by Lydia Rowan
“The moment I read those words, I dedicated myself to making it right, swore I grow the business to a size he wouldn’t have even fathomed. And I swore my name—his name—would be a force, and I’d use that force to destroy all those mealy-mouthed idiots who’d pushed him to that point. Especially Smythe. So I did. Funny thing is, along the way, I became what I was fighting against. I stepped on people, destroyed businesses, probably families, all in pursuit of vengeance, a hollow, petty vengeance that’s going to cost me the love of my life.”
“You did some good along the way, Leighton.”
“No, Layla, I didn’t. I just happened to stay out of the way long enough for you to do some good.”
He turned then, wrapped his arms around her waist.
“No matter what happens, I want to thank you. You’ve given me far more than I’ll ever deserve, and you’re the best friend I’ll ever have. And I hope that one day you can forgive me.”
••••
Layla was floored. She knew the basic outline of the story, could have guessed at some of the details if she’d given it more thought, but she hadn’t fathomed the guilt he carried. This new knowledge didn’t change everything that had passed between, but it gave her more insight, helped her understand what drove Leighton, why he did the things he did. Add to that the fact that his arms around her felt so right, and Layla could feel her resolve weakening.
She looked at his lips, firm, the bottom just a touch larger than the top, and imagined the pleasure those lips had brought her. She looked down further to the patch of taut, golden skin not covered by the sweater, over his pecs, trim stomach, lower to his belt. She felt the strength of his forearms as they rested on her waist and couldn’t resist the urge to be fully enclosed in his embrace. She stepped closer, pressed her chest and stomach against his, slightly breathless at the contact between hard and soft. He leaned in, their breaths synchronized, and held her.
“I’m still angry with you,” she said.
“I know,” he responded as she pressed herself against him harder and begin tracing circles on his back with her fingers.
Then he pulled back and looked down at her.
“I didn’t come here for this, Layla.”
“What are you here for?”
“You. I want you, all of you.”
“This is all I can offer now.”
He tightened his arms, and for a movement looked ready to argue, but instead, he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips before he pulled back and stared deep into her eyes, his intensity almost a tangible thing.
“We’ll do this your way. But I’m not giving up.”
He held her gaze until she gave a quick nod of assent. Then he dropped his arms to his sides and stood unmoving, waiting for her. A jumbled mass of nervousness, excitement, fear, and relief settled in her stomach. She wouldn’t deny that she’d missed being with Leighton and probably would have taken him into her bed no matter what he’d said tonight, but to have him this way, open and raw and still allowing her to take the lead, which she knew was foreign to him in every aspect of his life, was humbling.
It also sealed the deal.
She stepped toward him, grabbed his hands in her own, and brought them up to her mouth, placing a gentle kiss on each. Then she turned and led him up the stairs.
Chapter Four
Leighton’s heart pounded in time with the throbbing of his cock. He really hadn’t intended for anything to happen between them; his only hope had been that she’d think about what he’d said and maybe consider talking about getting things on track. Of course he’d wanted her, but his physical needs were far less important than beginning to break the thaw between them. He didn’t know what would ultimately happen, but he’d seen coming clean as a first step. Now, as Layla led him through the doorway into her room, uncertainty washed over him. He stopped, and the still-moving Layla gently jerked back into his arms.
“Oh!”
He caught her in an embrace and then placed his hands on her shoulders, catching her gaze with his, seeking, searching.
“Layla, are you sure about this?”
He saw a flash of something in her gaze before she looked away abruptly.
“Uh, I’m sorry. I just assumed...I mean we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
He slid a hand down her bare arm, his palm tingling at the contact, and briefly laced his fingers through hers, stroking the back of her hand and pressing their palms together. Then he untangled their fingers and pressed her palm against his cock, letting her feel the hardness there, soul-deep satisfied at the low moan she released. He slid her hand up his abdomen and settled it over his thudding heart.
“I always want you. But I don’t want you to regret this. And I don’t want you to do this out of pity.”
She leaned down and placed another kiss on his hand.
“I won’t. On either count.”
She then lifted a hand and ran her fingers through his hair, and a shudder raced through him. She continued her exploration, running her hands over his shoulders and across his chest before she pulled his sweater from his pants and up and over his head. She stepped closer and feathered kisses across his chest, playfully swiping his nipples and placing love bites here and there. He groaned when she settled a hand over his cock and squeezed him through the fabric, alternately pumping and stroking him. He managed—barely—to keep himself from going caveman, turning her around, and fucking her hard and fast until they both came. It was tough, but he was going to go at her speed, and right now she seemed to be enjoying herself. She traced the ridge of his cock, clearly defined through his pants, and made quick work of his belt. Then she slipped her hand inside is underwear. He almost came.
Turnabout was fair play, so he decided to distract himself. He played with the edge of her sinful dress-gown thing, tracing her delectable behind through the soft-as-it-looked fabric.
No underwear.
