It didn’t bother me. I knew what she was feeling. I knew what she was thinking. I knew what she wanted.
I relished every tremble of her thighs, every tightening of her nails, every moan that escaped her mouth. Nothing would keep her here from expressing how she truly felt. No shirt in the mouth this time. No facing a wall away from the door. No propping up the door.
I had her coming and screaming my name in no time. I had to squeeze onto her hips and hold on for dear life just to prevent her from smacking me to the floor. I didn’t allow her much time before I rose up, went inside her, and thrusted her against the window with my thick dick.
I looked down at the inhabitants of New York City as I bit into her back and felt her inner warmth. None of you have Layla. She’s mine and mine alone. No one else will ever have her. It felt so right, so perfect in that moment. Oh, how she relished showing off to the world... and how none would be able to enjoy it like we did.
“Cha-ance, ohh ohh ohhhh,” she groaned, unable to even form a coherent word. “Fuck me just like... like tha-at.”
I didn’t even bother to reply. I gave some sort of a guttural growl; it was the only thing my mouth could form at that moment. I could still taste her juices, and I didn’t want to lose that taste as long as I could.
Again, she came, her pussy pulsing around my dick, trying to swallow it whole and make me come. I had to fight the feeling from taking me all the way over, but when she finished, she pulled out, giving me a brief respite.
That is, until she asked where my bedroom was, pulled me in, threw me on the bed, got on her knees, and began to use her mouth on me.
My. Fucking. God.
Layla was not only a queen in looks, she was a queen in bed. She could use her mouth like a goddess—I wanted to die right there, except heaven would not have been as pleasurable as what Layla gave me.
I was exhausted, sweaty, and on the verge of orgasm. Layla, I knew, was pushed to her limits. She probably wouldn’t be walking tomorrow; no matter.
“Oh fuck, right there,” I said.
Seconds later, I exploded into her mouth, the overwhelming moment bringing a loud gasp and unending shaking from my hips. Layla took it like a champ, swallowing it all until I had nothing left to give. She came up, smacked her lips, and smiled at me.
“Shit, Layla,” I said, feeling like I could fall into the bed I felt so good.
She just laughed. It was rare for a woman to leave me speechless, but when one made me feel as good as Layla did...
And I didn’t just mean what she did with her mouth.
She wiped her lips, moved forward, and kissed me. I didn’t mind one bit that she had just swallowed. I wanted to kiss her—in a way, it was more intimate than the sex we had just had.
“Chance Hunt,” she said as she curled up on me.
I had a thought, something about having something witty to say, but it completely eluded me. I was too tired to move, but I didn’t want to go to bed this early. Still... a little shuteye wouldn’t hurt, especially right after sex.
It wouldn’t last too long...
WHEN I WOKE UP, THE sky had brightened and the sun had come out.
Oh shit!
I reached for my phone, except that it was nowhere to be seen—likely left with my pants in the living room, along with the rest of my clothes.
I turned back over, expecting an empty bed, but to my pleasant surprise, Layla still lay there, sleeping. My movement slowly woke her up, and when she came to, she merely smiled, the kind of sweet smile only a significant—emphasis on that word—other would give.
“You’re still here,” I said. “I half-expected a note with lipstick on my pillow.”
The groan-laugh that most people had in the morning came from Layla as she shook her head.
“Hell no, silly,” she said as she stretched, moving her leg into contact with mine. “You’re insane. You think I didn’t want a matinee of what we went through last night?”
“I... uhh...”
Of course I wanted one. But I’d be lying if I said I ever expected it. Given Layla’s habit of giving me what I wanted in the moment and then disappearing, not to be seen again for some time...
It felt like what had just happened was nothing short of a miracle. For the first time in a very, very long time, I felt genuinely happy. I didn’t feel like a condition had to be tied to my happiness. I didn’t feel like some secret would come and destroy my emotions. I didn’t have to remind myself of some dark “reality.”
I was just happy.
“Now, here’s the deal,” she said, disappearing under the covers. “You sit back, relax, and enjoy, OK?”
“I suppose I cou—”
I didn’t even get to finish before her lips had wrapped around my dick. I knew when not to press my luck.
I closed my eyes, leaned my head back, and thanked heavens that I finally had the perfect gal and the perfect situation.
Chapter Fourteen
Three Years Prior
“You’re sure you don’t want to marry her?”
I sat outside the doorway to Morgan’s room. This was risky, but I was also way too old to get in trouble if I got caught. Winter break of our first semester at Columbia had just ended and we’d returned to the Hunt Manor in Connecticut. As soon as we’d gotten home, things returned to normal—I felt ostracized, or at least ignored, while Morgan became the darling of the family.
But there was another point of contention that had come up, one that Mr. Hunt had tried to be subtle about but, failing to recognize the gossip skills of teenagers, had failed to keep quiet. He had wanted Morgan to date and marry the daughter of one of his interested business partners, the better to facilitate a deal that would double the wealth of the Hunt family, if not more. I had known which daughter he was talking about—a woman named Felicia—and she was gorgeous, fierce, and stunning.
But moving away to a new school had done something for both Morgan and I.
