Overworked

by Dark Angel

  "I told you I was good with my fingers," he says with a smug grin.

  "Mmm," I moan. "That you are," I say with a laugh, leaning closer to him so that my nose rests against his chest for just a second.

  The movement increases the intensity and his fingers in my pussy and ass start to overwhelm me. Raw need makes my lips tremble and my legs shake. "Oh God!" I cry out and I squeeze my hold on his neck harder.

  "Yeah, Layla, you want to come, don't you? You're so close. I feel you squeezing around me," he says, half-taunting, half-teasing. "I want you to come right here, cover my fingers with your cum," Jake says. His eyes lock with mine.

  That's my undoing. The absolutely erotic look in his eyes captivates me and pushes me right over the edge yet again. My blood is on fire underneath my skin and a need rolls back into my brain and sets fireworks off in my skull. My nipples are tight and aching. Whimpering, I suck in my lower lip and let a low moan escape my lips. My orgasm is a flutter, start-stop, ongoing push and pull feeling that seems to bloom through my body with a hot, wet pressure that’s desperate to be released. My eyes roll back and finally squeeze shut as the ripples of bliss float through my being and make me forget where I am. I cry out and feel Jake’s finger—dripping with my cum on my lips. I suck down every last drop of my pussy juice coating his fingers while he pumps his fingers into my ass, slowly building up a tantalizing speed that serves to keep my pleasure coasting right on the surface.

  “Fuck, Layla, your pussy smells better than anything they cook here,” Jake says, and I watch him take a finger and stroke it through my cum-covered pussy folds. “And it tastes better, too.”

  I tremble at the erotic sight of him licking up my cum, and I'm just too turned on to resist my instinct.

  I grab his cheek, turning him to kiss me so that I can taste my pussy on his lips. I want to kiss him now while I can still taste my cum on his lips, and when I do, it sends a shot of ice and fire through my spine all at once.

  Moaning into his mouth, I savor my taste as it fades away into the taste of our kiss, and it overwhelms our senses. What’s funny is that we are kissing so intensely that as we have to break away to catch our breath, that’s when I start to remember that we’re in a restaurant and that we’ve been just, like, totally indecent. I bite my lower lip and glance around, but my eyes are already narrowing.

  “I think a few people might know...but no one is going to say anything,” I say in a quiet whisper.

  Jake’s eyes light up and his gaze follows my fingers. I dip down and stroke my clit in long, slow circles that make my knees weak. I slump back some in my seat and I don’t bother hiding the way that my breasts are basically jumping with the ragged breaths I’m taking. This is the hottest date I’ve ever been on and I want to ride the wave of my intense lust as long as I can manage before reality decides to creep back in and ruin my night. “I need to be able to breathe through the rest of our dinner,” I explain to him, “and I’m going to come again just thinking about this whole...everything,” I say, finally giving up on words.

  His hands stroke my thighs and every touch from him shoots a tendril of pleasure to my pussy and I start working my clit much faster, aching to let everything drive me higher and higher into the realms of pleasure.

  “Layla, where have you been all my life?” Jake says, and he’s laughing, but there’s a weight to his words that gives me a second of pause. It's undeniable, the way that he makes me feel when I’m sitting next to him, when I lay my hands on him...I want to feel this way as long as I can and I know that I’ve never felt it before today.

  I can’t think of any retort, however, and I don’t need to; my orgasm starts to tear through me and Jake crushes his mouth against mine, kissing the sound and soul out of me there. I lick his tongue as he strokes up mine, I explore his mouth and feel the warmth of his. We moan into each other, breathe one another, and kiss so deeply that I feel my head actually get dizzy. My orgasm rounds off like a final waterfall surrounding me, not just in sensation, but also in wetness. I'm so soaking wet with my pussy juice coating my thighs. More than I've ever come before and I realize…I must have squirted. The heat in my stomach and the waterfall, the pressure release. “Oh God, I squirted, Jacob,” I say.

