Layers of Her

by Prescott Lane

  I’m on my knees in front of her, like I should be—worshipping. Her blue eyes look down at me, her body trembling. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Campbell.”

  Her eyes close, her head shakes a little, and she covers her tits with her arms. Getting to my feet, I place my hands on her hips. “Look at me.” Her eyes slowly open. “Don’t hide from me. I want you. Just the way you are.”

  Uncovering herself, she reaches up and cups my cheeks in her hand. Her voice comes out in a whisper. “I need you to promise me something.”

  “Anything,” I say.

  “Promise me you won’t try to have sex with me,” she says.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Her head shakes, and she crosses her arms in front of her chest again and says, “You’re looking at me like you have no idea what to do with me.”

  “I know exactly what I want to do. That’s the problem.”

  She steps toward me, running her finger underneath my waistband. “Show me. I want to do everything else with you.”

  “But no sex?” I ask.

  “I don’t want to get pregnant,” she says. “I need to see my doctor first.”

  “There are condoms.”

  “It’s not good enough. That’s how you had Tate, right?”

  She’s got me there. Leaning in close to her, I let my lips linger over hers. “Okay, let’s work on the everything-else part then.”

  Stepping into the shower, I remind myself a dozen times that’s she’s pure and innocent and sweet, and that I can’t push her up against the wall and fuck her hard. Since my shower doesn’t have a seat in it, that makes oral sex more difficult. She could get on her knees, but the floor is so damn hard. She’ll be uncomfortable enough with my cock in her mouth, we don’t need to add sore knees to the mix. Where to start?

  She’s standing under the shower nozzle, her back to me. Wish I was that water, sliding down her back to the curve of her hips and ending my journey at her round little ass. Wish I could start there! Maybe I could, no risk of pregnancy! I shake that thought from my head. You don’t start a virgin off with the third input! Christ, I’m desperate.

  Stepping to her, I squat a little so my dick is pressing against the soft skin of her ass, holding her hips, pulling her harder into me. Her back arches, presenting herself, and I slide my hand forward, circling her. “Oh, God,” she moans.

  “Put your hands on the wall.” She does just what I want. Damn, she looks incredible standing there. Gently outlining her folds, I let my finger linger at her entrance, but don’t give it to her. She starts wiggling, aching for me to fill her up. “Still.”

  The palm of my other hand slides across her ass, smooth and wet. Then I smack her ass, forcing her forward, my finger sliding in. “Ahh!” she cries out, looking back at me. “You spanked me.”

  Rubbing the cheek to soothe the burn, I lean into her ear. “And you liked it.” Her forehead wrinkles up, confused. I slip my finger in and out slowly. “You’re pulsing, dripping wet.”

  This time I keep my finger on the outside, circling her, kissing her neck, and rubbing her ass. It’s more fun if she doesn’t know when it’s coming. “Touch yourself, baby.” She shakes her head at me. I remove her hand from the wall and take it between her legs with mine. “You only do this with me. Understand?”

  “I understand,” she says.

  “Every time you come, I want to be there. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  Placing her hand on her bud, I show her how to circle, letting her decide on the pressure. “Feels good?”

  She takes my hand. “It feels better when you do it.”

  A low growl escapes my throat. “But I like watching you.” I take one of her fingers and outline the folds of her pussy.

  “Oh, God!” she cries out.

  “That’s right.” She’s spread wide open for me, our fingers exploring her body together. This is the sweetest agony. Her legs start to tremble. One hard smack on her ass, my finger slips in, and she’s calling out my name. The sound is still echoing off the walls when a loud scream comes over the baby monitor. Shit!

  Campbell’s hand flies to her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  Chuckling, I kiss her hard on the lips. “She can’t hear you, remember? Be right back.”

  Wrapping a towel around my waist, my dick making a tent, I hurry to Tate’s room. Sometimes if I’m quick enough, she’ll go back to sleep pretty fast. Plus, I can’t really pick her up right now, soaking wet and sporting wood.