It had shown us the kind of draw we had for women, to the point that we sometimes just flat out refused to go out to party because of how many girls we had coming our way. The idea of marrying someone seemed laughable and impossible. Even if Mr. Hunt had promised something beyond the family company to Morgan, there was just no way it was going to happen.
“Yes, Dad, I’m sure.”
There were many more reasons that this arranged marriage would not work. Felicia was fierce, but not in an extroverted, in your face manner. Instead, she was more on the quiet side, like an alligator—she spent most of her time in the calm of the waters, but when she had to strike, she would do so without inhibition. Morgan, on the other hand, had become like his father—brash, cocky, and a little bit too shameless. I couldn’t hate too much, as I shared those characteristics with him, but still.
She also was much more worldly than Morgan, which was a strange thing to say considering how much Morgan had traveled. The reality was, though, Morgan would rather have spent the rest of his life in New York City and worked on a business than travel, while Felicia constantly talked about opening a non-profit in Africa or Asia. The two wanted very different lifestyles.
They only shared coming from billionaire families and that they were both attractive. Other than that, though, they had nothing.
“Well, then, son, whoever you do wind up with, you had better make sure they bring a good name to the Hunt family,” Mr. Hunt said. “We take this name very seriously, and we are very careful about what we do with it.”
“I’m aware, Dad.”
The two went back and forth. I looked up at one point and was surprised to see Mrs. Hunt, of all things, sobbing in the hallway. Having heard what I needed to, I went forward and put my hand on her shoulder. Without saying a word, Mrs. Hunt embraced me as tears began to fall freely.
“Is everything OK?” I asked, knowing the answer was no... but not really knowing why.
“I just don’t want Morgan to do something he doesn’t want to do,” Mrs. Hunt said, wipi
ng away tears. “Edwin is pushing so hard for him to marry her, but...”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, Mrs. Hunt,” I said, squeezing her tight.
Mrs. Hunt pulled back, kissed me on the forehead, and gave a long sigh.
“No marriage every facilitated by a Hunt has ever ended well or in happiness,” she said. “None.”
The way she emphasized the word... the way she said Hunt so strongly...
Oh God. Oh no.
“You understand now, dear,” she said.
I did. It all made sense now. Whenever Mrs. Hunt would just randomly zone out, going into a zombie-like trance, it wasn’t because she was sick. It was because she was wondering what an alternative life would look like, one in which she got to spend more time with a man, perhaps closer to her age, who loved her. She was trapped in a marriage filled with money but lacking in support, excitement, or love.
Suddenly, the idea of romance, already weak for me because of my past dating encounters, seemed even weaker. If the only parents I had ever known had a relationship so bad that the mother would tell me about it... what did that say for the rest of them?
“I guess love isn’t so easy, huh,” I said, sighing.
But Mrs. Hunt tightened her grip on my shoulders, looking at me closely.
“It’s an arduous journey, Chance,” she said. “But you will know it when you find it. Just don’t be stupid and do something that will cause you to lose it before you’re ready.”
Present Day
LAYLA TAYLOR. YOU GOTTA get out of my head at some point!
The name, frankly, was beginning to feel like a curse, but it was a curse that I didn’t mind having too much. If it meant that I kept thinking about the girl of my dreams over and over again, well, there were worse fates than that.
The problem was that it was clouding my ability to do business, and not just in the way that meant I had trouble focusing at work.
I meant that I was beginning to doubt the validity of my own deal.
I knew that getting 9.5 percent for just $10 million investment was screwing over the Taylors. Frankly, they were screwing themselves over by giving away 8 percent—they could have gotten as much as $14 million for 8 percent. Whether because Mr. Taylor had retirement on his mind or what, I couldn’t say.
What I could say, though, was that Edwin Hunt’s training had affected me and taught me how to be a “good” negotiator in the sense that I won out with what I had... but morals, morals be damned, were starting to affect me.
Layla would inherit a deal that did not benefit her as much as it could have. The company would be giving away a percentage of itself to Burnson Investments and I just saw no way that this would end well for her. As a businessman for my company, I had to do what was best for myself... but as someone who had fallen for her...
“Just don’t be stupid and do something that will cause you to lose it before you’re ready.”
Mrs. Hunt’s words rang in my head. I knew what she was referring to. I remembered the moment clearly because, as much as I wanted to disagree and call her foolish, I appreciated that she wanted to believe in me. A part of my mind desperately clung to the notion that there would be the one.
And was Layla it?
It...
Well...
I couldn’t bring myself to say it, much less admit it. That was a huge, huge emotional risk, and it just didn’t seem like it.
But...
I love her.
No you don’t you fucking lunatic. You like her a lot. But you barely know her. You think you love her? Where is she from?
Exactly.
You don’t need to know that to say you love her. You know how special she is.
Goddamnit.
No matter how I tried to spin it, I couldn’t get my head away from it. Maybe I was young and maybe—OK, no, definitely, I was stupid. But I didn’t feel stupid admitting that... yeah, I did love her.
It felt good to think it. It felt good to smile about it. It felt good to open myself up to the vulnerability that came with admitting that sort of thing.
