Leif
It takes me a few moments to come back to myself. My body buzzes as I kneel on the bed, trying to
understand what just happened.
Sex has never been like that before. So intense. So pleasurable. So... much.
As thoughts start to trickle into my head, I look down at myself—and at Layla. From there, it only
takes me a moment to pull my underwear back on, find the bathroom, and get a washcloth to clean up the
mess I made of her. She lets out a dazed little moan as I run the cloth over the backs of her thighs, and I
have the odd realization that nothing will ever be the same.
I want this. Her. Us. Once the cloth is set aside and I’ve shucked off my pants, I climb into bed beside
Layla and gather her in my arms. She snuggles against my chest and drapes an arm over me, her breath
soft against my collarbone.
“Well,” she says, her lashes tickling my shoulder as she blinks r epeatedly.
“Yeah,” is the only answer I can manage. “I should go on dates with other men more often.” A dart of
black jealousy, then it’s gone. My chest starts shaking as laughter washes over me. Layla giggles along
with me, her fingers drifting across my chest in casual intimacy.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” “What? That I should date other men?” “Layla.” It comes
out as a low growl. She lifts her head, her expression one of angelic innocence. “If you didn’t like seeing
me with Joe, you shouldn’t have rewarded me so thoroughly.”
In one swift move, I tumble her onto her back and pin her arms beside her head. She lets out that big,
carefree laugh, eyes twinkling beneath me, and my body comes alive again. My heart thumps while lower,
other things come to attention as well.
This is nothing like my romps with other women. With other women, once the main event is over, I
lose interest almost immediately. But this... Every second with Layla just makes me want more.
She feels my arousal and arches her brows. “That was a quick recovery.”
“You make me crazy.” “The feeling is mutual,” she says, her lips curling into a soft smile. “But I like
it. Although...” She glances down between us. “If this is going to be a r epeat occurrence, we really need
to figure something out besides the pull-out method.”
“Yes,” I answer, but my body doesn’t seem to care, because my cock swells even more. Visions of her
thighs and behind covered in my seed flash in my mind and all I want is to do it again. Mark her. Own
her.
Layla’s knees spread to cradle me between them, her hips gyrating softly against me. Her lids drop
down to half- mast, breath catching in her throat.
“I should go out and buy some condoms now,” I tell her, my hips moving against hers.
“Yes.” She arches her back, offering up her breasts for me to kiss—and I do. With one rough tug of
her top, I
expose her pretty pink nipple and take it in my mouth. As soon as her fingers tunnel into my hair to
hold me to her breast, I know I’m not going anywhere.
This isn’t like me. Ever since my ex got pregnant with Isla, I’ve been careful to the point of paranoia.
Today, though, my brain seems to have lost all capability of reasoning, because all I can think about is
Layla’s soft, supple body beneath mine, the taste of her skin, and the intense pleasure of being inside her.
When her hands smooth down my back and push at the hem of my boxer-briefs, I’ve already lost the
battle with good sense. This time, I get to see her face when I enter her—the slight widening of her eyes,
the way her lips drop open. It’s another assault on my heart, one I don’t have the strength to fight.
“You’re beautiful,” I pant between thrusts, dropping my chin to my chest as ecstasy rips through me.
She feels so good. Too good. Better than anyone I’ve ever had.
Her fingers trace my chest, my shoulders, my jaw. “So are you.”
I kiss her then, our bodies joined, and sex becomes something more than it was before. It’s a tangle of
limbs, fervent touches, de ep kisses, and a kind of intimacy I’ve never experienced before. I kiss her like
it’s the only thing that’ll ke ep me alive, and when she lets out a soft cry beneath me, her body growing
taut as a bowstring, I nearly forget myself.
By the thinnest of margins, I stop myself from exploding inside her. I pull out to lash her thighs, her
stomach, the glistening space between her legs—and it’s not enough. A twinge of disappointment vibrates
in my chest, because all I want to do is mark her inside and out.
Barbaric, contemptible, animalistic. The urges that course through me are as unfamiliar as they are
strong. I want to fill her with my seed. I want to put a baby inside her. I want to tie her to me, irrevocably,
forever mine.
But as the haze clears, I come back to myself. I stare at the mess I made of her, wanting to do it again
and again and again.
Layla lifts herself onto her elbows and surveys the damage, bunching her lips to the side. “I don’t
think a washcloth is going to do the trick this time,” she says. “I need a shower.”
“Sorry,” I pant, flopping onto my back. “No you’re not.” I meet her gaze and grin. “Not really, no.”
She laughs, then saunters out of the bedroom. A moment later, I hear the shower start, and I lie back on
the bed and stare at the room around me. Layla’s closet is half- open, clothes hanging neatly from hangers
while the floor of the closet is covered in a tangle of shoes. There’s a waitress’s apron hanging on the
back of the door, a hair dryer on the floor, and a few bottles of perfume on top of a dresser. It’s tidy but
worn. There are worrying cracks on the walls, and the windows don’t block much of the winter chill.
I want to give Layla more. I want to show her how good life can be and shower her with the best that
money can buy. Last night, I learned that Layla carries her family on her shoulders. She should have
someone to carry her right back.
Whether it’s a selfish desire to be the only man who provides for her or something more admirable, I
want to show her that she can rely on me. The feeling hits me hard in the chest, like a weight falling from
the sky to crush me against the bed. I want to stand by Layla. I want her to laugh and smile in that
beautiful way of hers every day for the rest of her life—and I want it to be because I’ve made her happy.
We shared something today, something I thought didn’t exist. An intimacy, a connection that makes
me realize how cold and dreary my life has been.
Maybe with Layla, I don’t have to ke ep her apart from my family life. She knows Isla, and they
already love each other. She wouldn’t have to work seventeen shitty jobs just to get by. Her sister’s
college wouldn’t be a crushing debt— I could pay for it all. I could make her life easy. After all, at my net
worth, a hundred grand or so is basically a rounding error.
I’ve compartmentalized my life too much. My world at home with Isla is completely s eparate from
my work life, which is completely s eparate from my love life. I ke ep tall, iron barricades between each
world—and in the process, I’ve split myself into a thousand different people.
With Layla, I can see a different future. One where I share a life with a beautiful woman who cares for
my daughter, with whom I can talk about work and decompress at the end of a long day. I could take all
the disparate parts of my life and bring them together—maybe make myself whole in the process, too.
Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? I haven’t been whole since Abby left me. My ex chose to walk away
from her baby daughter, from me. It broke me, and I thought I was unfixable.
What if things could be different? My rumination is interrupted by an abrupt scream and a
crash—both sounds coming from the bathroom. I’m on my feet and out of the bedroom in an instant.