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more about horny

Ayla

What the hell just happened? I squeeze my legs together to alleviate the ache of my throbbing clit.

Today has been the longest, most extreme roller coaster ride of my life. I might as well have had a week’s worth of manic craziness rolled into a handful of hours.

I look down at the diamond band on my right hand—my wedding ring—to the man whom I fear and the man who just made me wetter than any time in my life.

The unknown man who built me a dark room, who loves this terrace because of the peace it brings him, who has a ridiculously expensive car, and who refuses to walk on eggshells around me.

He’s honest to a fault, but can I trust him with the vulnerability I now possess?

“Ayla?”

Halley rushes out onto the terrace and wraps me in a tight hug, not worrying about which side or soreness.

She’s striking—tall, voluptuous, and elegant. Her dark curls bounce around her gorgeous face in a riot of disorganization. Her lips are painted a vibrant brick red, and they only highlight the smile that stretches wide when she sees me.

She doesn’t take up her own chair, but curls up in the spot Christian just vacated and launches in .

“Corinne let me in. It smells so good in there. How are you feeling?”

I love the woman before me. She’s been my friend for as long as I can remember. She’s honest, hysterical, kind, and gutsy—all things I admire.

“Wrecked, scared, horny, confused, overwhelmed. That about covers it.”

“I want to hear more about horny, but we’ll get there. Why are you scared? What has you overwhelmed?”

I launch into my day, what I told Christian about being an actor in my own life, and the craziness of coming home to this place.

She listens intently and, at some point, grabs my hand to hold it.

She’s a toucher. Always a stroke or a tap or a hug or squeeze.

It’s familiar and not confining. She doesn’t contain me.

It comforts me.

She comforts me.

The tears threaten to well. “It’s so much emotion, so little grounding, you know? Like helium balloons in a hurricane… I’m frazzled and tossed about and just want some solid ground.”

“Mrs. Barone?”

I turn at the mention of my too-formal married name to find a plump, older woman with the kindest face I’ve ever seen. She’s too young to be my grandmother. Probably too young to be anyone’s grandmother, but that’s her calling, I can tell.

“Dinner’s ready.”

I stand and follow Halley, who knows exactly what to do, thank God. When I get to the door, I look back at my chaise lounge that’s been swallowed by the night sky, to the crackling fire, to the peace I so desperately need, before turning and introducing myself.

“I’m Ayla. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Corinne. It’s good to have you home.” She pats my shoulder in a motherly gesture. “I have everything served in the dining room. Please call if I can do something for you.”

“Thank you.”

Halley grabs my hand and leads the way, and I’ m beyond relieved. How do you tell people you don’t know where the dining room is in your own home?

My eyes widen when I take in the table. China on gold chargers, water goblets, stemless wine glasses, real silver… and the spread.

“What’s the old saying, ‘Starve a cold; feed a fever?’ I don’t remember ‘gorge memory issues.’ I should’ve known.” Halley tips her head before tapping her hips. “No forgetfulness for me.”

“Shut up.” I slap her wrist as she sits but miss wildly and send a spoon sailing. I try to catch it, but it clatters to the floor.

“Have you seen my butt?” She reaches the spoon with her long arms and sets it aside.

“Yes. And I’m jealous of all two handfuls of it.”

“Squats and carbs. That’s the secret.”

“And genetics,” I mumble, stabbing a potato dumpling and dragging it through some herby sauce. “The carbs thing I have down.”

We chat through dinner. I decline when she extends the wine bottle over my glass to pour for me. “My head hurts enough, and I certainly don’t need my thinking any cloudier than it is.”

She gives herself a generous serving before lifting her glass. “To all your dreams coming true. And to remembering the ones that already have.”

I clink my water glass to hers. “Right back at you.”

“Now… about you being horny?”

The words exit her mouth just as Corinne clears her throat at the door. “Mrs. Barone?

I look to her as the flames lick up my face in embarrassment.

“May I clear some of these things from the table?”

“We’ve got it, Corinne. Thank you, though.”

She looks as though she swallowed a clump of salt, and Halley’s mouth drops open at the same time.

“Um,” I hedge. Shit. What did I do?

Halley chimes in, rescuing my unknown blunder. “Corinne, dinner was delicious. Thank you. I know it’s not typical, but would you mind if we helped tonight?”