I headed for the lobby for a much-needed lunch break but found myself grinning cheek to cheek despite the lack of sleep and the chronic fatigue that was beginning to place bags on my eyes. Melanie Hunt was right—I would know when I found it.
And I had found her.
I mean, I had literally found her, because when I got to the lobby, she was there.
“Thought I might surprise you for lunch today,” Layla said. She kept a respectful distance given the office environment, but she looked so eager to jump my bones and fuck my brains out. “What say you?”
“I always love your surprises,” I said, but the words felt... lazy, like I was beginning to lose my charm and my touch by having admitted to myself what I had just moments before.
“Well then, let’s go.”
I wasted no time following Layla out the door, making sure not to touch her until we turned the corner... but as soon as we did, I pressed my lips all up on her and was ready to make sweet, sweet love to her...
Just the fact that you’re calling it sweet, sweet love. Goddamn, Chance, what happened to you, man. This girl had better work out for you.
“Lunch, remember,” Layla said, although she didn’t exactly speak with the greatest conviction. I think both of us would have jumped into the alleyway for a quickie, trash and onlookers be damned.
“OK, fine,” I said. “I guess we’ll save it for tonight.”
“Oh, you just wait,” she said with a wink. “You have no idea what I have in store for you.”
I tried not to let my face give away too much excitement or my pants bulge too much. Both were pretty much losing battles.
At lunch, we discussed everything but business and love. Which, I suppose, was the best thing I could have asked for in that moment. The more I could avoid the awkward conversation about the deal that I had struck and agreed in principle on with her father, the better. The more I could delay the “I love you” conversation, the better.
Instead, we talked about mundane topics that somehow seemed exciting when I was talking about them with Layla. Future trips to the Central Park Zoo, upcoming vacations after the rounds of investing... the possibilities were most certainly endless and full of potential. We could go anywhere together with our resources, we could do anything together, and we could be anything we wanted.
I supposed right then and there that my definition of mundane probably differed from the average person. Oh well.
As lunch wrapped up, Layla stood.
“I have to be somewhere at 1, so I have to go now,” she said. She came forward and kissed me. “Maybe you can come over to my place.”
“Is that an offer?”
I expected her to smirk, say something sexy, and then leave with a tease. But instead, I got a completely different reaction.
“Well... maybe for later,” she said, clearly wanting to push it away. I felt a tinge of disappointment, if only because it felt like I could never get her to agree to anything beyond what was in the present moment.
“Why not tonight?” I said.
“I’ll see you later, OK? Let me know when you want me to come over.”
Well... at least I was going to see her tonight. At least she was coming over to my place that evening.
But why in the hell was it so essential for her to keep her place secret? Why couldn’t I see it?
Maybe I didn’t want to know the answers to those questions. Maybe it would just unearth more problems for me. Maybe, I thought with a sigh, I needed to step back and not indulge in the thoughts that Melanie had planted in my head three years ago.
Chapter Fifteen
Amazingly, Mr. Burnson showed up to the office in the afternoon. He patted me on the back when he saw me, saying that I had helped contribute to the amazing deal that “we” had put together. Of course, I wanted to smack him for that.
“We” had not done anything; only I had done something. And it was
an amazing deal for only one party, us, and even then, when the Taylors realized how much we had screwed them over, they would look to back out and our amazing deal would fall apart. I even expressed as much to Mr. Burnson.
But like Mr. Hunt, he saw negotiation not as a chance for both sides to come out happy, but as a chance to win.
“If they don’t notice, they lose,” he said.
I had no choice but to agree in the moment, given he was still my boss. But...
As poorly as it sounded from a business perspective, I had to swear to myself that I would not fuck over Layla. I wouldn’t fuck myself over to make her happy, far from it, but I couldn’t be giving her a deal this bad. The percentages added up over the years—I preferred lining the pockets of the Taylors than I did the Burnsons.
Nevertheless, the conversation didn’t last long, in large part because I was too busy to spend much time on it and because I had something more important—a date that night with Layla, a rising tide of emotions, and some questions I couldn’t shake in my head.
I had a feeling that when it came down to it, tonight was going to have some very interesting conversations. And I had no idea if they would go well or not, but they were conversations I couldn’t keep silent.
When I got home, I quickly changed into something comfortable—for once, we weren’t going to get dressed up in fancy clothing. We were just going to be two lovebirds, Netflix and chilling, or probably just going straight to the chilling; no need for fancy bars or restaurants, and no need for subtlety. I spent the next hour waiting patiently for Layla to come, hoping that she remembered the address and would come—and that she hadn’t suddenly gotten cold feet, again.
But, as my good fortune would have it, she knocked at my door at almost precisely 7 p.m. I opened the door and smiled at the brown bags she had in her had.
“Taco trucks,” she said. “I thought you might be hungry before we get to the good stuff, huh? Besides, I’ve seen you eat.”
I could only laugh and kiss her in appreciation of the gesture. She was far too kind of a person. At least in falling for someone, I had picked a true winner of a human being.
Flawed (Hunt Brothers Saga) Page 10