  His playful laugh makes me snap my legs shut but I’m laughing, too.

  “Well, this mouth has made a lot of women squirt, but I’m usually lapping up a lot more,” Jake says. Before I know it, he’s on his knees under the table and he’s licking all my cum off my thighs. I’m shivering even though I’m burning up, his tongue sliding up and down the sticky cum marking my thighs with such precision and speed that it makes me dizzy all over again.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ I cry out, trying to keep my volume low but only making myself struggle more. His mouth glides over my clit, my pussy, both so briefly, before his tongue is back on my thighs.

  When all the cum is cleaned up, then his teeth start to nibble on me and I almost come from just the way that this feels. I can barely contain myself! I’m shattering around the way he’s touching me and I feel the pleasure starting to crest over the edge of no return...and then his hands reach up and his fingers interlock with mine; that’s the ignition.

  It sets fire to the passion boiling within me and I come undone, lust unbuckling the seams of my mind and releasing a floating, falling sensation of lust and ecstasy. My pussy is shaking with need, cum gushing out of me with a searing white-hot heat, and his mouth laps it up as it flows down my thighs again. The feel of his tongue, his lips, and then his teeth removing all the evidence of how hard I came, offering to alleviate the symptom but not curing the cause, it makes me moan low in my throat.

  He releases my hands and comes back up to kiss me again. Again, I taste me, I taste my pussy on his lips, and I want to melt into the taste of me on his mouth.

  Our kiss finally breaks, and I start to relax enough to finish my meal. I remain the perfect restaurant guest the rest of the time, at least in theory, but a heat is burned in my skull at the erotic flashbacks of the moments before the peaceful end to dinner. When we finally start to make our way to the limo, I can’t imagine that I’m the person who did those things…or that I was ever a person who wouldn’t do those things. I know that sounds really strange, but hear me out. I came so hard in that restaurant and it was an incredible experience. I wouldn’t trade the way that felt for a million dollars.

  Or seven.

  How can I be acting like this with someone I have a professional entanglement with? I don’t know, but I let myself push the thought away for now because I want to be able to enjoy the rest of this evening before I have to cope with the rest of life crashing down on us. For now, we’re two people having quite possibly one of the best nights of our lives.

  As he holds the car door open for me, I take a deep breath and tell myself that I can do this. Because I can. I’m a grown woman. Whose thighs are still a little wobbly and whose panties are in a state of ruin like they have never known. But that’s so totally beside the point.

  “What did you think of the restaurant?’ Jake asks. He doesn’t have a joking laugh on his face for once, but I can’t help but laugh.

  “I thought the menu was divine,” I tell him, and I let myself giggle.

  “I think I tasted some of the most exquisite flavors in the world there, for sure,” Jake says. Now I really understand that phrase about someone having a twinkle in their eye, because Jake’s face reads as pure mischief.

  “Is that so?” I say. “I think I found it quite appetizing to my palate as well,” I offer. I loved tasting my pussy on his mouth. It was one of the hottest things I’d ever done in my life.

  “Yeah, I mean, we get an A plus in conflict resolution right? No need to level a magic set of hands or lips for a seven million dollar fine,” Jake says and he’s laughing again, a deep, masculine sound that sends a thrill up and down my spine.

  “Well hold your thought there, Jacob,” I say, and I put my hands on my hips. For two seconds
I think he's serious and it totally infuriates me. I look into his eyes, narrowing mine, and then I realize that, no, he understands that what happened tonight and what’s happening with the FCC are two separate issues.

  Jake

  “You’re still not off the hook with the FCC,” Layla tells me with a smirk as we ride through Manhattan in my limo. I’m not ready for my night with her to be over, so I’m having my driver take her home.

  I laugh. “You’re kidding, right?” Though I’m not sure she actually is. Layla strikes me as someone who takes her job very seriously. She also gives me the impression she wouldn’t let the fact that we just had hot, crazy sex override her work ethic.

  She just lifts her eyebrows mysteriously.

