The Layover

  Instead, he’d pulled back the covers and asked if I wanted to join him. Then, after practically beckoning me to step over to him, he wrapped his arms around me and held me close as the wind shook his windows.

  “Over one hundred thousand DC residents are currently without power this morning,” the newscaster says, making me roll over. “Emergency crews are trying their best to restore electricity as fast as they can, but if you know someone who is unable to call and report an outage, please call the number on the screen.”

  “Hi.” Blake’s green eyes meet mine.

  “Hi.”

  “Do I need to get you a night-light for this evening? Would that help you stay in your own room?”

  I cross my arms. “I wasn’t scared.”

  “I didn’t say you were.” He smiles. “Though next time, you should probably knock before opening the door. Otherwise, I’ll think you’re someone who’s trying to break in.”

  “Or someone who’s walking in on you jacking yourself off.”

  “Very funny.” He kisses my cheek. “It’d be even funnier if you hadn’t been murmuring my name every fifteen minutes last night.”

  “I did not!”

  “You did, but it’s okay. I would never count your sleep-talk as an invite to your body—even though that’s what you want.”

  I immediately roll out of the bed. “I’m going to go do some more writing now.” I walk into the hallway and head to my room, but he follows me and takes my hand.

  He leads me into the kitchen and pulls out a barstool. Then, as if that last conversation never happened, he starts to make breakfast and asks more questions about my writing.

  Once we’re done eating, he shows me into his private library—a large room that features ceiling high book cases, and we do our separate work while sitting next to each other on a couch.

  Much to my surprise, the next few days pass with us following the same routine: We work sitting side by side during the afternoons, and during breaks, he insists on reading me passages from his favorite books. Of course, they’re all erotic novels.

  The best part of these days is the end, because for whatever reason, he feels the need to personally escort me to my room. Then he always asks, “Are you sleeping alone?”

  Even though I’ve said yes every single time, the toe-curling kiss he gives me right after always makes me want to change my mind. And despite the fact that the storm’s winds scare the hell out of me and always make me tiptoe into his bedroom in the middle of the night, he never makes a move on me.

  He just holds me.

  “Paris?” Blake is at my bedroom door again.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you sleeping alone tonight?”

  I nod, and as if on cue, he presses his lips against mine and wraps his arms around my waist—kissing me harder than he’s ever kissed me before.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I murmur as he bites my bottom lip, as he rubs his hands up and down my back.

  Just give in...Give the fuck in...

  I pull back and fix my mouth to say, “I don’t want to sleep alone,” but he doesn’t give me the chance. He clearly thinks me pulling away means I want to end our kiss, because he says goodnight and walks away.

  “I’ll be up late tonight, if you can’t sleep.” He looks over his shoulder.

  “More case files?”

  “Unfortunately,” he says, and I know that “unfortunately” has a double meaning.

  Chapter 9

  I wake up alone in Blake’s bed.

  From the open windows, I can see that the snowfall has finally slowed to a few occasional flurries. The roads are still buried, but I can see emergency workers pushing mounds of it onto the sidewalks.

  As I pull back the sheets, I notice a bright box on the edge of the bed that bears my name and a note: For Tonight...

  Confused, I open the box and gasp when I see what’s inside: It’s a haltered silk plum dress and a pair of complementing nude heels.

  “You’re a six, right?” Blake steps into the room with two plates of waffles.

  “Should I be offended that you’ve been with so many women that you can tell their sizes just by looking?”

  “That, or you can be aware of the fact that I saw your jacket’s tag on the plane. Whatever makes you feel better.” He sets the food down. “I ordered it the same day you agreed to stay. The store owner was very surprised and wanted to know more about who you were.”

  “Did you tell him the truth?”

  “I just told him that I liked you.” He smiles. “Will you go out with me tonight?”

  “Out where, Blake?” I point to the window. “Do you not see what’s happening outside your window?”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “It’s an, ‘Are you out of your mind’?”

  “I’m serious. Just trust me.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. What time should I be ready?”

  “Eight. I’ll even come to your door.”

  “How gentleman-like of you. Are you trying to butter me up?”

  “I’m trying to do whatever it takes to get into your pants so I can finally fuck you. You’re taking too long to make up your mind.”

  WHAT?!

  I open my mouth to respond, but he kisses me before I get the chance.

  “I’m joking,” he whispers. “Don’t look at me like that.” He motions for me to sit on the bed, and then he grabs a book from his drawer.

  “Now,” he says, opening it. “Where did I leave off in our reading yesterday?”

  “The part where the girl learned how to give the guy a blow job for the first time.”

  “Right...” He flips a page. “Did I get to the part where he comes in her mouth yet?”

  “Yes.” I stuff a waffle into my mouth.

  “No, I didn’t.” He laughs and sits next to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s pick up right there, shall we?” He clears his throat and reads. “The tip of his dick tasted salty and sweet. No, it was sweet and salty. Like a burnt M&M.”

  “Really though?”

