Page 33 of Broken Brothers

“You think?” she said. “My place is—”

But I wanted to push the boundaries of my limits. I wanted to extend myself a little bit beyond what I normally did, especially for Layla Taylor.

“I wouldn’t want to desecrate your temple,” I said. “But I do want to desecrate you in my place.”

“Ohhh,” Layla said, her eyes arching and her nostrils flaring in excitement. “Well you better act fast while the temperate is still hot, mister.”

I didn’t need another cue. I quickly pulled out a hundred dollar bill, slammed it on the table without waiting for the check to come, and grabbed Layla by the arm.

We hadn’t left the restaurant and she was already talking dirty into my ear about all the things she was going to do.

13

Although we continued our flirtatious, dirty talk, the kind that we had to keep in hushed tones even for the usual oddly private New York City walkways, I began to internally doubt that bringing Layla back to my place was a good idea.

Oh, sure, I would have to do so eventually. I had no bones about bringing her to my place in the future. But this might have, once again, been setting myself up for a failure that would take some time to recover from. She was liking me more and more by the second… and I was digging it more and more by the minute. It would only take one thing to go wrong for her to be gone, and then I really would never trust women again.

That, and as awful as it sounds, I just liked being able to leave early after a night of fornication. Maybe that made me an asshole, but I could never leave if I was already home. I suspected that that had had something to do with avoidance issues and trust issues with women, but I wasn’t about to be my own psychologist.

Not when the most beautiful woman I had ever known was all over me and telling me all sorts of filthy things she was about to do to me.

In any case, that self-talk died when my apartment came into view.

“It’s probably not as nice as what you’re used to,” I said as I fumbled for my keys. “You’ve been warned.”

“Oh, you have such little faith,” she said. “I’m sure your place is nice.”

Well, it was compared to a lot of places in New York; having help from Mrs. Hunt would do that to me.

But to pretend it was as nice as Morgan’s place or any of the Hunts’ place was a boldface lie. Obviously, nothing could compare to the manor that the Hunts had in Connecticut, the place of many a heartbreak for me. But this was a good apartment, a B, maybe B+ apartment with the right decor; it was not the kind of place the daughter of a CEO likely spent most of her time at.

I took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and let her step in.

“Ohhhh,” she said.

Positive first reaction. Might not be all bad.

“You do have a nice place, I was right!” she said, laughing. “See, Chance, that’s the funny thing about you. You always seem a little self-deprecating and a little mysterious… but pull back the curtain and you realize that you actually have it pretty good. You are a pretty good guy.”

I just chortled and held back from saying anything more. We had already lost a touch of the hot and heavy conversation that we’d engaged in on the train ride over just by the duration of the walk and journey to my place; I didn’t need to waste any more time with words. I needed to engage in action.

And so, without another word, I stepped forward boldly, grabbed Layla’s hips, pulled her to me, and kissed her.

Layla, sensing where this was going, threw her arms around me. In the office, we had to worry about making too much noise and protecting against people possibly walking in. Now, here, as I glanced up for a brief moment and saw the glass window looking over the streets of New York about twenty stories below, a dirty, filthy idea entered my mind.

“I’m going to fuck you against that window,” I said, thinking of showing off her curves for all of Manhattan to witness. “You’re mine, Layla Taylor, and you’re going to do exactly what the fuck I say. Do I make myself clear?”

Gasping for breath, her nails buried into my back, her body already heaving despite me not even having touched her in the right spot, she breathily aired out, “Yes, oh, God, yes, Chance, please. Fuck me like that.”

I took a little more care in taking off her red dress, if only because, hey, I could be a gentleman, and I knew she probably didn’t have as many of those laying around as she did work clothes. That, and the ravenous desire to fuck her had turned me into a dumb animal in the office; here, it was more about giving her the erotically delightful experience that would keep her coming and keep her coming to me.

Soon, though, I had her down to just her panties, bra off. I pressed her against the window, hearing the thud of her pressing against the glass. I pushed her back into me and nibbled on her neck and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them in rhythm with the soft moans that came her way. I licked her ear and made my way down.

For just the briefest of times—relative to our whole experience, anyways—I spun her around so her ass faced the crowd. I bit her panties and dragged them down her legs.Wasting no time at all, I pressed my face into her and darted my tongue out.

Her hands grabbed my hair, her nails digging through my scalp. She lifted her right leg, pushing it on my shoulder. I looked into her eyes, trying to capture a glimpse of eye contact. Whether by the sheer pleasure she felt or the unbearable intensity of my eyes, she couldn’t look at me.

It didn’t bother me. I knew what she was feeling. I knew what she was thinking. I knew what she wanted.