future, yet she couldn’t deny she wanted more. But, pride be damned, she’d take whatever Leighton offered, for as long as he offered it, and she refused to feel guilty about it.
She pulled back from his embrace. “Good night, Mr. Means,” she said with a smile and turned and left his office.
She was headed directly to her car, but remembered a file she’d left on her desk, so she doubled back to her office and checked her watch when she heard the phone ringing.
Curious, she answered, “This is Layla.”
“Oh, hello, Ms. Grayson, I thought I’d get your voice mail,” Anson Smythe said.
“Hello, Anson. I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for the real me. What can I do for you?”
She remembered his offer, even thought about it occasionally, but she’d been so enraptured in Leighton, she hadn’t followed up.
“You recall our previous conversation don’t you, dear?”