  “Yes. Really though. This is one of my all-time favorite books.” He slides his reading glasses over his eyes. “I wasn’t sure what to do next. His cock was so big, and my pussy was so small...”

  ***

  At seven thirty, I look myself over in the bedroom’s wall-length mirror.

  My jet black hair is falling in loose ringlets over my shoulders, and the plum dress is hugging my small curves perfectly.

  I can’t imagine where he’s taking me in this type of weather, and I’m hoping he’s smart enough to know that we shouldn’t be going out at all.

  Maybe we’ll just sit in front of his fireplace and drink...

  “Paris?” Blake knocks on my door, and I immediately open it.

  “You’re wearing a tuxedo?” I try not to stare at him too hard. I swear there’s nothing he doesn’t look good in.

  He doesn’t answer my question. He looks me up and down and gently trails his finger against my exposed collarbone. “You look beautiful, Paris.”

  “Beautiful? That must be a new—”

  He cuts me off with a kiss and pulls me close. Not letting me catch my breath, he whispers, “I’m being serious...You’re fucking stunning.”

  I nod, unable to say the words “Thank you,” because he can’t seem to stop kissing me.

  When he finally lets me go, he stares at me—looking as if he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t.

  He simply takes my hand and leads me into his private library, and then up a flight of side stairs that I’ve never noticed before.

  When we reach the top, he opens a metal door and ushers me inside of what appears to be an indoor garden. The room is enclosed in plated glass; ivies are artfully crawling up the walls, and there are rows and rows of roses and tulips growing in beautiful clear cases.

  On the other side of the room is a white-clothed table set for two, and a shiny silver speaker
that’s playing soft music.

  He walks me over to it and pulls out my chair. “Have a seat.”

  After he pushes me closer to the table, he sits across from me. “Do you eat steak?”

  I shake my head.

  “I thought so.” He motions for me to open the silver covered platter in front of me. “It’s chicken parmesan and pasta salad.”

  My mouth waters as I look over the food. “Why didn’t you tell me this room was up here before?”

  “It didn’t cross my mind until yesterday.”

  “Is this where you normally take your dates when they come over? When the weather is better, do you fuck them against the windows for all of your neighbors to see?”

  He says nothing. He just looks at me.

  “I was just joking...I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Still nothing.

  “Blake?” I put my fork down. “I really didn’t mean anything by that. I was just—”

  “What do I have to do to get you to stay with me for another week?” He cuts me off. “Name it.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to stay with me for another week. How can I make that happen?”

  “Um...” I feel butterflies fluttering in my chest.

  He reaches over the table and puts his hand over mine, waiting for a response.

  “Why would you want me to stay?”

  “You’re the first company I’ve had at my house for this long in years,” he says. “I also happen to like you and your smart-ass mouth, and I want to spend more time with you. I’ll pay for your new flight ticket if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  I’m not sure what to say. I would’ve never expected him to say something like this.

  I mean, I’ve really enjoyed his company as well, and I feel like his playfulness is something that I’ve never experienced with anyone else, but staying? If I agreed to another week, I’d never want to leave, and I’d probably start fantasizing about a relationship that’ll be doomed from the start.

  “Why would it be doomed from the start?” he asks.

  “Huh?”

  “You said if you stayed with me, you’d start fantasizing about a relationship that would be doomed from the start. What makes you think that?”

  I gasp. “I was thinking that. I didn’t mean to say it aloud.”

  “Well, you did.” He stands—still holding onto my hand, and pulls his chair next to me. “Why do you think that?”

  “Besides the obvious fact that I literally just met you, and I just got out of a relationship?”

  “It was a dead relationship. Those types don’t count.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Divorce clients.” He smiles and presses his forehead against mine. “I can do long-distance...Or you can move.”

  “I just met you last week!”

  “So?”

  “So, that’s fucking crazy. You and I have just been hanging out indoors every day. That’s not something you can build a relationship on.”

  “So I have to save you from walking into a moving bus just to get you to spend more time with me?”

  I laugh. “No, but...I can’t stay.” For some reason, saying that hurts a little. “I mean, a big part of me wants to, but—”

  “You can’t.” He finishes for me. Then he quickly changes the subject. “I spent a lot of time cooking that dinner. Are you going to eat it?”

  “Are you going to let me eat it? It’s kind of impossible to do when you keep talking.”

  He smiles and picks up my fork, stabbing a few pasta noodles, then he lifts it to my lips.

  As I close my mouth around the food, his eyes light up and he whispers, “Try not to use your teeth. I need to keep this visual for long after you leave.”

  I don’t get a chance to laugh before he pulls me into his lap and kisses my lips.

  “Let’s try this again,” he says, preparing another forkful of noodles. “This time, look like you’re really enjoying it...”

  ***

  Blake walks me to my bedroom and wraps his arms around my waist. He gently pulls a bobby pin from my hair—letting a few ringlets fall in front of my forehead.