Corinne visibly relaxes as her eyes dance back and forth between Halley and me. “Well, if you insist but just this once. But I draw the line at dishes.” Her warm maternal smile is back. “Coffee is brewed and dessert is ready. Where shall I serve it?”

Halley looks at me. “Outside or do you want to curl up in the reading room?”

Reading room? How big is this damn house?

“The reading room would be lovely. Great idea.”

We clear the table but only get one pass when Corinne insists she’ll handle the rest and shoos us out of the kitchen.

Halley loops her arm through mine and leads us up the curved staircase and to the first room on the left. We’re not over my bedroom or the kitchen wing of the house. This place is too big to get my bearings.

But when the door opens, I don’t care about my bearings or square footage or anything .

This is a library, but not a stuffy, dark wood-paneled, dingy room.

This room is light and airy. Whites, creams, and pale, foggy greens lend the space a purely feminine touch.

The bold, yellow sofa is what draws my eye. It’s modern but deep.

I walk the walls, trailing my fingers along the blonde wood shelves and their books, awed by the hardcovers and soft paperbacks. Real property statutes and thrillers. Bodice rippers and first editions of A.A. Milne.

One wall of floor-to-ceiling dyed suede curtains. Suede! The greens and creams bracketed with a rich bold navy.

I turn like a princess in one of those cartoon movies, wishing my leggings were a flowy skirt and stare right into the joyous face of Halley.

“Love seeing that look on your face. Fear isn’t my favorite look on you.” She plops down into a deep chair made of a soft cream corduroy and drags a yellow and blue pillow onto her lap.

I fold into the corner of the sofa nearest her when Corinne enters, setting a silver tray on the low coffee table between us.

Two pieces of cake that smell like apples and cinnamon, two polished forks, two small spoons, and formal coffee service rest on its surface replete with sugar cubes and a pitcher of cream. “Enjoy.”

“Corinne.” She startles as I call to her retreating form. “I’m not used to this, but I really appreciate today. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Barone.” With that, she pulls the door closed behind her, leaving me and Halley to chat.

“Now, you were saying you’re horny…”

It’s bait. And I know it, but I spill the tea anyway.

His long cock pushes and pulls rhythmically deep inside me, rubbing just the right places, stoking a fire that’s building.

The pace is hypnotizing and unhurried but punctuated with enough force that I buck with each thrust home.

Warm arms surround me from behind, holding me in place, rendering me helpless to the pleasure that builds inside me—a volcano of sheer ecstasy that will erupt and run like lava through every cell in my body.

“You’re perfect, Ayla. I could stay like this forever.”

I reach between my legs and split my fingers around him as he enters me, adding some pressure, and feeling the pace go from slow and lazy to purposeful.

“Fuck, that feels so good. You feel so good.”

A whimper escapes me as he bucks into me, dropping a hand from my breast to rest atop my own. He finds my clit and flicks feather-light strokes there… the ones that tease. Those that make me chase more.

It’s the opposite of being given, having him arouse instead of relieve. The lava bubbles, churning in its fire, biding its time. I moan as I push back into him and replace his hand with my own to slake this overwhelming need to come.

Or at least I attempt that.

The chuckle in my ear comes at the same time his hand traps mine at my pubic bone, holding me fast, the pounding getting erratic. “Mine to give, Princess. Do you need more of me?” His voice practically coos.

I whimper again when his fingers move back to my clit. He peppers kisses at my neck, his tongue darting out below my ear to taste me as he whispers, “Beautiful. Perfect pussy. And all mine.”

I shiver and the moan that escapes me is raw and guttural.

His heat at my back, his breath at my ear, Princess tripping from his tongue as my body succumbs, and I tumble into wave upon wave of pleasure.

“Princess?” The heat at my back stiffens, no longer coiled or cocooning, but probing.

I stiffen, too, realizing three things immediately.

The heat at my back is Christian spooned into me and surrounding me.

He’s as real as the orgasm that overtook me.

The sex, though, was a dream. I went to bed still aching from Christian’s words, and my fingers didn’t provide enough relief to the well of need built inside me.

I’m relieved I didn’t screw the man I’ve known for mere days and I’m thankful that some of the pressure that was coiled in my belly has dissipated, but that’s not the word I’d use about the situation I’m currently in.

Cold panic slithers through me, displacing the warmth of my waning orgasm.

“Ayla?” Christian’s arms tighten around me as if punctuating his question.

“Hmm?”

“I know you’re awake.”