  I pull her a little closer to me. “Why are you doing this?”

  “What?”

  “Trying to get my show canceled.”

  She sighs as she settles against me. “I’m doing my job. I’m trying to protect people.”

  “People don’t need to be protected from pleasure, Layla. People deserve this kind of pleasure.”

  You’d think this conversation would be awkward or filled with some kind of anger or regret considering what we just did. But it’s not at all. It feels very relaxed and natural. Just two people talking about their thoughts, their philosophies.

  Layla is someone I could really enjoy spending time with. Yeah, she fucks like a champ, and she’s incredibly gorgeous. But she’s also intelligent and opinionated. I like her a lot, and even if we have differing views, I still respect her opinions.

  “So, do you watch any other TV shows?” I ask.

  Her head bobs, her blonde hair fanning out over my shoulder. It smells really fucking good. Some heady, sexy vanilla scent. “I actually never miss an episode of Manhattan Reign. It’s my guilty pleasure.”

  “Babe, guilt and pleasure should never be in the same sentence,” I tease. Then I remember something I heard about that show. “Isn’t that the show where the two lead characters actually had sex on camera during a love scene? And it aired live? Why weren’t they fined?”

  Layla nods again. “That’s the one.” She waves her hand dismissively. “But that’s just a rumor.”

  I’m not so sure it is. If so, why haven’t they been slapped with a fine like the FCC is trying to do to me? They had full on sex on live TV, yet I’m getting a seven million dollar fine slapped on me for every single episode ever.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “I have to uphold values. There have to be standards.” She says it like she isn’t fully convinced. Not at all like she did the first day she came to the studio and called my show obscene.

  I wonder if she’s starting to view things differently now that she’s seen behind the scenes and gotten to know me personally. But still, her word choice is off.

  “Values?” I turn her chin toward me and try to read her face. “Whose values are you upholding, Layla?”

  Something tells me they aren’t necessarily hers. Someone with a prudent moral code wouldn’t have just had sex in a public place, let alone a quiet, exclusive restaurant.

  Just then the limo pulls to a stop in front of what must be Layla’s building, and she doesn’t answer me.

  “Nice digs.”

  She smirks. “Yeah, can you believe it? A government agency pulling out all the stops on a place for me to live?”

  Layla reaches for the door handle, but I stop her, placing a hand over hers and pulling her back toward me.

  “Not so fast.” I slide my hands around her waist and grip her hips, lowering my mouth to her ear. “Is the verdict in yet? Have I been proven guilty?”

  She threads her fingers in my hair and pulls me tighter to her when I start to nibble on her neck, using just a hint of teeth. I’m rewarded with a shiver racing through her body.

  Pulling back slightly, she gives me a wicked grin. “Yes, Mr. Kent. You're definitely a very bad boy. I think you’re one hundred percent guilty as charged.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I growl.

  Then I lower my mouth to hers and kiss her softly. Her lips part with a sigh, and I sink in deeper to the kiss as she melts against my chest. Our tongues tangle and stroke, slowly and languidly, and I wonder if she might invite me up for another round.

  But then she pulls back and gives me a saucy little smile. The sass is back. “You better clean up your act or you just might be looking at some serious punishment.”

  I laugh. “Yeah right. I’m as filthy as they come, baby, and you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Goodnight, Jacob.”

  I shake my head. Jacob. This woman still insists on calling me Jacob.

  “Night, Layla.”

  I watch until she’s disappeared inside her swanky building, and then get lost in my thoughts as my driver continues down the streets of New York, taking me home. I really enjoyed tonight. Every bit of it. Not just the fucking, though that was fucking incredible. I like debating with her just as much. Having a real conversation with someone that actually meant something.

  I think I could get used to that. I wonder when I’ll see her again. After a night like this, I know I haven’t had enough.

  Layla

  I step into the shower and let the hot water pour down over me from the rain shower jets, my mind running over everything that happened tonight.

