by Alexis Angel
My whole body, as well as my mind, is numb. I can’t feel a thing, aside from the pleasure that burns in my veins like a drug, of course.
I’m gasping for air, trying to remember myself, where I am, and what the rest of the day is supposed to be like, but for a long time, my mind can't grasp anything. No thoughts, no reality. I'm so incredibly caught up in the lustful moment, I just bring my hand to his chest and feel his heartbeat, some biological urge making that the only thing that matters to me. I feel it hammering in his chest and I almost want to tell him job well done, but I couldn't form words right now if I wanted to.
But then I remember...I'm actually going into the office. His office. This power hour of fucking was just the prelude to a pretty full day, and I've got to compose myself...and my clothes. I start to laugh, pulling my clothes up and making do with what I have, straightening this out here and making sure this isn't covered in cum there. I'm pretty proud of the job I do and I look over to Jake, putting on his clothes. It makes me realize that if you truly find someone irresistible, even the act of them putting on clothes is erotic to you. After everything we just did, watching Jake put his clothes on just makes me want to tear them off more. The man makes me totally insatiable, and I relish the fact that before we get to the office, I can kiss him just a little bit longer where the taste of our cum still lingers and appreciate just how insatiable he makes me. Then, we arrive at his studio building. With a full day ahead of us, we go to work.
Jake
Layla looks so fucking sexy over in the corner of my office. We’ve been in for an hour or so—we rode together in my limo—and she’s looking over viewership statistics for ACL. She’s totally engrossed in what she’s doing and doesn’t notice that I can’t seem to keep my eyes off her. I like having her with me. I said it before, but it’s true. I could get used to having her around. At work, at home. All the time. It’s crazy talk, right? I mean, I’m the ultimate ladies man. Every guy wishes he could be me.
Yet all I can think about is that having someone special to spend my time with is way better than having a thousand random women lining up for me.
“We’ve narrowed it down to about ten at this point,” Toby is saying.
“Mm hmm,” I mutter, my eyes still on Layla.
“But I think there are several that really stand out among the others…” He keeps on talking, and I zone out again.
What’s going to happen when Layla makes her decision? And then what about when the show starts back up? Do we actually have a chance at a real relationship? It seems complicated. But at the same time, I can’t imagine things going back to the way they were before.
“Dude!”
I jerk my eyes over to Toby, who looks completely exasperated.
“What?”
“Did you hear a single fucking thing I said?” He’s grinning like an idiot now, a ridiculous smirk plastered on his face.
“Oh, um, yeah. Sure. Ten guests.” Is that what he said? That sounds right.
“I asked you a question.”
I shake my head and squint. “Um, could you repeat it?”
Toby laughs loudly, getting Layla’s attention now.
“Dude, you're so distracted.” He gives Layla a knowing wink. “Can’t say that I blame you. But seriously, we need to figure this out. What do you think about Meghan Mitchell?”
“The actress?” Layla asks, an odd look on her face.
“Yeah,” Toby says excitedly. “She’s like the hottest new A-list starlet right now. Having her on the show would be huge.”
“She wants to come on ACL?” I ask, knitting my brows together. “Why?”
Toby sighs, and then looks at me like he’s having to explain something to a kindergartner. “She’s a fan of the show.” Picking up a paper, he waves it in my face. “And not just any old fan, apparently. Like a total super-fan. I think we should go with it.”
He’s got my attention now. That would be good for the show. “You’re right,” I say, leaning forward. “She’d make a great guest. I’ve been trying to figure out how we could keep the ratings as high as they were before the hiatus, and think this is the way to go.”
The sharp sound of a chair scraping across the floor makes me look back at Layla. She’s standing up, some papers in her hand and the weird look still on her face.
I start to stand, concerned, but she walks toward me, somewhat stiffly, and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I need to go. I have some outside research that really can’t wait.”
I frown as she leaves. She didn’t mention that earlier when we were talking about our plans for the day.
When I look back at Toby, he’s still grinning like a fool.
“What?”
“Man, you are so fucking pussy whipped. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Shut your hole, dude.” But I can’t help laughing. He’s kind of right.
“I mean, you haven’t been able to get your head in the game all damn day. Next thing I know, you’ll be wanting to change up the show and turn into fucking Dr. Phil.”
“Watch it, asshole,” I say, pointing my finger at him, but still grinning good-naturedly. “I may change my mind about you and get someone else to guest host if you keep this shit up.”
I haven’t had a chance to tell Layla yet, but I decided to let Toby guest host the first episode after the hiatus. He’s been bugging me about it for long enough, and it was an easy answer for the moment.
I haven’t figured out how to handle the fact that I don’t want to play my part on the next episode now that Layla’s in the picture. I’m sure that would hurt her. I sure as fuck wouldn’t be cool with seeing her go down on some other dude, so I’m not going to make it a double standard, even if it technically is my job.
Toby holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll back off. God knows I’ve been after this guest host spot for fucking ever. Not going to ruin it now.” Yet he still gives me a sly look. “So when’s the wedding?”
