Sweet Seduction

by Camilla Stevens

  "I, er,” he stuttered, completely mesmerized, "I forgot to get something to sleep in."

  He was certain he saw a tiny sliver of disappointment flash across her eyes, then she nodded and opened the door wider for him to enter. He made his way to the dresser that held his pajamas and pulled out a pair to wear. Normally he'd just be in a pair of boxers, but something about that felt inappropriate with Layla in the next room.

  He walked toward the door and turned around again to apologize. "Sorry for the interruption. Goodnight then," he said.

  He walked out and after a moment he heard the door close behind him. He couldn't take his mind off those gorgeous legs and the small curve of breast that peeked out of her robe before she closed it.

  Layla was here, in his home, not 20 feet away from where he was sleeping. Wearing nothing but a robe. So close, yet untouchable. He stopped in the middle of the hallway.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Patrick immediately turned around and knocked on the bedroom door, harder this time. Layla opened it, the look on her face wondering if he had forgotten something else.

  The look in his eyes cleared that right up. He dropped his pajama bottoms on the floor and brought his hands around Layla, pulling her body against his as his mouth crushed against hers. There was a moment of surprised hesitation on her part before she eagerly followed his lead, accepting the invasion of his tongue.

  Encouraged, Patrick brought his hand up between them and found the sash to her wrap. He tore at it, ripping it from it's tied bow. The next moment he pulled himself away, so he could see the sides of that ivory silk fall apart to reveal her body to him.

  A wide path of brown skin lay before him trailing from the hollows of her clavicle to the tiny strip of hair leading a path straight to her sex. Patrick brought his hands up to slip the sides further apart, caressing her small, but perfect breasts. He could feel the heaviness of her breathing underneath his palms as they lay flat against her ribs while his thumbs circled the dark, shrinking peaks of her nipples.

  "God, you're so beautiful," he murmured.

  Something about the robe hanging off her shoulders made the vision all the more enticing. Instead of sliding the robe down her shoulders, he brought his arms back around her, underneath the smooth fabric and placed his hands against her round cheeks.

  Layla followed his lead, her arms going around his neck. When he lifted her up, she brought her legs around his waist, arching her back so that the hard points of her nipples pressed into his chest. Her neck lay before him ready to be devoured. She had obviously used his body wash. Something about smelling his scent all over her, mixed with her own feminine aroma, stirred an animalistic heat inside of him. His lips fell against her throat, feeling the deep vibration of her voice as she moaned under his lips.

  Patrick carried her over to the bed and gently set her down on the edge. He pulled away and looked down at her.

  “Lie back,” he ordered softly, “I want to see you. All of you.”

  She lay back on the bed. The edges of her kimono fell to her sides and exposed her entire torso. Her soft stomach became taut and her small breasts flattened into barely noticeable rises against her chest, each topped with tiny little chocolate kisses. Patrick wanted to devour every part of her.

  He would settle for the nectar he had yet to taste between her thighs.

  Falling to the floor, he pushed her knees open to reveal her hungry wetness. It was like breaking open a chocolate candy, filled with a fruity delight. Patrick pressed his face into it, absorbing her taste and smell. He thrust his tongue into her hole twisting around to lap up more and more.

  “Patrick,” Layla moaned, her hand coming down to comb through his thick hair.

  Her moaning became a harsh gasp as his tongue worked its way up to the tiny, exposed nub that did in fact look like a tiny cherry. His lips wrapped around it, sucking gently as though urging a pit out of the center of it. His tongue danced around it, teasing, taunting, pleasuring.

  “Patrick!” It was no moan this time, but a scream of ecstasy.

  Over the top of her mons Patrick watched her body quiver and arch from nothing more than the movement of his lips and tongue. Rather than easing up, he brought his fingers up to torture her with even more sensual delight. He thrust two into her soft, yielding wetness, feeling her insides close tightly around them. He slid them in and out, curving them up into a hook on the downswing so they stroked her at just the right spot.