  I can’t believe I had sex in such a public place. I told Jake the first day I met him that he must have a thing for voyeurism. Who knew that I did too? That was so crazy hot. Just the thrill of getting caught made everything a hundred times better. Honestly, that was probably the best sex of my life. No, I take that back. There’s no probably about it.

  Sex with Jake was absolutely, positively the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever done. And I want to do it over and over again.

  I slick myself up with soap, imagining my hands are Jake’s, wishing he were here with me right now. I almost asked him to come up. He seemed like he might've wanted to.

  But I’m confused now too. I don’t know what to think anymore. When I first started this job for Lori, I thought I could put aside my doubts about her prudish attitude. After all, it’s just a job. Just another show to censor.

  Now I’m not sure censoring A Cunning Linguist is actually the best idea. What if it’s not the right thing? What if I’m making a huge mistake following Lori blindly on this whole fining business? Today was eye opening. The way Jake really and truly seemed to care about the women he was selected for his show was the last thing I expected. He really believes in his cause—it’s not just lip service to make him look like he’s not an asshole who just tried to seduce women on national television.

  I’m starting to wonder what the women who’ve been on his show feel like after he’s shown them what they’re missing out on. This time for real—not because I want to use their experiences against Jake.

  I actually don’t want to use anything against him at this point. This entire situation hasn’t turned out at all like I expected. Yeah, I thought Jake was hot from day one, and yeah, I might’ve been kidding myself when I said any research into what he’s really like was just for business. I totally wanted to bang him. Why lie about it now?

  But now that I have, I’m feeling all kinds of chaos and confusion in my mind. If I’m being completely honest with myself, what I’m really doing is developing feelings for Jake. I’m not sure what it means, or why, but I can’t just deny it.

  Not only was he able to handle my body like no other man ever has before—and OMFG did he know how to handle it—but there’s something else there. Something more.

  Jake makes me laugh, makes me smile, knows how to have a good time. And even more than that, he stimulates my mind. Makes me think. How many times in the past few days have his questions made me reconsider everything I thought I knew. About myself, about other women and sex, about what is and isn’t appropriate. And especially about this job.

  As I get out of the shower and wrap myself in a fluffy ro
be, towel drying my hair, I think about what I’m going to do next. I still have a few weeks before the next episode of A Cunning Linguist airs. More time for Jake to try and prove his point to me. I really want that time. And not just so I can figure out how I really feel about trying to shut down his show, or if that’s even the right thing to do. But I want that time with him.

  The only thing complicating matters is Lori. I can already feel it in my bones that she’s not going to be convinced so easily if I determine that we shouldn’t fine Jake. Could I lose my job over this if I fail to do as she wishes? She holds a lot of power. I was well on my way up the bureaucratic ladder.

  And now I’m more confused than ever. What I thought was a simple in and out, one and done kind of job has turned into much more than I could've imagined. And the craziest part is that I don’t know if I’d want it any other way.

  Because that would mean giving up the time I’ve had with Jake. That’s something I know I’m not prepared to do.

  As I drop my robe and climb naked into bed, my hair still damp from the shower, I push all the troubling thoughts from my head. At least for now. I can worry about it more tomorrow. But right now all I want to do is fall asleep to the memory of how expertly Jake worked my body over and hope that I can relive it all again in my dreams until I see him again.

  Jake

  Toby glances at me from where he’s sitting in the chair next to my desk, his eyes conveying all the worry and concern that I’m feeling right now. Not that I’m going to let these douches in on that.

  I smile condescendingly at the two lawyers seated across from me, using the intimidating wooden desk to my advantage as I stare them down. “How can I help you gentlemen today?”

  Like I don’t know exactly why they’re here. These ass wipes work for the network. They only reason they’d be here looking like they want to rip me a new one is because of the pending investigation with the FCC.

  The prick on the left, whose slimy grin is as fake as the hair plugs of the guy next to him takes his time before answering me. He looks down at his designer suit and plucks at an imaginary piece of lint. Then he studies his fingernails.