She walks toward the wall of glass. “I thought you were of Italian decent. Your name and beautiful skin,” she says, looking out at the ocean.
“And you?” I ask.
She turns and looks at me. Her mouth, on the cusp of forming words, pauses, as if deciding to answer or not. “Scottish,” she finally says and turns her attention back to the ocean.
I pour us some wine. Joining her, I hand her a glass.
“Thank you.” She taps my glass. “Cin cin.”
I tap hers. “Salute.”
I step away from her and lean my ass against the back of a sofa. I take her in while she takes in the view. Her long wavy blonde hair is pulled up in some kind of messy knot thing, revealing her long slender neck. She’s wearing a short blue, haltered sundress that matches her eyes. I’ve never seen eyes the color of hers before. Not blue, not green but somewhere in between—aqua maybe. Trailing my eyes up her long tan slender legs, I pause over her perfect can’t-wait-to-lick-it ass.
My cock swells and I pray she doesn’t look back at me until I get it under control. Whoever said men think with their dicks was right. I’ve even gone as far as talking to mine, as if it has its own identity, its own separate thoughts and opinions.
She tilts her head, looking not at the view but at the panes of glass. She taps on one. “High-impact plastic,” she says matter-of-factly. “You should check out the newer hurricane-rated glass that’s available. It has a much higher impact rating and the clarity is one thousand times better.”
I chuckle behind my glass.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
She rolls her eyes at me and looks back at the window.
“Maybe that’s something the new owner can look into.”
She turns. “You’re selling?”
“Already have. Closing next month.”
She nods as she swirls the wine around her glass and sniffs. Seemingly liking the smell, she parts her perfect lips and takes a small sip. I don’t see her swallow, so I imagine she’s holding it against her palate, taking in the wine’s notes, tones, or whatever.
I down half of mine as I imagine my cock pressed against her palate, my cum washing over her tongue as she takes in its notes and tones before swallowing.
“Logan?”
“What?”
“I asked if you liked the wine?”
“Oh. Yeah, it’s good… fine.”
She holds out her now empty glass. “Let’s try the pinot noir.”
I take her glass, return to the kitchen area, and open the pinot noir.
She joins me. “Are you the decorator?”
“What?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m great.”
“I asked if you decorated your box of glass.”
“No. My ex-girlfriend.” I nod toward the leather sofa. “I bought the sofa.”
She nods, taking her glass. “I was thinking that was you. Looks more your style. Something you can actually sit on.”
I take a sip of wine then place my glass on the counter. “Yeah, modern furniture might look cool, but it’s a bitch to sit on.”
She walks over to a chair that looks like a large piece of white ribbon candy and runs her hand over it. “I have a furniture philosophy.”
“Oh yeah,” I say, as I check on the lasagna. “What’s that?”
“If you can’t fuck on it comfortably, it’s worthless.”
Nearly dropping the lasagna, I moan. “Damn, angel.”
She giggles, putting her glass on the counter. “Sorry about that. What can I do to help?”
Beside rock me hard and stupid? “You can get the salad out of the fridge.”
She does and places it on the set table. “Take this table for example.” She runs a finger down the glass before bending over it, her dress hiking up her thighs. “It’s a comfortable height, easy on the back, don’t you think?”
I groan. “Killing me here.” Who am I kidding? I’m so already dead.
She laughs. “I like making you smile like a horny idiot. Makes those sad brown eyes of yours not so sad.”
I set the lasagna down on the table. “You think my eyes are sad?”
She grabs her glass and the bottle of wine and sits across from me. All sexy mischief is gone from her gorgeous face and eyes. “I think your heart was broken and still aches. By who or what I don’t know, and I’m not going to ask. I think you’re a lot like me, Logan. Not one who’s good at hiding your damage, your pain, your needs and desires. I think you try like I do, but even when we think we succeed, our hurt, our emotions, are painted on our face, and shine in our eyes, for all to see.”
Fuck. How does she know me so well, without even knowing me? I sit across from her, remaining silent, not knowing what to say.
She puts her hand over mine. “You don’t need to say anything. It is what it is.”
And what is it? I want to ask her, but don’t, knowing she won’t answer me.
She hands me her plate. “Smells wonderful.”
I dish her out a serving. “Buon appetito,” I say, handing her plate back.
“Grazie,” she replies.
I fill my plate with lasagna and salad. I wait for her to take a bite before I dig in.
She chews, moaning as she swallows. “Holy cannoli. That’s molto buono!”
“I know; the best, right?”
She moans around her fork as she takes another bite.
Fuck! My cock jumps and kicks its stand. If it had hands, they would be waving uncontrollably, begging to be chosen to take the place of the lasagna that’s rolling over her tongue. I sit my napkin in my lap and covertly adjust. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this turned on, if ever. I’d like to say it’s because I haven’t fucked in five months but that wouldn’t be entirely true. I know it’s Sam. She’s the reason I’m rock solid.
“I have a chef friend in New York who owns a couple of popular Italian restaurants. He’d get down on his knees and beg for this recipe.”
I sit back and wonder how close is this friend? What the hell, Romano? Jealous much?