I roll my eyes and lean back in my seat, clasping my hands behind my head and crossing my knees at the ankle, trying to go for a casual look. Hoping Toby doesn’t realize that his words just drove home all the crazy thoughts I’ve been having all day.
“Whatever, man.”
Toby scoffs, apparently unconvinced. “No, you don’t get off that easily. You’re trying to tell me that you aren’t serious about Layla? That you don’t have feelings for her?”
I shrug.
“Because from where I’m sitting, it’s pretty clear. You just handed over the next show to me, giving me the chance to go down on the hottest woman in America right now. So the way I see it, it’s one of two things.” He pauses, and I raise my eyebrows, going for indifference. “You’re either in love or you’re dying. Nothing else in the world would make you do this.”
I just sit there feeling shell-shocked, sure that it’s written all over my face. But I can’t keep up the charade when he’s just dropped that kind of truth bomb.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
He’s right. I don’t want anyone else. Only Layla. Because I’m in love with her.
Layla
I’m trying my hardest to focus on the woman speaking to me over the phone, but it’s really hard to keep my mind from wandering. I keep getting this horrific picture of Jake and that actress, Meghan Mitchell. Just the idea of having to watch him go down on her has me feeling sick.
I mean, I know I don’t have to watch. I won’t be able to, honestly. But even knowing that it’s going to happen has me sick enough. I don’t know how to deal with it. I knew this was something that I’d have to deal with. I mean, it’s what he’s built his career on. I can’t exactly ask him to walk away from it. Especially when I’m not even sure how he feels about me.
I know he’s genuine at least. I’ve had my doubts wondering about the possibility of him just trying to use me to get the FCC case dropped. But those doubts are long gone after the last couple of days. Still, I don’t know if he cares about
me the way I know I’m starting to care about him. I can’t just be like, Hey, Jake, I know your entire career was built on the success of this show, but how about walking away from it just for me?
Um, no. Even if the idea of him burying his face in some other woman’s pussy night after night has me sick to my stomach, I’d never ask him that. That’s just not okay. That doesn’t make it any easier.
“I just can’t say enough wonderful things about Jake,” the woman on the phone gushes. I swear she sounds like she’s giving an infomercial about the sex god that is Jacob Kent.
Trying to regain my focus, I continue with the interview. This was one of the integral pieces of my job looking further into this show. I originally thought I could get better insight into these women and how much Jake’s show fucked them up. It was my trump card in the game of toppling the cunning linguist.
But when I started these interviews a little over an hour ago, I was dreading them. I no longer want to stack up a case against him.
Which makes it a total relief that every single woman I’ve spoken to has done nothing but sing his praises.
“It may sound crazy,” the woman continues, “but he changed my life. Truly. I can’t imagine where I might be if he hadn’t taught me how to celebrate my own sexuality. It’s like there’s a whole other world out there I’m only just starting to experience. You might not get what I’m trying to say, but just believe me when I tell you it was life changing.”
No, I get it. Totally. Jake has changed my life too. Even though it’s only been a few short weeks, I can’t imagine my life without him now. I don’t even want to try.
I want to be with him in any and every way possible, I realize, even if it means dealing with his show.
“Thank you so much,” I tell the woman before ending the call. “Your responses have been very helpful. Oh, and by the way,” I add with a smile. “I’m so happy that Jake was able to help you.”
Yeah, I can deal with it. Especially knowing he’s helping out all these women. I might not like it, but I can live with it. As long as I’m the one he comes home to at night.
Well, if that’s what he wants. There’s no doubt in my mind now that I do.
I make several more phone calls over the next few hours and basically just get more of the same. By the time I’m done with the interviews I have report after glowing report of how Jake has changed all of these women’s lives—for the better in every single circumstance.
Now all that’s left is for me to prepare my report. I’ve done my due diligence. Completed my research. Observed the behind the scenes processes. There’s nothing left to conclude about A Cunning Linguist. My decision on the fine has been made.
Now I just have to write it up and send it to Lori. She’s going to be furious when she sees the results.
Jake
It’s been such a long day. Toby’s long gone, but I’m still in my office working on my computer, fleshing out some ideas that I have for ACL for the next half of the season. What can I say? I was inspired. I guess love can do that to a guy.
Yeah, I said it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Toby said earlier and my subsequent realization. Layla is perfect for me. There’s no question in my mind now.
Just as I’m about to put the finishing touches on my draft from my brainstorming session, my phone beeps. I pick it up.
Layla.
Tapping on the phone to bring up her text, my eyes practically bulge out of my head.
Oh fuck.
Layla just sexted me with a carefully angled photo of herself. From what I can see she’s on her bed—naked. There's nothing too crazy about it; I can’t actually see anything, but it’s what I can’t see that makes my cock spring to attention.
It’s almost artistic the way she has her arms and legs positioned across her body. And if I’m not mistaken, her hand that disappears just at the bottom of the screen is settled right in between her legs.
