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Yet my heart is pounding. My cock is plenty hard looking at this woman. But it can be my greatest weakness, making me do things I should know better not to do. Like taking Isabella’s virginity tonight when I’m wound up and would hurt her. How the hell I’ll broach that, I have no idea. That’s not my problem right now.
I need to get out of my head and this girl on my dick. ASAP.
She finally strips off the dress, peeling it like a second skin from her body that, other than the big tits, is just a milk-colored board.
I’ve only seen Isabella naked once. Every inch sticks in my brain. Her rich olive skin, curvy hips, and real tits that bounce so deliciously under her T-shirts when she sneaks down for her espresso before she thinks I’m awake, are starting to get to me.
“What’s your name?” I ask, to get as much distance as possible from my wife.
“Layla.”
I scoff, wondering if it’s a fake pun of a name. “Layla. Are you going to get completely naked for me?”
“I thought maybe you’d like to takesomethingoff of me.”
Anger fires through me. I don’t have time for this fucking chitchat. I can be smooth and charming. Then inwardly revel in the look on a woman’s face that she thinks some nice guy swept her off her feet in the bar area. Those looks quickly turn to stunned, and even a little frightened when I unleash the beast.
“Panties. Bra. Off. Now.” I sit on an armchair and point to the floor in front of me. “Then get on your knees.” I unbuckle my pants to avoid verbalizing what I want her to do to me. If I hear the words come out of my mouth, it will be too real, and I’m not sure I can take reality right now.
Yesterday, watching a man come at Isabella with a knife flipped a switch. A switch I didn’t know I had. I’m sucked into this now. It’s personal. Sure, she’s my possession, and I’ll destroy anyone who takes her from me. But it’s deeper than that. She’s gotten under my skin.
Unzipping my fly, I feel my cock is hard as steel. I’d be more worried if it wasn’t. This is a necessary evil for me to survive. A disgusting habit I allow myself because someone I considered the Almighty, and who had my utmost loyalty my whole damn life, stole the woman I loved from me.
Then gave you Isabella…
For a split second, a blueprint spreads out before me on how to make a relationship work with Isabella. The same way I made it work with Norah. Because I loved her.
Somewhere deep inside me, I know how to do this.
That whispers through me, and as Layla brings her hands to my knees, it feels as if acid’s been dripped on me. I bolt out of the seat and zip up. The idea of fucking her has me ready to vomit on the plants.
“Get dressed.”
“Mr. O’Rourke?” Layla says my name with a shaky breath.
I never hide who I am here. I pay a lot of money for this club to vet the women they hire to satisfy members. I trudge to the whiskey bottle I keep by the bookshelf along with thick cut glasses on a mirrored tray.
No longer worried about going limp from ninety-proof fire, I say, “Sorry, Layla. I can’t do this tonight. Go home.”
I pour myself the equivalent of two shots because filling the entire glass in front of her means I’m falling apart, which, in a way, I am. After I throw back the whiskey and let it burn down my throat, I take five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills from my wallet and toss them onto the table near her bag.
“I don’t want your money if I all I did was show you my tits and pussy.” She runs a finger through her folds.
Fuck me. My cock is throbbing because he’s disconnected from my heart. Yet, the image of gliding my hand along Isabella’s leg earlier in my office flashes at me, and it blindsides me even more. I keep telling myself I’ll only fuck her to get her pregnant. Damn, I want to do a lot more to her now. Mostly because she’ll only know my cock. My hands. My mouth.
“Take the money,” I say to Layla. “I’m sure you gave up someone else tonight. I’ve changed my mind.”
She slips the dress back on with a sigh. “I’m in town for a while, like I said, but I will make time for you, Mr. O’Rourke, if you change your mind.”
I squeeze my fist, thinking of the ring I so callously took off an hour ago like it meant nothing.
Isabella didn’t want this marriage, yet she’s at home. Being a good wife. And here I am, ready to cheat on her night one.
The door clicks shut, and I finish the whiskey. The whole bottle. I throw it against the wall and then smash all the glasses. I won’t be back in this suite anytime soon.
Calder knocks, hearing the crash. I open the door to see him leaning against the frame. His right eyebrow raises, seeing me stumble to get my suit jacket on.
“Okay there, boss?” He takes his phone out and sends a text to Pete, my driver. “Your date, there, said you threw her out. Didn’t touch her.”