  “Oh God, yes, yes!” she screamed to the ceiling.

  That’s when her thighs clamped against the sides of his face, holding him in a death grip as her fingers clenched his hair. It only made him more fervent, flicking his tongue like a windmill in a hurricane, thrusting his fingers like a piston.

  Finally her cries became more than even he could bear. After yet another climax against his face, he pulled away, lifting himself up to see the result of his handiwork.

  There was a fine sheen of sweat covering her skin, making it glow in the soft light of the room. Her chest rose and fell, as her stomach contracted and expanded. He reached out a hand and placed his palm on her quivering tummy, enjoying the feel of the subsiding ripples of the last orgasm he had just given her.

  “We’re not even close to done yet,” he said with a grin as she finally came around and looked up at him.

  The towel that had miraculously stayed tied around his waist was immediately torn away to reveal the throbbing erection that eagerly awaited becoming one with Layla yet again.

  Expressing her own eagerness, Layla reached out to grab him, stroking his hardness as though it were a precious artifact.

  “Oh Patrick, it’s so beautiful,” she sighed in her heady post-orgasmic haze.

  He just grinned down at her, “So are you, beautiful.”

  She smiled as he leaned down, hovering over her on his elbows as he stared into those amber pools, drowning in her admiration. He was certain his own blue irises were reflecting the same adoration as he stared back at her.

  Although he hated to break the spell, he also knew he had a responsibility. With a sigh that bordered on frustration, he crawled over her figure, watching her eyes blink in surprise.

  Years of bachelorhood meant a steady supply of protection handily ready in his night stand. He randomly grabbed a foil packet and quickly did the work of covering himself. Layla smiled in understanding and he had the distinct impression that this little bit of precaution hadn’t even occurred to her. For some reason it pleased him.

  As he looked down at her prone body, he knew one day he would be filling that soft belly with his child. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning that stunned him. Never had he felt that way about a woman. In fact it had usually been the opposite with him anxiously making doubly sure that there would be no permanent strings attached to draw him back nine months down the line.

  God woman, what are you doing to me?

  Patrick came back around the bed. His breathing became heavier as her soft fingers guided him toward her oasis of pleasure. As soon as he felt the warmth of her threshold he sighed, closing his eyes as he slid into the soft, warm embrace of her.

  “Jesus, Layla,” he groaned as her body yielded to his hardness.

  Everything about her was like heaven: the intoxicating scent emanating from her; the warmth of her skin against his; the soft sounds of her sighs and musical moans of pleasure; the ripe taste of her that lingered on his tongue; the way she made him feel so powerful when he was inside of her.

  When he had driven himself as far into her depths as possible, he stayed there, embracing it, cementing it to memory. He could have stayed like that forever but the need to feel her pulsating around his cock as he watched her face react to the ecstasy he personally brought her was too much.

  Patrick began to work himself in and out of her, gaining a rhythm that she easily followed, bucking her hips up to meet his. The sound of her feminine groan with each thrust he gave her was music to his ears.
/>   “That’s right baby,” he urged. “tell me how much you like it.”

  Her fingers curled into his shoulders, signaling her response. “Oh, Patrick,” she cried softly. “It feels so good, don’t stop. Please….please,” she breathed.

  “I’m right here, sweetheart. Just keep going.”

  He could go all night if that was what she wanted. The scrape of her nails up his back and the hard nipples that were thrust into his chest as she arched her body at an alarming angle told him otherwise.

  “Oh, God!” she moaned, using the usual outburst that left no question as to which god she was worshiping at that exact moment. It only made him feel that much more virile. He thrust himself harder in response, forcing her body into submission, commanding it to give up the ultimate offering to his altar.

  He was rewarded with the feel of her slick walls squeezing around his shaft, pulsating in an undulating dance along his length.