His knees almost buckled at the discovery. He slid the fabric up, exposing her and earning a shiver, from the cold air or his touch he wasn’t quite sure. It didn’t matter, though. He’d warm her up, make sure that his caresses were the only thing she could think about. He reached around with his other hand and cupped the mounds of her ass, their feel and weight so familiar but so exciting. Then he delved down between her thighs and felt the wetness there.
“Umm,” he said. “Always so wet for me, Layla.”
“Like you’re always so hard for me. A perfect combination.”
He expressed his agreement by sucking her earlobe into his mouth as he slicked his fingers through her wetness, spreading it over her tender flesh, his efforts earning him two sighs in rapid succession. He moved his fingers up farther and enclosed her clit between his finger and thumb, circling the nub as he applied gentle pressure with his thumb. Layla released more sighs, and her breathing increased, the sound and motion taking his heightened arousal to levels he hadn’t even imagined. Then he slipped one, two, fingers inside her and curved them, pumping in and out. Layla soon took over the rhythm, bracing her hands on his shoulders and rocking her hips wildly. He watched her, enraptured by the arch of her back, the way her breasts bounced, and by the pure, unabashed pleasure on her face.
He wanted to freeze this moment, hold it forever.
She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Her cunt tightened around his fingers, and he felt her stiffen, heard her release a long, low moan. He withdrew and touched his fingers to her lips, coating them with her own essence. The sight of her, eyes passion-soft, lips glistening with her juices was one of the most erotic, arousing things he’d ever seen, but the tentative swipe of her tongue across her lips was his undoing.
He captured her mouth in a deep kiss, the taste of her, sweet and musky, an explosion on his tongue. He wasn’t the only one affected, and soon Layla was taking her fill, tracing every inch of his mouth with her tongue.
After a moment, she broke the kiss and pulled her dress over her
head and tossing it away. She stood still and silent and gloriously naked, and the love he felt hit him anew.
He reached up and tweaked her nipples, and then cupped both of her full breasts. She filled his hands to overflowing, and he groaned at the weight in his palms. Layla released a soft, breathy mewl and reached up to stroke his shoulders and then let her hands drift lower and lower, down his back until she reached his pants. She pulled down his pants and underwear, and his cock sprang free, hard and glistening from the precum that flowed from his tip. She stroked him once, twice, a third time, before she stepped back.
She lifted crooked a finger at him, a devious smile on her face, and he approached, eager to be rejoined with her after so much time.
When he reached her, she stroked his face, ran her fingers through his hair as she leaned up and whispered, “Lie back. I want to ride you.”
He obliged, and Layla straddled him, settling over his cock, the warm, wet contact making him flinch. She adjusted until his cock was nestled between her folds and began gently rocking her hips as she stroked his chest. The smooth, slick glide, punctuated by little pinpricks of friction from her hair, was an incredible sensation, and he hardened further still. He knew he wasn’t alone, for he could feel the moisture seeping from her, feel the contraction of her womb, strong enough to transmit the vibration to his cock. He fisted his hands in the sheets and moaned. He couldn’t take much more of this.
Thankfully, Layla reached down between their bodies, lifted her hips, and took his cock firmly in her grasp. She rubbed him across her opening, the moisture still freely flowing from her gathering at his tip. Then she began to lower herself, slowly, oh so slowly, seemingly a millimeter at a time. They both moaned at the contact, the feel of her walls sucking him in reminiscent of a homecoming.
When he was finally in, as deep as he could be, the line separating when he ended and she begin almost completely gone, she held still, and he welcomed the moment to take it all in: the feel of her, warm and snug, almost as if she had been made for him, the faint flutter of her womb, the weight of her thighs and ass on him, the spiral of heat radiating from the point where they were connected and flowing through his entire body. This was where he was meant to be.
Then she moved.
All thought fled. Leighton gave himself over to the sensations, focused on the shards of pleasure shooting through him, the sounds of flesh against flesh and the low, steady moan that he barely realized was coming from him. He was overcome, couldn’t help but grab her hips and hold her still as he began thrusting hard and fast into her with a frenzy that only scarcely matched the storm inside him.
“I-I can’t hold out much longer,” he managed to say, and she anchored her hands to his chest, now slick with sweat, as was hers, and let out a keening moan, the tight grip of her pussy and the fresh rush of fluid from her clear signs that she’d reached completion.
He let go, and pleasure flashed through him like a bolt of lightning. Cum burst from him in scalding wave after wave, and he thrust again, drawing another moan from Layla. He sat up, happy that he managed to stay insider her, and pressed their chests together, wrapping his arms around her. Then he pulled back and looked into her eyes before capturing her lips in a searing kiss, their mouths mating as their tongues had. The kiss gradually calmed, and she leaned away from him, the movement causing him to slip out of her, along with a pool of their combined juices. He groaned at the sensation, and Layla let out an adorable little giggle.
She lay back, and he followed, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the fine sheen of sweat that covered her, but he didn’t look into her eyes, afraid of what he might find there. His choice was taken away when she rolled over on her side to face him. Her eyes were luminous, the rich, deep brown almost shimmering, and the satisfaction, and maybe even joy, in them apparent.
