by Donna Hill
Maurice tipped his head back far enough to be able to look into her eyes. “Take it off.”
The ragged longing in his voice resonated all the way down to her center. And although she was never good at taking orders, she was willing to make an exception this time.
She sat up on her knees, removed her smock and then pulled her T-shirt over her head. Her heart raced a mile a minute and she was sure he could hear it.
“Don’t stop,” he urged with that chocolate and cinnamon gaze of his boring into her.
Layla reached behind her and unsnapped her bra. She let her arms fall to her sides.
Maurice’s eyes traversed her body from head to toe. The barest hint of a smile twitched his lips. He drew in a long breath. He reached up and slid one strap off of her right shoulder. Layla held her breath. He did the same with the other side. The full rise of her very aroused breasts held her bra in place and somewhere in the back of her head she was thrilled and relieved that she’d picked the “good” undies today.
Maurice pushed himself up into a half-sitting position and with a strength that startled her, lifted her from her spot to straddle his waist and settle right on the hard rise that pressed against and taunted her.
“I want to look at you,” he said in a raw whisper. “I hope you don’t mind.” He peeled the right cup from her breast to expose one and then the other. He cupped them in his hands the best he could, gently squeezing, their fullness overflowing his palms. His thumbs and forefingers teased her nipples, softly tugging and elongating them and she nearly pooled into a heap on top of him.
“Stand up,” he said, the simple command sounding more like an erotic caress.
Layla was pretty sure her wobbly legs would give out on her but she did as he asked, wondering what he had in mind.
She stood above him on the bed, her legs splayed on either side of his body. She looked down into his face. He didn’t take his eyes off of her as he pulled the towel away from around his waist and tossed it to the floor. Layla gasped when she glimpsed him, sure that the dim lighting was playing tricks on her. She couldn’t take all of him inside her. She simply couldn’t.
“Take off the rest,” he said while he stroked her legs, making her unsteadiness far worst.
Her mind was in chaos, shifting between unimaginable want and reasonableness then back again. It had been more than a year since she’d been with a man, experiencing what it was like to be wanted and giving into that want. Her raging hormones played havoc with her body. Unimaginable want won.
She undid the button of her shorts and then slid the zipper down. The room was engulfed in heat or maybe it was her. All she knew for certain was that she was on fire and it was getting harder to breathe. Every inch of her wanted release. She shimmied her shorts across her hips and down her legs and stepped out of them. She tossed them onto the floor. His gaze scorched her inner thighs.
Maurice ran his hands along the inside of her thighs and they began to tremble as if tiny electrodes were under her skin. His fingers roamed upward until he reached the apex of her thighs, protected only by pale blue satin and lace. He cupped her sex in his palm, pressed his thumb against her clitoris and teased until she exploded into a million tiny pieces. Her startled cry was hoarse and ragged. She felt her legs give out and her body falling forward as the climax ripped through her.
Maurice used his other hand to brace her body, holding her up with his hand pressed firmly against her belly, forcing her to experience the tumultuous orgasm standing up above him. Slowly he eased her down and before she could catch her breath, he’d turned her onto her back. He didn’t wait for her to take her panties off. He did it for her. His hands went to her heat, finding her wet and throbbing. She moaned and he slid a finger inside. Her hips spontaneously arched in response. He moved his finger around in slow, maddening circles and then even slower in and out before inserting finger number two.
Her insides clenched around them. Her belly quivered as her hips rose and fell to meet each stroke of his expert hands. Her sighs had turned to whimpers as she felt the build up again. So soon—she managed to think. Not again, she wasn’t ready, she couldn’t be. But her mind was no longer in charge, her body was.
Maurice placed tiny, incendiary kisses behind her ear, across her neck, along her throat down to the rise of her breast. He took one nipple into his mouth and her body rose up off the bed. All the air was lodged in her throat as his tongue moved in tantalizing circles around the hardened bud and the tips of his teeth nibbled ever so seductively.
She was one live wire now, unable to distinguish one amazing sensation from the other.
“I’ll ask you again,” he said lifting his mouth from the succulent taste of her breast.
Layla’s eyes fluttered open. Everything was out of focus.
“Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes,” she managed.
He stretched across her and dug in the nightstand drawer. He pulled out a condom. He stared into her eyes, tore the pack open with his teeth. He pulled the soft, nearly translucent rubber out of its protective pack, and braced on his knees, he slowly rolled it along his considerable length.
Layla watched in utter fascination. She’d never thought that watching a man put on a condom could be such a turn-on.
A dark, almost dangerous look hung in his eyes. He pushed her legs apart and bent them at the knee. He kissed the inside of her thighs. She drew in a sharp breath. And then he was inside of her.
She cried out as the sensation of being filled and stretched settled around her. Maurice, remained perfectly still as her body adjusted and then he began to push further inside of her, slow and easy.
Instinct took over and her hips rose and fell to meet his slow and deliberate thrusts. They found their rhythm and moved in harmony, the sensations building with intensity. Heat suffused them. The sounds of their pleasure filled the room—Layla’s soft cries and Maurice’s guttural groans combined for their own unique sound.