She grins. “He’s a total gaywad and very happily married.”
“I’m that transparent?”
“Your eyes, Logan. They say so, so very much,” she says softly.
And she had me on the first so. Fuck, Allie is right; I’m going down, down.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. Well, I do anyway. Sam continues to moan and groan around her fork as my aching cock continues to throb against the fly of my board shorts.
She finally puts her fork down and picks up her wine. “So why did you sell? Was it because you’re moving to New York, or haunting memories of the ex?” she teases. “Remember you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“I sold because I’m never here. It’s been almost two years since I’ve used this place. So I thought if things work out in New York, I’d be even less likely to use it.”
“What do you mean by work out?”
“I became a free agent this past year. The Rangers picked me up but for how long, I don’t know.”
She bits her lower lip. “Were you injured?”
Romano, you’re an idiot. “You could say that.” She doesn’t press for an explanation and I’m relieved.
She refills our glasses. “I must confess to knowing very little about hockey. The only games I’ve even attended were my nephews’.” She smiles as if remembering a happy time. “I couldn’t relax, even for a second. I was completely preoccupied, praying they didn’t get hit with a stick or fall head first onto the ice. My sister is worse. She’s been banned from the rink.”
“So you have a sister?”
She spaces for a second, her eyes clouding over. “Sorry. Sometimes my emotions get the best of me when it comes to my sister. She’s my best friend. Well, she’s more than that. She’s… Let’s just say, I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
I put my hand over he
rs. “Don’t be sorry.”
She half-smiles as she pulls her hand out from under mine. My hand is left feeling cold, and my heart feeling as if it’s just lost its best friend. What the hell is wrong with you, Romano?
She drinks her wine and pours another glass. “I spoke with her a few days ago, and damned if she didn’t throw me for a loop—again.” She rolls her eyes. “She’s pregnant with triplets.”
“Wow!”
She laughs. “If there’s a hard way about it, that’s the way, she’ll go.” She pauses. “I’m sorry. That sounded wrong and petty. It’s not like she could help it or control it.”
“Is she your only sibling?”
“Yes. Do you have any siblings?”
“Si– five. Two brothers and three sisters.”
“Wow. Six kids.”
“And they’re all a pain in my ass.”
We finish our meal in silence.
She puts down her fork. “I’m stuffed. That was incredible, Logan. Thank you.”
Smiling, I stand and give her my hand. “Before dessert, let me give you the grand tour of the big-ass glass box.”
She stands, putting her hand in mine. I tug on it and she looks at me. Crap! Her once smiling eyes now look defeated. I know it has something to do with her sister, but I don’t dare ask. She wouldn’t tell me anyway. I want my carefree, sexy, flirting angel back. And I’m not going to lie; my hands are itching, burning to run all over her perfection. And my stick? Well, it’s more than ready to score.
It doesn’t take long to show her around the first level and we soon make our way hand-in-hand up the stairs to the second floor.
I lead her down a hallway, stopping in front of a closed door. I reluctantly let go of her hand and open it. “This is the master,” I say, stepping aside so she can enter.
She walks in and smiles widely when she sees the huge bed that matches the design of the ribbon candy chairs. She runs her hand down the mattress. “Will you be moving this to New York?”
“No. Sold the place furnished.”
“Damn. That’s a shame,” she teases.
I laugh in agreement. I hate the furniture in this place. “I’ve one more bedroom to show you.”
She follows me to one of the two guest bedrooms. I open the door; stepping aside, I let her enter first.
She gives me a shy smile and walks through the door. When she sees the bed, she stops in her tracks. She stares at it for a few seconds, the skin between her brows furrowing. She tilts her head and looks over at me, her eyes wide, filled with confusion and shock.
I nod and smile, patiently waiting for her to tell me what she thinks.
“Logan, I….” She bites her lip, the skin between her brows furrowing deeper.
“So, what do you think?”
Her teeth retract, her lower lip turning down at the corners. “Well… I don’t… I’m definitely surprised. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t… I mean, to each his own, and all that.”
To each his own? “What?”
“I’m not usually one to judge. I try hard not to, anyway. But… I’m sorry, Logan… this is… this is fucked up.”
Fucked up? “What?”
She gestures toward the bed. “This.”
I smile. “Yeah, it’s different.”
Her frown reaches her eyes. “I guess. I mean, that’s one way of saying it,” she says, her voice off, edgy, maybe even angry.
She’s obviously stressed over this stupid-assed bed my ex designed. I thought I’d get a big belly laugh out of my angel. “Sam, it’s just a bed. I don’t…?”
She holds up her hand. “I’m sorry, Logan. I have no right to judge your fetish, but I just can’t wrap my head around it. I just… well, I can’t see you as a… manbaby. I don’t even know what it’s called, to be perfectly honest. What do you call it?”
“Manbaby?”
“Oh, I did get it right. So, is this a… mancrib?” she asks, nodding toward the bed.
Manbaby? Mancrib? Fetish? I put it all together. Holy shit, angel! She thinks I’m into man diapers. I smile to myself. For thinking I sleep in a mancrib, my angel, I’m going to tease you a bit. I am a manbaby, after all. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I thought you’d be into it. You struck me as the nurturing and mothering type.”