He smiled at her then, gathered her in his arms, and drifted off to sleep, feeling free, for the first long in a long time, not to try and crush the hope once again daring to grow in his heart.
Chapter Five
In the week since she’d seen Leighton, Layla had been unable to escape thoughts of him. She was still angry, resented him, not just for his lie—rather, omission as he’d say—but for the years before. She’d never quite realized, or had been unwilling to realize, how deeply she’d invested in him—and how much she’d used him.
But for all of her resentments, and fear, their last meeting had proven what she suspected had been true for a very long time: she truly, deeply, irrevocably, loved him.
It was a complicated tangle of unpleasant emotions, but the love she’d finally accepted hadn’t wavered. She had doubts about whether and how they would manage the daily challenges of a relationship, was still uncertain about what she was going to do with the rest of her life, but never, not once, had she doubted her love. And, despite his flaws, she knew he loved her, too.
Now, she just needed to swallow her pride and go to him.
She’d considered the best way to approach him for several days. It was silly, especially since he’d been so honest with her, but she wanted to do this right. A call seemed impersonal, an email slightly deranged, and a text way too short. But she was hesitant to go him, was inexplicably afraid, despite everything that had passed between them, of exposing herself, of letting him finally, fully in.
But there was no other choice. He’d made his move, and now it was her turn, which was why she found herself driving to the office at eight forty-five at night. She’d been on pins and needles all day and had almost talked herself out of it, but she’d stuck with the plan, only belatedly considering that he may not even be there. No matter. She’d come back tomorrow or the day after or the day after that, as many days as it took to say what needed to be said.
She pulled into the employee’s garage and entered her access code, somewhat surprised to find that it still worked. She parked in her usual spot, right next to Leighton’s, and punched in her elevator code and pushed the button to go straight to the top. Her stomach had been twisted knot of fear and excitement all day, but a calm was settling over her, and when the elevator dinged, she was ready.
She exited and noted that Dawn’s desk was empty and Leighton’s door was closed. She smiled and walked to it, paused a second, and then she entered. Leighton sat as his desk, tie off and shirt undone, his head bent and shoulders hunched. He heart tugged at the image, so familiar, but different, Leighton seemingly covered with a blanket of melancholy.
He looked up suddenly, and they silently took each other in. She noted the shadows in his normally bright eyes, could see the weariness in the set of his shoulders. But then he smiled, and the Leighton she’d known for years appeared.
“No knock?” he said teasingly.
“Eh, my code still worked, so I figured it was okay. And you should really change that on a regular basis.”
After the words left her lips, she realized how easily she’d slipped back into business mode.
It felt right.
He leaned back and crossed his arms.
“Another of the thousand details that no one, including me, remembered to handle.”
“You haven’t hired a replacement?” she asked.
“Good help is hard to find. And some people are irreplaceable,” he said, the double meaning in his words landing directly in her heart.
Layla’s blood began to pump harder, warmth suffusing her body.
“Come sit, Layla.”
She realized then that she still stood in the doorway, a hand on the knob.
“Right. And sorry for dropping by without calling. I just...I needed to see you,” she said as she walked across the floor and settled in a chair, as she had so many times before.
“I’m here for you. Anytime.”
The words heartened her, but she heard the slight tentativeness and unease in his tone. She hated that she’d put it there.
“I came to see Leighton Means. You look like him, but I don’t know that he’d say something
like that.”
She tried for a joke to relieve some of the nerves that had sprung up, but he was having none of it.
“I’m Leighton, well, I’m attempting to be a version of Leighton that’s worthy of you. How am I doing?”
Her pulse spiked at his words.
“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself, Leighton.”
“Whoever I am pushed you away.”
“That’s not true. Never, not even at your worst, did you ever push me away. I hate that you lied to me, but I don’t think you’ll do it again. It’s just not who you are.”
“It’s not. And I won’t.”
“I know. You are many, many things, Mr. Means, but not a liar. Do you remember when you first took over the company?”
He raised a confused brow at the sharp switch in subjects but nodded.
“I kinda hated you.”
He laughed. “I imagine you weren’t alone.”
“I wasn’t. But I admired you, too. How relentless you were; how you absolutely refused to fail and didn’t give a damn whether people hated you or not. And then you encouraged me to finish school and what you did for my mom...”
She twisted her hands in her lap, the emotion of her memories bringing tears to her eyes.
“I owe you everything, Leighton, and I won’t ever be able to repay you, no matter how hard I try. You made me who I am today. And I resent that and I hate myself for resenting it but I want to—need to—know that we’re equals.”
She was babbling now, her vision blurred by tears, and Leighton rounded the desk and lowered himself in front of her, wrapping her hands in his.
“You don’t owe me anything, Layla. You are, and were, a brilliant, enthusiastic, loyal, trustworthy woman. I’d have been a fool not to invest in you. And with your mother, well, that was just human.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and Leighton brushed it away with his thumb.
“And as for us being equal, that can never be.”