The tempo began to quicken. Layla felt her release building from the soles of her feet, scurrying up her legs, between her thighs. Her scalp tingled. Her hips arched and banged against his downward thrust. He captured a needy nipple in his mouth, sucked, and her entire world exploded.
Maurice was locked in the vortex of her climax. He rode her faster, harder. She screamed. His entire body stiffened and then he erupted inside of her.
Chapter 9
When Layla opened her eyes, she was alone. For a moment she couldn’t figure out where she was. Her body ached. She was sticky between her legs and she was naked.
She sat up and looked around and reality hit her. Maurice’s room. She covered her face with her hands and groaned in mortification. What the hell had she done?
Quickly she scrambled out of bed and began looking around for her clothes, picking them up piece by piece and putting them on while silently praying that he didn’t walk through the door. He was probably off somewhere thinking what an easy lay she was. Oh, God. She had to get out of there.
She fastened her shorts. Her head snapped around the room. She peered under the sheets and the bed. She couldn’t find her bra. Damn it. She tugged on her T-shirt, grabbed her smock and tied it tightly around her waist. Her tender nipples brushed against the fabric. She drew in air from between her teeth when her clit throbbed in response.
The flame beneath the oil burners had gone out. She snatched them off the nightstand, and dumped them into her knapsack along with the massage oils and towels.
Layla took one last look around, ran her hand through her hair and groaned again. She must look like a hot mess or rather a horny woman that just experienced the greatest sex in her adult life. A tremor of memory scurried up her spine.
She nearly sprinted to the bedroom door and pulled it open. No sign of Maurice. With as much dignity as she had left, she cross
ed the open living space to the front door and stepped outside. The warm, salty air assuaged her senses.
“Leaving?”
Her heart stopped. She snapped her head to the left. Maurice was sitting on the cushioned bench, near the corner of the porch, partially hidden beneath the overhang and the dimming sunlight, sipping something from a tall, iced glass.
She swallowed. “Yeah, I’d better get going.” She tried to find a place to look and adjusted her knapsack onto her shoulder.
Slowly he stood up and she was once again transfixed by his eyes and the way his sleek dark brows swept across them. And then he was standing right in front of her, close enough that she had to lift her chin to look up at him. She could feel heat radiate off of his body. She clutched her bag of goods.
Maurice’s finger lifted and trailed a soft line from her ear down across her jaw. She wanted to back away but she couldn’t move. Her insides curled deliciously in response. A glimmer of something close to a smile played with his mouth.
“Thank you…for coming…I feel much better.”
She swallowed over the enormous knot of emotion that wedged in her throat. What was he saying? What did he really mean? “Good. I’m glad,” she eked out. She took a step back as much to make her getaway as to keep distance between her and his raw magnetism.
Quickly she turned and hurried along the pathway to safety. She thought she heard him call out to her but she didn’t dare look back. It was probably her imagination anyway. And then for some inexplicable reason tears welled in her eyes, clouding her vision. She tugged on her bottom lip to stifle a sob. What had she done?
She ducked her head as she hurried past a couple strolling in the opposite direction. She was positive that anyone setting eyes on her would know that she had just given up the goods to a man that she barely knew. A sudden visual of her body practically suspended above him in the throes of a wicked orgasm flamed in front of her. A whimper slipped out. She shook her head briskly and ran up the one step leading to her front door. She twisted the knob and practically fell inside.
Tears that she’d held in check rolled down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms protectively around her body allowing the closed door to support her weight before she slid down to the floor, dropped her head to her knees and wept.
After a long, hot shower, Layla moved around her cottage dazed and edgy. How was she going to be able to stay at The Port after what had happened? She poured some chilled white wine into a glass and then sat down at the breakfast bar. She stared out of the wide bay window at the last rays of the blazing sun as it slipped below the horizon, casting beacons of orange and gold across the slightly rippling water.
She couldn’t face him. And heaven only knew what he must think of her. She cringed and took a swallow of wine. There had to be a way out of this mess that she’d found herself in. Desiree had gone all out to get the spa up and running specifically for her. She couldn’t in good conscience leave her high and dry and go back to the city.
She sighed heavily and took another sip of wine. Her gaze drifted off from the beauty beyond and landed someplace earlier in the day when reason had no place in her head. She’d been caressed, and touched, kissed and sexed and turned on in ways that she didn’t know were possible. A wanton smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.
It was damn good. “Humph, humph, humph.” She knew it had been a long time, and she may have forgotten just how good great sex could feel, but this was off the charts. Maurice Lawson knew what to do with and to a woman. And Layla had the deep suspicion that what he showed her today was only the appetizer before the main course. Goose bumps galloped along her arms and down her back.
She shook her head hoping to shake free from the thoughts and images of Maurice Lawson—to no avail. She took another sip of wine and a long deep breath and her insides jumped. She could smell him, his scent that triggered something deep and carnal inside of her. His scent had seeped into her pores and all the body wash and scrubbing hadn’t gotten rid of it.