She swallows, her sun-kissed skin turning pale. “I don’t think you’d call… whatever you call it, nurturing and mothering. That’s just plain… wrong,” she says, obviously horrified.
“I know you’re a strong woman, and like to be in charge. It’s the perfect role for someone like you.”
Her big ocean eyes open wide. “I might be a strong woman; but good God, I’m not that kind of strong.”
I fold my manbaby arms over my chest. “I’m not usually wrong about a woman’s character,” I tell her matter-of-factly.
“Well, I’m sorry but you’re off by friggin’ miles.” She spreads her arms wide. “I’m mean big ass friggin’ miles.”
“Why do you look so horrified? Think about it as a mothering, gentler form of domination.”
Her beautiful skin pales further. “Fuck, Logan. That’s just… It’s just…”
“Don’t knock it until you try it, angel.”
She holds her stomach. “I think I’m going to ralph.”
I give her a disappointed faux frown. “All I ask is that you open your mind, angel. How about I get some toys and props and we give it a trial run. Then if you’re not into it…”
“Toys? Props?” she spouts.
“Yeah. You know bottles, diapers, binkies, that kind of stuff.”
“Holy hell,” she says, holding her hand over her mouth. “I’m going to ralph in my mouth,” she mumbles behind her hand.
I can’t hold in my hysteria any longer. I lose it big time. I laugh so damn hard, I have to bend over, putting my hands on my knees so I don’t fall to the ground and roll around like a manbaby.
Sam tackles me and we fall to the carpet, laughing. “You asswipe! Oh, my God. I really thought you were a manbaby.”
I wipe happy tears from my eyes. “Manbaby. Mancrib. The look on your face, angel; fucking priceless.”
She sits on top of me, playfully hitting me in the chest with her small fists. Her effort at punishment just makes me laugh harder.
I roll on top of her, pinning her arms above her head. She stops laughing; so do I. All kidding is forgotten. I look down at this gorgeous, sexy as hell woman and send her a message as old as time.
Her pupils dilate and her pulse quickens underneath my palms—message received.
I lower, giving her some of my weight as I press my aching, throbbing cock into her. “Angel,” I whisper, my lips floating just above hers.
“Logan.”
I trace her lips with the tip of my tongue. She moans, her lips parting, inviting me in. I don’t hesitate; our tongues begin dancing a tango. She dips I catch her. She spins I chase her.
“Logan,” she groans.
“God, angel. Say it again. I love how my name tastes on your lips.”
“Logan.”
My cock painfully beats a hard rhythm against her thigh as I trail my lips down her neck. “Say it again,” I plead.
“Logan,” she whispers.
My lips kiss down her collarbone to the swell of her breast. Biting the strap of her dress, I pull it aside and down.
“Christ, angel. So damn perfect,” I say, and lap over a small pink nipple.
“Logan,” she moans. “Please,” she begs.
I latch on to a nipple, sucking it into my mouth. It pebbles and throbs against my tongue.
“Logan! Where are you?”
I freeze.
Sam stiffens beneath me.
I release her nipple with a pop.
“Logan! Where are you?”
I let go of her hands. She looks up at me. “Are you expecting more company?”
“Fuck,” is all I can manage. I pull on the strap of her dress, reverently and rel
uctantly covering the most perfect tit I’ve even seen.
I remove myself from her. Standing, I give her my hand.
She takes it and I pull her up. “Do you know who it is?”
I nod. “Unfortunately.”
She straightens her dress and fixes her hair. “Who?”
“Janet. The fucking ex.”
She bites her lip before giving me a weak smile. “Sorry.”
I shake my head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Wait here and I’ll get rid of her.”
“No way. I’m not staying in here alone with the mancrib,” she says, nodding toward the stupid bed.
“Logan,” Janet shouts again.
“I don’t want her to see you. She’s… well, kind of a psycho.”
“She can’t be that bad.”
“Janet not only decorated this place but she designed the mancrib.”
She snorts. “I for sure have to meet her now.”
I give her my hand. “Okay, but remember I warned you.”
She takes my hand and we walk down the stairs to the first level.
Janet, standing near the bottom of the stairs, turns and looks up at us. She doesn’t look surprised to see me with someone, so I know this was planned.
I reluctantly let go of Sam’s hand and I step in front of her. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“God, Logan. Chill out. I came to get my stuff,” she says, craning her neck, trying to look around me at Sam.
“Your stuff has been sitting in the garage for months.”
She nudges me aside. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” she asks, giving Sam a curt once-over.
I look between them and mentally prepare myself for the inevitable catfight.
Sam winks at me.
I shake my head in surprise. What are you up to, angel?
She walks up to Janet, holding out her hand, grinning like an idiot. “I’m Sam. You must be Janet. Logan and I were just talking about you.”
Janet, stunned stupid, holds out her hand. “You were?”
“Yes,” Sam tells her, giving her hand a firm, exaggerated shake. “Logan was just showing me the bed you designed. I’ve never seen anything like it. What a concept. A mancrib,” she gushes.
I bite my lip, pausing my mirth.
Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) Page 4
