Layla

And maybe we will. I don’t even know. But she’s not really in a position in which we can discuss it because she’s taking me into her mouth, despite the fact that I’m not even hard yet. I look down at her, and even though I’m not immediately turned on by this because of the pandemonium in my head, I can’t help but think of Willow when I look at Layla.

Sometimes, when I look at Layla, I wish she were Willow. At breakfast, I catch myself wishing I were chatting with a cheerful Willow over coffee, rather than Layla complaining about her headache. During the day when I’m chatting with Willow on the computer, I spend that time wishing she could take over Layla and I could talk to her face to face.

And now . . . as Layla slides her tongue up the length of me, I kind of wish it were Willow doing this to me.

I harden at that thought.

It’s easy to pretend Layla is Willow because Layla’s face is the only one I can attribute to Willow when I think about her. I wrap my hand in Layla’s hair and watch her for a moment . . . wondering what this would feel like if it were Willow inside of Layla right now. Would Willow use her tongue like that? Would she make the same noises Layla makes?

She wraps her lips around me and takes me in as far as she can. My head falls back against the door and I groan, putting pressure on the back of her head, not wanting her to stop now.

One of her hands is moving up and down the length of me in rhythm with her mouth. Her other hand is sliding up my stomach. I grab it, squeeze it, press it to my chest as I think about Willow.

I imagine how Willow’s kiss would feel. Would it feel the same as Layla’s kiss?

Would sex with Willow feel different than sex with Layla?

Would she arch her back the same way Layla does when I push into her?

“Fuck.” I release Layla’s hand and grip the back of her head with both hands. “I’m about to finish,” I say, warning her. She always stops when I say that so she can finish with her hand.

She pulls back, breathless, and whispers, “You can finish in my mouth this time.”

There’s a glimmer in her eye as she takes me back in her mouth—an excitement—and I know this is her way of thanking me for a proposal that has yet to happen. If I wasn’t already on the brink of exploding, I’d probably put a stop to this, simply because I know where her head is at.

Everything about this moment is wrong. Layla thinks she’s pleasuring her soon-to-be fiancé while I’m pretending she’s the ghost I’ve been slowly falling for.

It’s the strangest release I’ve ever had.

I don’t even enjoy it.

My legs tremble as she keeps her mouth on me, swallowing every last bit of deception I’ve been handing her. I don’t make a noise. I just close my eyes and wait for her to stop.

When she finally releases me, I can’t even bring myself to look at her.

All I can think about are the words she said to me the first night we met, after I’d just told her she was the best sex I’d ever had. “We always think that when we’re in it. But then someone new comes along, and we forget how good we thought it was before, and the cycle starts all over again.”

Is that all Layla was to me? Part of an endless cycle of relationships?

I thought for sure she was the one. I felt it in my bones.

Now all I feel is remorse, because it wasn’t until ten seconds ago that I realized I’ve already moved on to another cycle.

I’ve moved on to Willow.

It’s Willow I want to talk to when I wake up. Willow I want to see before I close my eyes. Willow I want to spend all my time with during the day.

I prefer Willow over Layla now, in almost every way, and it’s a heavy, appalling, shameful realization.

I hear the water running in the bathroom sink. I open my eyes and Layla is brushing her teeth again. She swishes the water around in her mouth and then spits it into the sink. She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and smiles with pride. “Did I leave you speechless?” she says, laughing.

I have no idea what to say. I’m sorry wouldn’t be appropriate.

“That was intense.” It’s not a lie. Intense isn’t necessarily a good thing, and I don’t want to lie to Layla anymore. It doesn’t feel good.

She saunters back over to me and tucks me back into my sweatpants. She leans in and kisses me gently on the cheek, leaving her mouth on my skin when she says, “Go back to work. You can return the favor tomorrow night.” She backs away and takes off her shirt with a grin, and then finally gets in the shower.