“Really?”
“Well, let’s see if we can get you settled first. But yeah. I finally have a great staff and business is good, and I finally feel like I can focus some of my attention on my nonexistent personal life.”
“Maybe I’ll have to ask Duff if he has any friends.”
“Oh, Lord help me. If they all look and act like him, I could be in big trouble.”
“You see my dilemma?”
“I do. You going to stop thinking about the ‘dilemma’ part and enjoy yourself this weekend?”
“Damn right I am,” she answered, meaning every word.
“Then my job here is done.”
“Okay. But I’ll want full date report on Monday.”
“You’ll have it. Not sure I want the same in return—I don’t know that my poor, deprived, single-girl heart could take it.”
“Wimp,” Layla teased.
“That’s right. I’m not the masochist you are. Apparently. And by the way? If this doesn’t go well, I might have to get a cat. Just sayin’.”
“It’s just one more date, Kitty.”
“Is that what you’re telling yourself about tonight?”
“Nope. But Duff isn’t just one more man. Not by a long shot. And God, I still hate to admit that out loud. Is this ever going to get any easier? And what the hell am I going to wear?”
“You’ll figure it out. My next client is just walking in—gotta run. Sorry, honey.”
“No problem. Talk to you on Monday.”
“Talk to you then.”
Layla took her coffee back into her bedroom to change. But the sheets she’d left in a tangle on her bed only reminded her of when Duff had been there.
Duff.
No man had ever taken up so much space in her brain, or had such a profound effect on her libido. Her body was burning simply looking down at her bed.
Setting her coffee mug down on the sea chest next to the bed, she pulled off the cotton chemise she’d slept in, catching sight of herself in the mirrors set into the front of the old armoire. It was a nice, warm New Orleans morning, but her nipples were hard—hard with thoughts of Duff. Of what he might do to her tonight. How he might touch her. Hurt her. Kiss her. Fuck her.
“Oh . . .”
She sat on the edge of her bed and, watching herself in the mirror, she spread her thighs, stroking her already-hardening clitoris with her fingertips, biting her lip at the sensitivity of her flesh. Not because she’d spent so much time with her vibrators lately, but because even thinking about him made her so damn excited, she could barely contain herself. Hell, totally unable to contain herself, if she couldn’t walk through her bedroom without it starting all over again.
Keeping her gaze glued to her reflection in the mirror, she spread her thighs wider.
“Come on, Duff,” she murmured, hearing her own voice rough with need. “Make me come for you. For you.”
She stroked harder, then thrust her fingers into her waiting sex.
“Oh, yes.”
She began a hard pumping rhythm, impatient for release, knowing she would only need more. And more and more and more. With her other hand she pinched one nipple, pulled on it, elongating the swollen nub, twisted it, bringing herself the pain she needed from him.
“Come on, Duff,” she repeated. “Touch me. Yes, just like that. Oh . . .”
Angling her hand, she pressed on her tight clit with her thumb even as her fingers surged into her body, over and over. Heat crept over her breasts, pressure building between her thighs, signaling her climax. Biting her lip, she held it back, knowing he’d want her to. Would order her to. And she was transfixed by the image of her own hand working herself, at her fingers sinking into her flesh, pulling out, stabbing into her once more. Imagining it was his hand. His seeking tongue.
Oh, yes . . .
“Please, Duff.”
Pleasure coiled inside her, making her stomach tighten, and her sex was soaking wet, drenching her fingers as she plunged inside. Harder. Deeper. Harder.
“Duff!”
She spread her legs wide as she came, needing to feel completely wanton. Abandoned to pleasure. For him.
“Ah, God!”
She shivered as she came, her hips bucking into her hand, as she cried out his name until her throat hurt. Then, falling back on the bed, her body warm and loose, she drew in a rasping breath. The man made her come so damn hard—all she had to do was think of him. How much more would it be tonight? What would he ask of her? Demand of her? She shivered again. She couldn’t wait to find out.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to do some meditative breathing—it was either that, or spend the entire day in bed getting herself off. She had to leave something for him, didn’t she?
Finally, she caught her breath and sat up, pushing her curls from her heated cheeks, then got up to dress in her “work” outfit. Her hands were itching to feel the clay, which was always either a good sign or a bad sign. Today, all was good in her world. She was seeing Duff tonight, and no matter how many stern talks she had with herself, no matter how many orgasms she’d had all week, she wasn’t able to swallow down her excitement. Now if she could only manage to sculpt something other than Duff’s big, beautiful member and keep away from her toy box, the day would be perfect. She knew her night would be.
? ? ?