Her vibrating cell phone shimmied across the counter. She snatched it up and looked at the lighted face. Desiree. Briefly she shut her eyes. What was she going to tell her friend?
She slid her finger across the screen to unlock the phone and pressed the telephone icon. “Hey,” she greeted, pushing cheer into her voice.
“Hey, yourself. I stopped by the spa to check on you but it was locked up tight. Everything okay? Please don’t tell me business is dwindling already,” she said with laughter in her voice.
“No, not at all. I cleared my schedule for this afternoon.” She paused. “I needed to take care of a few things that’s all.”
Desiree was silent for a moment. “Are you sure you’re okay, because you sound funny? Whatsup?”
Layla blew out a breath. Over the years she and Desiree had shared some of their most intimate secrets, dreams and desires. They’d been there for each other through break-ups and make-ups and everything in between.
She took a sip of her wine and set the glass down. “I just had the greatest sex of my life with one of your guests,” she blurted out in one long string of words.
“OMG. I’m coming over right now. Do. Not. Move. And I’m bringing wine!” She disconnected the call before Layla had a chance to react.
Layla lifted the glass to her mouth and finished off her drink. “Here we go,” she muttered.
Desiree sat with her legs tucked beneath her on Layla’s overstuffed sofa that was a rich buttercream in a simple jacquard fabric of seascapes. The sheer floor-to-ceiling drapes in the same airy color were seductively caressed by the light breeze that blew in from the open window and the French doors. The entire space begged relaxation, from the cool woods of the floors, and the sea breeze to the sensuous furnishings, but none of that settled the jangling inside Layla’s stomach. Not even her fourth glass of wine.
“I am still in shock,” Desiree said, eyeing her friend over the rim of her wineglass.
“You! How do you think I feel?”
Desiree snorted her laughter. “From what you told me—damned good! I think that was the term you used.” She slapped her thigh in merriment.
Layla pursed her lips in annoyance. “Very funny. This is serious, Desi. How can I look him in the face after this?”
Desiree arched a brow in thought, sipped her wine. “Hmm. Look, you are both adults. Handle it like an adult. Maybe he’s feeling just as awkward as you are. Your crazy behind was bold enough to go over there in the first place, so be bold when you see him again.”
Layla sputtered her drink. “What!”
“I don’t mean that kind of bold. I mean talk to him. Be honest. You’re obviously attracted to him.” She shrugged. “See where it goes. If nothing comes of it at least you got the cootie cobwebs cleared,” she snickered.
Layla’s eyes and mouth opened wide. “You are so awful!” She shook her head. “I swear…can’t tell you anything.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just messing with you. It’s just so good to hear you have that raw rasp in your voice when you to talk about a man. I mean, come on, sis, it’s been over a year. You’re a grown, healthy, beautiful, intelligent woman. You deserve to get your groove on, too.” She lowered her voice and took Layla’s hand. “Brent left some real scars, I know that. He got your emotions all twisted and stomped all over them. He made you lose trust in men and relationships. But every man isn’t Brent. Maurice Lawson may be or may not be the one for you, but it’s time to move on with your life anyway.”
Layla heaved a sigh. “He has issues.”
Desiree cocked her head to the side and gave her that are you serious look. “And you don’t?”
“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll take your advice.”
“Good. Now let’s get something to eat or I’m going to be drunk.”
“But…what if we run into him?”
she asked, suddenly not so sure of Desiree’s plan for her new life.
“Then you smile that sweet smile of yours and ask him if he’d like to join us.” Desiree unfolded herself, stood up and stretched. “Hey, I just remembered. Melanie called me earlier. She’s back and definitely wants to get together. Just us girls.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“And…as you know, Melanie has her own connections to the Lawson family. Maybe she can give you some details on Maurice. She’s practically family. Her husband, Claude, is chief of staff for Maurice’s uncle Branford.”
“Get out.” Layla blinked back her surprise, stood and followed Desiree to the door.
“As a matter of fact, let me give her a call. Maybe she’s up for a visit.”
Chapter 10
Melanie squealed in delight and wrapped Layla in a tight embrace from the instant she flung her door open. “Oh, it is so good to see you. It’s been way too long.” She draped her arm around Layla’s shoulder and ushered her inside.
“So what am I, an old shoe,” Desiree whined, feigning offense. She shut the door and huffed in behind them.
“Let’s sit out back. I made a pitcher of mimosas,” Melanie said, beaming and hugging Layla close.
“You look fabulous,” Layla said. They entered the enclosed veranda that looked out onto the pool. “Marriage totally agrees with you.”
Melanie’s luminous brown eyes sparkled. “That’s what love will do for you,” she said, her voice filled with girlish delight. “Never thought I’d find it again after losing Steven all those years ago. So I threw myself into the family business—finding perfect matches for the perfect people. The Platinum Society became my world.” She laughed. “Who knew! Come. Sit. Relax.”
Always the consummate hostess, Melanie took the carafe of mimosas and poured some into the three goblets, then took a seat on the lounge chair. She raised her glass. “To good friends…”
