Layla ran her hand over the silky skin of his cock, desperate to feel him inside her again. The clock was ticking. This was an outlandish and inappropriate thing, to fuck in the hallway of a villa during Marian’s wedding. But they had to. Their passion demanded it.
A moment later he rolled the condom on, and then Zahir nudged himself between her legs, the swollen head of his cock pressing past her panties into the slick cleft of her pussy. She gasped and hooked her arms around his neck, never breaking his gaze as he eased himself into her, so slowly that she had to bite back a groan.
“Layla.” The breathiness in his voice told him exactly what she needed to know—that this sensation was off the charts for both of them, not just her. He slid into her with intolerable slowness, her pussy pulsing and clenching around him. He let out a guttural noise as he buried himself deeper. She arched toward him, starbursts blooming behind her eyelids. She wanted this all the time. She wanted him all the time.
A string of words in Farsi tumbled from his lips, and then he started pumping. She hooked her ankles behind his back, knotting a hand in the lapels of his coat, her body already tense and ready to pop.
“I’m close,” he said, his voice ragged.
“Me too.” She swallowed a moan as he rolled against the taut nub of her clit. She pressed her forehead into his chest, breaths escalating as the tension climbed.
He rocked into her again and again, each time bringing her lightyears closer to orgasm. On the third thrust, she fell over the edge, pleasure rocketing through her limbs so fast that she went limp in his arms.
The sticky sweet waves of her orgasm subsided as he stilled against her, groaning into her neck. Once his breathing calmed, she tilted her head up to look at him, finding the same buzzing happiness in his expression.
He smoothed his lips against hers, back and forth, and for a long time, neither broke the embrace.
7
On Monday morning, Zahir felt like he was in a lust hangover.
One full day of rest and lounging hadn’t cleared his head after the wedding. He and Layla hadn’t talked on Sunday, despite the fact that they spent the rest of the reception parked at the table, sipping wine and chatting like old friends. It left him dying to text her, touch base, just hear her voice the next day. But he abstained, because what they did had been wrong, and it couldn’t—wouldn’t—happen again.
Disbelief made circles in his mind, alongside relief. On the one hand, how had he been so stupid? If they’d gotten caught—by anyone—it could have been the biggest scandal of the year. Especially if any of the board members had caught wind. On the other hand, it was exactly what he’d craved, what he needed. Too much longer without giving into that passion and he might have snapped.
Layla breezed into the office looking completely normal. Sexy as always, her strawberry-gold hair swept back into a loose bun. Affectionately disinterested.
“Morning, Zahir.” She popped her head into his office as normal, to let him know she was there.
“Morning.” He flicked a pen against his fingertips, wanting to say more. “Did you have a good weekend?”
Her distant smile turned icy. “Why, yes, I did. How about you?”
“Oh, yes. Extremely satisfying.”
She nodded, then spun on her heels and strutted past his office. Zahir rubbed at his face. How was this stuff supposed to work? Playing it normal would never be possible. Not with this elephant in the room.
A moment later Layla strode into his office, shutting the door behind her. She came up to his desk looking like she might pull a gun out of her cleavage.
“Okay, listen. You know exactly what we did this weekend. So why even ask?”
He let a breath of air he’d been holding. “I was just trying to be casual. Normal. You know, like I thought you wanted.”
She groaned with frustration. “This is why these things never work. We made a mistake. It can’t happen again. Can. Not.”
Disappointment crashed through him. “Got it.”
“What happened on Saturday was a one-time mistake. We were getting to casual and normal, but this weekend ruined it. And you just happened to catch me at a vulnerable moment with some really convincing sexy talk which, additionally, is a comment that will be forgotten as soon as I leave this office.”
A laugh escaped him despite his better judgment. “Right. Understood.”
“And we won’t talk about Saturday, or this conversation, again.” Her nostrils flared as she appraised him a final time, and then she spun on her heels and stormed out of the office.
So that made her stance clear. He crumpled into his seat. Her words had deflated him, left him feeling not just put in his place but also…disappointed. Like the tiny flame of hope inside him had been whooshed out of existence.
But hope for what? He straightened his back, busying himself in his emails. Somewhere deep inside, there’d been a hope for something with Layla. Not that it made sense or that he even had any idea what that something meant.
But there was something about her that demanded attention, an essence or energy that captivated as much as it left him wanting more.