I groan as I read her message.
Typing with one hand because the other is busy right now.
This woman. Like I said. Perfect for me.
Sounds hard, I reply.
Pointing my phone down, I snap a picture of my pants, which look like they’re about to be shredded by the massive boner she’s causing.
A minute later there’s another beep.
It is a bit of a sticky situation.
She immediately follows up with a picture of nothing but her fingers—wet and dripping with her juices.
Jesus Christ. I can’t wait another minute. My cock is already throbbing more painfully with every passing second. I quickly whip my dick out and wrap my hand around it, hissing out a breath as I imagine her wet, sticky, cum-coated fingers wrapping around my thick cock.
My cock twitches and I stroke myself, my breath coming faster. With my other hand, I snap another picture of me jerking off and send it to her.
Yeah, yeah, women don’t want to be assaulted with dick pics, right? I call bullshit. Maybe they just haven’t been seeing the right dicks. Because mine right now? It’s thick and swollen and throbbing, the massive head dripping with precum as I continue jerking off to thoughts of Layla’s sweet, sweet pussy. You’re imagining it, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you aren’t. You wish you could see what Layla’s seeing. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want me to send this to you right now.
That’s what I thought.
Layla’s next text makes me grin.
Are you coming or what?
Coming or cumming? I send back.
The next picture I get from her is all it takes to have hot, sticky jets of cum shooting from my cock in huge spurts.
It’s a full on picture of Layla’s pussy, her fingers sliding inside.
“Fuck,” I grind out. “Layla.” My orgasm rips through me, but it’s not enough. I’m still rock hard. The only thing I need right now is to be deep inside of her.
Cleaning up quickly, I button my pants back up and grab my phone, calling her as I stride out of my office and lock the door behind me. Enough of this sexting shit. I need to hear her voice right the fuck now.
She answers with nothing but breathy pants.
“Layla,” I say. “I’m on my way. Don’t you fucking dare come without me.”
“Too late,” she moans, her words turning into a cry of pleasure that has me feeling slightly crazy.
I get in my car and tear off down the road. She’s still fucking coming. Holy hell.
“Jacob,” she sighs as she comes down from her orgasm, her voice raw from her screams, her heavy breathing urging me on. I’m going way too fast to be safe, but I don’t fucking care.
I need to be inside her. Five minutes ago.
“I told you not to come,” I growl.
She laughs. “I guess if you want to see me come then you’ll just have to make sure I have another orgasm when you get here.”
Now that’s a challenge I’m more than up to.
“Done,” I say. “What are you doing now?”
“I’m licking my cum off my fingers.”
Just. Fuck. I have no words. This woman has to be the most perfect creature I’ve ever met.
“How does it taste?” I croak out.
“Delicious,” she says, her voice low and husky.
“I plan on indulging in it all night long.”
“Promise?” Her voice breaks at the end of the word and she’s breathing faster again.
“Jesus Christ, woman, can’t you wait?”
She laughs. “Nope. I guess I’m a sex-crazed maniac. It’s a problem. I might need help from a sexpert.”
“It’s definitely not a problem. And I’m more than up for the challenge.”
“You better get here fast or you’re going to miss all the fun.” Her next words are lost in the sound of her moans again and the phone beeps three times, indicating the call has ended.
Such a fucking tease.
Then I’m there at her building. I think I made it through the streets of New Yo
rk in record time. I leave my car on the street and toss my keys to the doorman along with a wad of cash. “Take care of it.”
I enter the elevator and punch the button repeatedly for her floor. The doors slide shut at a snail's pace, and I swear to all that is holy, if this elevator takes another fucking second I might lose my goddamn mind thinking about Layla up there all alone while I’m stuck in here.
Fucking finally, the doors slide open again, and then I’m at her door.
Layla
I answer the door naked because I need Jake in this apartment now. I grab the collar of his shirt, pull him inside, and slam him into the door to close it, my naked body crashing against his still clothed one. My lips close over his, panting over his for a moment, before I pull back and start tearing off his clothes.
I look at that perfect face of his, lust darkening his eyes, and that grin that’s always on his face has an unmistakable look of hunger. His lips part, both of us breathing for a pause before he finally speaks. “Someone’s eager,” Jake says, but his breathing is already ragged. Neither one of us can wait a moment longer. We stare into each other’s eyes, and I can practically hear a soundtrack behind us, swelling before we finally touch each other.
My little sexting experiment has yielded some pretty interesting results, wouldn’t you say? I know that I've never even enjoyed masturbating so much as I did knowing that I was sending Jake those pictures, and the fact that he rushed over here only makes it that much better. That pure male challenge in his voice when I told him he’d need to get here? Well, that’s the sort of thing that just guarantees a repeat performance, no matter how many orgasms you’ve already had. And sure, I had several before he got here, but that was barely a pre-game show to the main event now that he’s here. I have never wanted someone so much in my life; I have never been so wet and desperate to touch a man. I want to please him.