  His body had no choice but to respond in kind. He rode her climactic wave, joining his orgasm with hers as they both cried out into the night.

  21

  Patrick usually woke before the sun was up, but the nice thing about having north-west facing windows in his bedroom was that he could spend time lazing away the morning after nights like the one he had just had. He felt the Little Spoon to his Big Spoon shift against his body, her bare ass wriggling against a part of him that was most likely to react.

  It didn't go unnoticed.

  "Mmmm, I see someone is up early," she laughed sleepily.

  Patrick wrapped his arms around her and drew her in closer. "And whose fault is that?” he murmured in her ear.

  “Don’t blame me for your lack of self-control,” she said, digging her elbow into his rib with a giggle.

  “Are you going to pretend you don’t love my lack of self-control. I seem to recall you screaming for it last night,” he teased.

  Layla just laughed, a sound which was like music to his ears.

  “We should probably get going,” he said with a sigh.

  “Yeah, I’ve got to draw up the plans for wedding cake and meet with the crew you all have set me up with.”

  “And I actually have a job to get to.”

  “Yeah, this cake is going to be a monster. I should really get started.”

  “MM-hmm, and considering how much I’ve been away from home base to visit Olla, I probably need to put in as much face time as possible.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  They stayed there like that for a few minutes.

  “On the other hand….”

  “What’s one little morning quickie?”

  “Exactly….”

  Patrick scrambled to get another condom while Layla laughed and grabbed him, kissing his neck as he tried to unwrap it.

  "Patrick? A phone call during work hours? I thought my job was done, unless they're screwing around with my script again," Jake Cavanaugh answered on the other end.

  "Actually Jake, this is something different. A bit personal actually."

  "Well, now you've officially piqued my interest. Shoot."

  "You said you had a go-to guy who owns a firm on the East Coast that could…handle things?"

  "Yeah, Mamba Security. I used to work with the guy back in my CIA days. He's solid."

  "Could you give me the number? I have something I need to check up on and I'd rather not use Lion Studios’ resources."

  Jake laughed. "Well, now I'm really curious, but if you need this guy, it's obviously personal so I won't pry."

  "Maybe when it's all said and done."

  "Okay then, let me just find it here….”

  Patrick waited. He hoped this worked out. In his profession leverage was ammunition and he wanted to be fully loaded before dealing with Boris Sokolov. He perked up when Jake came back on the line and gave him the name and number of the owner of Mamba Security, Sean Donovan.

  "Thanks, Jake," he said.

  "Oh, before you go, Nat would kill me if I didn't nag you about coming to dinner at some point. It's been too long, her words, not mine."

  Patrick thought about it then smiled. "You know, I actually may take you guys up on that. I even have a date in mind to bring with me."

  There was a surprised pause on the other end. "Well, I guess I officially owe you one. You have made my wife doubly happy."

  Patrick laughed. "Just remember that at the next poker game."

  "So where are we headed?" Layla asked, sitting next to him in the BMW convertible, top raised so that her hair didn't get messed up. She was wearing something "nice but casual" per Patrick's instruction. She had on a black bohemian style dress that reached her knees. It was paired with gold hoop earrings, a black satchel bag, and gladiator sandals, a ridiculous purchase she'd made on the fly today that she was actually beginning to enjoy the look of.

  "It's a surprise. I just want to show you that not everyone in Hollywood is an asshole." He was dressed in nice jeans with a black dress shirt and dark tennis shoes.

  She laughed. "I don't know. Samantha seems sweet."

  "That comes from years of being beaten down by the industry. Thank God she's marrying a doctor."

  "That's sad."

  Layla sighed and looked out at the city built by Hollywood. At night, with the mist of smog invisible it was beautiful. She thought about last night with Patrick, how safe and secure and loved he had made her feel. All thoughts of Boris had disappeared under the spell of his hands, his tongue, his body bringing so much pleasure to her.