  Pushing them away, he looks into my eyes. “Are you sleeping alone tonight?”

  The question hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity.

  I only have a few days left with him and I want to say no, I need to say no, but I can’t get my mouth to say a single word.

  “Paris...” he rubs his hands against my bare back, running his thumb against the zipper of my dress. “Are you sleeping alone tonight?”

  “Um...”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes...” I manage, and I notice a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  He whispers “Okay,” and kisses me until I can’t breathe, until I absolutely regret giving him the wrong fucking answer.

  Slowly tearing his mouth away from mine, he sighs. “I’ll be up late again. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Another night of case files?”

  “Blue balls.” He smiles and kisses my cheek. “Goodnight, Paris.”

  I slip into my room and silently curse myself.

  I have no idea what the hell is wrong with me.

  Adrian is out of the picture—has technically been for at least a year, and I want to have sex with Blake.

  I want him to fuck me out of my mind like he claims he can—and I need to stop wasting my time. I made those resolutions for a reason, and I want to be able to put a checkmark next to every last one of them.

  Taking a deep breath, I tell myself that time is getting shorter by the second, and I have nothing left to lose. I walk over to the closet and change into one of the silk slips that he bought me. Then I head over to his bedroom.

  Opening the door, I expect to see him reading over more case files, but he isn’t. He isn’t even here.

  I’m about to walk out and search the rest of his house, but I hear a faint sound coming from behind his bathroom walls.

  “Blake?” I knock on the door.

  No answer.

  I step inside and raise my eyebrow at the sight in front of me. Blake’s wrapping a towel around his waist and pressing his head against the wall, sighing.

  I try to step back and wait for him in his bedroom, but he suddenly turns around and looks at me—smiling. “This is what you consider sleeping alone?”

  “No...” I hesitate. “I was um...I was going to tell you that...”

  “Yes?” His smile widens.

  “I was going to ask if you could tell me where to find those coffee packets you bought. I want to make some coffee since I can’t sleep...It um, makes me feel good.”

  “Coffee makes you feel good?”

  I can’t answer. I’m too busy focusing on the way he’s looking at me, the way his towel is hanging off his waist.

  “It’s in the left drawer on the island. Would you like me to show it to you?”

  “The coffee?”

  “Yes,” he says. “The coffee.”

  “Um...” Watching him run his hands through his hair is something I could do all day. “No, that’s alright. I think I can find it on my own...” I stand there for a few more seconds, telling myself to step forward and end this charade, but no words come out of my mouth.

  I turn away and leave the room, sighing as I shut the door behind me. There is no way I can tell him what I really want. Hell, I’ve never told anyone what I really wanted.

  I step out into the hallway, but before I can make my way to my room, I feel Blake wrapping his arms around me from behind.

  “Did you really come to me to ask about coffee?” he whispers.

  “Yes...”

  He kisses the back of my neck. “I don’t believe you.”

  I don’t believe me either... “You should.”

  He laughs softly and tightens his grip on my waist. “Tell me you want me.”

  “I want your coffee.”

  He lets me go and spins me aro
und, pressing my back against a wall. “Paris...” He tugs on the bow of my slip and looks into my eyes. “Tell me you want me.”

  I can’t speak. My heart is seconds away from falling out of my chest and all my thoughts have dissolved.

  As if he can sense that I’m incapable of talking, he gently presses his lips against mine, whispering, “Say it.”

  “Yes...” I feel his hands slipping underneath the silk and cupping my breasts.

  “Yes, you want me, or yes I have to ask you to say it again?”

  I suck in a breath as he presses his dick against my thigh, as he lowers his head and kisses my neck.

  “Yes...” I whisper. “Yes, I...I want you.”

  His lips suddenly land on mine and he loops his arms around my waist, gently lifting me off the floor.

  Consumed by his kiss, I wrap my legs around him—murmuring as he carries me back into his room. Without taking his lips off mine, he reaches into a drawer and pulls out a condom.

  He bites my bottom lip hard before setting me down onto the floor—keeping his eyes locked on mine as he puts it on.

  I’m panting, trembling in anticipation, and as he pulls me close again, I tilt my chin up to continue our kiss, but he spins me around and bends me over.

  Before I can take another breath, he slides his dick into me—making me scream.

  “Is this how you want to be fucked?” he whispers, pulling me back by my hair, forcing himself into me again and again.

  “Yessss!” I brace my hands against the floor, trying to steady myself, but it’s no use. He’s controlling this—he’s controlling me, and he’s not letting me set the pace.

  As I give in, he grips my waist and slowly moves me upright, never stopping his thrusts. His hands move up to my breasts and squeeze my nipples, pinching them so hard that I cry out even louder. I feel his lips on the back of my neck, feel his teeth digging into my skin, and I damn near lose control.

  “Blake...”

  “Yes?” One of his hands trails past my stomach—straight to my clit. Using his thumb, he gently circles it as he continues to pound into me. “You said something?”

  “Fuck, Blake...”