  Lucky for me, a few soothing pats on her back and her eyes close. Walking back in the bathroom, I can see Campbell through the steamed-up glass door, her head arched back, rinsing out her hair. I can’t remember the last time I just admired a woman’s body. My admiration never usually goes beyond how great her ass looked bent over my desk. This is different. I’ve found myself noticing these subtle things about her—how full her lips are, a tiny freckle by her ear, the way her eyes change color depending on her mood.

  It’s obvious to me that there are many layers to this woman. Not me – I’m pretty much an open book, you get what you see. But Campbell’s not like that. There are parts of her she shows the world and parts she keeps hidden deep. There’s the woman that walks into my gym and takes a man to his knees, then there’s the woman who blushes when she’s naked. She’s a puzzle I’m trying to figure out, and I’m just scratching the surface of her. I’m not sure what I’ll find the deeper I go, but there’s one thing I’m sure of.

  The layers of her build a damn good woman.

  She lifts her head, spotting me, and says, “Get back in here.”

  I open the door and wrap my arms around her. The old me didn’t give a shit about holding a woman after fooling around, but I never want Campbell to feel used or cheap or unappreciated. Besides, it’s fucking amazing to have her naked body pressed up against mine. Then she steps back, her fingers and eyes wandering down my body. No woman has ever looked at me like this, I’m sure of it. It’s beyond being impressed by the size of my muscles, my dick, my scars from fights. It’s more than her being horny. She’s seeing the man, not the package.

  “Can I . . .” Her hand slowly moves forward. “Touch you?”

  I take a small step towards her, my dick lined up with her hand. Her fingers inch forward, searching for the right place to start. She takes one finger and runs it up the length of my shaft and circles my tip, causing my toes to curl and my teeth to clench.

  Ladies, a man’s tip is a sensitive thing, but the head can’t get all the attention. A hand job is a whole dick event, but I don’t want to correct Campbell right now. This is basically a get-to-know-you session. She needs to build some confidence, and pumping me to orgasm will do just that. And the truth is, confidence is the sexiest thing there is. She’ll get there. “Hold your hand out.” I pour some shampoo in her hand. “This will help you.” Then I place her hand at the base of my shaft, showing her what to do.

  Some guys would hate being with someone so inexperienced, but I’m choosing to look at this as an opportunity. I can teach her exactly what I like, how to do it right, all the while getting to be the lucky bastard to explore her unchartered body. Not a bad deal.

  And she’s got the hang of it already, my dick growing even longer in her soft hand. “Damn, baby, that’s it.” She never breaks her rhythm, only gripping harder and sliding faster as I get closer and closer.

  Why is a woman’s hand so much better than my own? But it just fucking is, even her inexperienced little fingers are better than my own. Biting my lip, I shoot out all over her stomach and hand like I’m marking my territory. She pumps a few more times, not willing to waste a drop.

  “Christ,” I pant, pinning her to the wall, our tongues battling against each other. Fuck recovery time, I’m ready to go again.

  “Bed,” she pants.

  I turn off the shower then pick her up, her legs wrapping around my waist. And in the few feet to my bedroom, I remember my promise.

&
nbsp; Promise you won’t try to have sex with me.

  Sliding over her naked body, my dick rubs along the lips of her pussy, and she moans. How am I supposed to keep that promise? I keep stroking myself against her slick wetness. It would be so easy to slip myself inside her. Sitting back on my heels, her wetness covers the length of me. I explore her folds with the head of my dick then rub it back and forth against her sweet little clit, flicking her. She cries out a little.

  She wants this; I know she does. No matter how much she says she wants to wait, her body is begging for something entirely different. “Do you want me to fuck you?” I ask, a dick-based decision, solely.

  “Yes, yes. Right now!”

  “Condom,” I say, reaching towards the nightstand.

  I swear, as soon as my cock loses contact with her clit, it’s over. She grabs my hand. “Wait, I . . .”

  I’m not going to get pissed at her, I’m not. Disappointed? Hell, yes! Frustrated? Fuck, yeah! But not angry. Shifting my weight back over her and nuzzling my cock back home between her legs, I grin down at her so she knows it’s alright. “You want to stop?”