  At least Samantha was finding her own bit of happiness. Layla knew what it was like having imposing parents, though she suspected she had gotten off rather lightly compared to the girl.

  She turned to him with a thought. "Do you enjoy what you do?"

  She watched him as he considered the question. "I do. I mean I enjoy the legal aspect. Even the people can be enjoyable at times. The problem here is that everyone has an ego, so everything turns into one big pissing contest. It's not about right or wrong it’s about who has the biggest di—well, you get the gist."

  Layla laughed. "Speaking of which, do they know I'm still staying with you."

  The twist of his lips told her they didn't.

  "Is it going to be a problem for you?" she asked with concern.

  "Not if it isn't for you?” he gave her that smirk she adored.

  "Not at all," she smiled back.

  They wandered up winding roads and Layla could feel the ocean nearby before she could hear it. "Where are we?"

  “Rancho Palos Verdes, headed to the home of some friends of mine."

  She perked up a bit a that. He was actually introducing her to his friends. That meant she'd have to play the good girlfriend tonight.

  Girlfriend.

  Despite her sudden nervousness, she liked the sound of that, even if it was a bit premature. She wondered what friends of his, who weren't “Hollywood assholes,” would be like. She had an idea it was a low bar to meet that standard, meaning they probably weren't as friendly as the people of Olla. That was fine. Layla had grown up on the East Coast, she could handle abrasive personalities.

  Eventually he slowed down along a quiet street with wide, manicured lawns and pulled into the driveway of a one story Spanish style home. The front of it seemed deceptively simple with a two-car garage on one side and a picture window on the other of a tiny courtyard with a small fountain.

  Patrick parked and ran around to open her door before she could do it herself. She smiled as she took his hand and followed him.

  "One thing," he said, then opened the trunk and pulled out a wine tote bag holding two bottles. "Since I surprised you, I didn't want them to think you were rude by not bringing anything."

  She smiled at the thoughtfulness of it, especially when he handed her the bag to make it look like she was the one who had brought it along. It was a tiny, thoughtful gesture that told her his feelings for her more than matched the ones she had for him. A warm feeling went thro
ugh her as she followed him up to the front.

  There was a tiny gate that barely reached their hips and he swung it open with a flourish, formally gesturing that she should head in first.

  "M'lady," he said with an overly aristocratic accent.

  She laughed and made her way to the front door, waiting for him to actually come next to her. Her nervousness returned as he rang the doorbell.

  "Don't worry," he said, noticing it. "They are going to love you."

  "They" opened the door together. The first thing Layla noticed was that the man was white and the woman was black. The second thing she noticed was the little girl, who was about 18 months old in the arms of the woman.

  The woman was very pretty, in an adorable sort of way that could easily be transformed into sensuous with the right amount of makeup on those full lips and high cheekbones. She had big brown eyes that glowed with excitement, and relaxed hair halfway down her back. She was casually dressed in a long, loose, tan tunic that exposed one brown shoulder over a pair of cream leggings and tan TOMS shoes.

  The man was incredibly handsome—though not nearly as sexy as Patrick in Layla’s own biased opinion—with light colored hair and the same hazel-green eyes as his daughter. He had on a loose, white, button up shirt, jeans, and moccasins. He was only about an inch or two shorter than Patrick, but still much taller than his wife, who was a few inches taller than Layla, making her feel like a dwarf among all of them.

  "Well, look at you!" the woman said, only mildly surprised when she took in Layla. Maybe she wasn't the first black woman Patrick had dated? Or maybe he'd told them about her? Either way, it eased her nervousness.

  "Patrick," the man said, reaching out to do that shake, half hug, and back slap thing men did.

  "Jake," he responded. Then he turned to her. "Layla, this is Natalie and Jake Cavanaugh. And of course little Amber. Guys, this is Layla Brown."

  Both eyebrows went up at the name and they both actually laughed a little.

  "Yes, yes, that Layla Brown,” he expounded.

  Layla smiled self-consciously.