  “Not everything,” she says, flashing me a coy smile.

  “Then you tell me how you want me to make you come. I’ll give you anything you want.”

  “Like this,” she says. “Just don’t push inside.”

  Maybe I’m the man she’s really trying to kill? This is the worst death imaginable. Death by near-gasm. I can’t remember the last time I dry humped a woman. Then again, she’s dripping wet, so maybe this doesn’t qualify.

  Sliding myself against her, she moans sweetly in my ear. It doesn’t take long before we find our rhythm or for Campbell to find her voice. “Faster, faster.”

  If fake-fucking her is this good, the real thing is unimaginable. Her nails dig into my back, she buries her head in my neck, muffling her scream, and I come right along with her.

  *

  I should’ve been asleep long ago, my fight only hours away, but instead, I studied every curve of her body, and she studied every edge of mine, learning all the little spots that tingle and taunt each other. Everyone knows to get a woman aroused: you stimulate her nipples, her clit, her neck, inner thighs, and lips. It’s a lot more fun to find other places that lead right to her G-spot.

  Campbell seems to be a walking G-spot – every inch of her body from her head to her feet are erotic. I’m serious, her head and her feet. Running my fingers through her hair and massaging her neck and scalp sent all kinds of tremors through her body. Same thing happened when I rubbed her feet. But the king of kings is her lower stomach. She practically orgasmed on the spot, something I discovered when it was actually her turn to explore my body. She was straddling me as I let my fingers stroke the smooth skin between her belly button and her little tuft of hair. A minute of that and she was flat on her back, begging for me to make her come.

  Of course, I did.

  But that was it for her. She passed out in my arms, naked and sated and totally mine.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CAMPBELL

  It took me a few weeks to get information on my father. He wasn’t dead. That story I was told was bullshit. My father was very much alive, and it didn’t take long to track him down. We lived in the same state. I made a plan to scope him out at a poetry reading he was doing at a bookstore a few hours away. Jenny was nice enough to come along with me. She, like me, had nothing better to do that Saturday night.

  We found ourselves in line for the ladies’ room, a dozen women in front of us. “I bet there’s no one in line for the men’s room,” I said.

  “Why’d you drag me here, anyway?” Jenny asked. I hadn’t told her what I was up to. In fact, I never told her what happened with our English teacher. “We should be at the movies or a party—not listening to some lame professor read poems to a bunch of love-starved divorced women. Have you looked around? We are the youngest ones here by like thirty years!”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Who is this Lucas Jensen guy?” she asked, thumbing through the brochure for the event. “Now I know why you wanted to come. He’s hot for an old dude.” I’d stared at his picture so many hours, studying it so hard I could draw every line, taking in his eyes. “And we all know you’ve got a thing for older men.”

  I gave her my best eye roll. “Stop complaining. I bought you that Big Gulp on the way.”

  She giggled. “I know, and now I might explode.”

  “Me, too,” I said, clenching my legs together and squatting down. The line moved up a little, and I could see down the hall to the men’s room. Of course, no one was waiting in line. I kept my eyes locked on the door for a minute or two—nothing in or out. “Okay, that’s it, I’m going to use the men’s room.”

  “Gross, Campbell,” Jenny said. “Although I did hear a story about a girl who met the man of her dreams that way. They got married and everything.”

  “Think that’s an urban legend,” I said.

  “No, it really happened. The cousin of . . . or was it the sister of?”

  “Come with me,” I said.

  “No way. Have you forgotten I’ve got three brothers? I know what boys do in there.”

  “Well, I’m going,” I said, slipping out of line and weaving my way down the hall. Quickly, I scanned the area around the men’s room door—still nothing. I looked back down the hallway to the women’s restroom, but the line had moved up enough that I no longer could see anyone. Okay, I’d make it quick—in and out. Hopefully, it’s a potty for one, and the door has a lock on it.

  I pushed the door open and called out, “Anyone in there?”

  Relieved there was no answer, I stepped inside, and the stench hit me first. After gagging, I checked for a lock. There wasn’t one. I needed to hurry. Luckily, there was only one stall, and it did have a lock.

  I did the weird hover over the toilet, so my booty didn’t dare touch the seat. Then I began to pee. My bladder thanked me. Before my thighs gave out, I reached for the toilet paper, but there was nothing. I tilted my head to look inside the plastic thingy that held it. But there was no paper inside, and I didn’t bring a purse with me.

  I gathered myself. I mean, I could handle this—I was sixteen years old.

  Sliding the plastic thing to the side hoping to reveal another roll of tissue, I only found the empty cardboard roll. My legs started to tremble. I pulled at it and ripped it off. I wiggled my hips to shake off any excess pee then used the cardboard for the rest. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked in a pinch. Suddenly, I heard heavy footsteps crossing the floor. I quickly pulled up my panties and shorts, thankful I had on tennis shoes. If he looked under the door, it wouldn’t be obvious a girl was inside.

  My stomach flipped. I was trapped in the stall of the men’s room, holding a toilet paper roll damp with pee. My stomach flipped some more when the man banged on the stall. “Can you hurry up?” he asked.

  I waited a few seconds, unsure what to do. Then he banged some more. He obviously wasn’t leaving. I figured he had to go really bad.

  It occurred to me that maybe Jenny was right—maybe that urban legend was real. Maybe the man of my dreams was just on the other side of the stall door. Unlatching the lock, my heart was beating wildly. What awaited me behind the door? And what would I say? I was embarrassed, for sure. Jenny’s words echoed in my head again. Was I going to find my dream guy?

  But as soon as I opened the door and my eyes found his, I saw only darkness, and my real nightmare began.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  STONE

  MMA was once banned from television because it was too gory, but now cameras surround the cage, waiting for the fighters to enter. I can hear the roar of the bloodthirsty crowd as I wait in the tunnel. I’m going to make sure they get what they paid for.

  I’ve never prayed before a match—something didn’t feel right about praying to win when that meant the other guy would be bleeding on the floor. And I won’t pray for myself now.

&nb
sp; Tate.

  A neighbor is watching her today because everyone we know is here. All the guys and girls from the gym are here. Jenny made them all wear shirts with my name on the front and the gym logo on the back. Closing my eyes, blocking out the noise, my simple prayer is, “Keep her safe, happy, and healthy.”

  Campbell.

  She’s an answered prayer I didn’t even know I was praying for. Those are the best kind. I just wish she were a little kinder to herself. She’s trapped in a cage of her own making with her own demons. “Be kind to yourself, baby,” I pray.

  And I hope Jade and Campbell are taking care of each other. Jade’s never had anyone sit next to her before in the family seats. Guess they will be bonded over blood now.

  My blood.

  Jade’s been through this before, and we long ago perfected fight nights. I always find her in the crowd when I first come out. Tonight, I’ll find Campbell. But then I won’t look at her again until it’s over. That was always our code. If I looked at Jade during a match, it meant I was in trouble, and Jade should yell to my corner to stop the fight. I never once looked at her.

  But Jade and Jenny both are under strict orders from me tonight. If this fight goes south, they are to get Campbell out of the arena. I have my doubts about whether or not Jade would be able to leave me, so Jenny is my backup. Guys have died in this sport; that’s a fact – one I never really gave much thought to before Tate. But now I’m forced to consider the possibility.

  My name is announced. I’m not a fighter who showboats—no screaming into the camera, silly posing or selfies. Get in the cage and get out, no bullshit. That’s my motto. Even when I pass the crowd from my gym, I don’t break the stone-cold look on my face, feeling the ice spread through my body.

  Entering the cage for the rules and last minute pep talk from my corner, I stare down The Guillotine. He is the only thing between me and spending the rest of the weekend with Campbell. That’s the only motivation I need to end this and end it quickly, but I can’t find her in the chaos. Quickly, I scan the crowd.