The Unrequited Page 19

  He whips his hood off, messing the sweaty hair even more, and wrenches my arm, pushing my back against the tree. The bark is rough and soaked with liquid snow, and I feel the chill seeping in.

  I crane my neck up to stare at his beautiful, glittery eyes. The impact of their beauty doesn’t lessen no matter how many times I look at them.

  “Caleb.” He rumbles over my mouth and I grab his sweatshirt at his waist.

  He kicks my feet apart with his own before invading the space between my thighs and pressing my hip against the tree. My fingers flex where I’m holding on to him, itching to get under the heavy material and touch the ridges of his abdomen.

  I want his mouth on me.

  Maybe he knows what I want. Maybe he can see it in my face, because he hovers close and ghosts his lips over mine. Wildness grips me and I go to snatch them up with my mouth but he moves away, leaving me panting.

  He rocks against me, letting me feel his hardness. “Do you think your Caleb can do this?”

  “Wh-What?” I’m dazed with arousal. I don’t want to talk about Caleb, not right now. He yanks me to his body and rubs me against his cock, groaning, controlling me like I’m his doll. His little fuck doll. I moan. Why does this arouse me so much?

  “Do you think he can get hard for you, Layla?” His hot breath grazes my forehead, making my spine tingle.

  “No. Not for me,” I whisper against his neck, feeling the jerky bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

  “Yeah? What about if you stroked it? Long and nice.” He unclutches my hand from his sweatshirt and puts it on his cock. I massage his achy hardness through his sweatpants. “Do you know how to do that? Do you know how to stroke a cock so it’s hard and painful, ready to fuck you?”

  His shuddering chest crashes against my tits, until my body is mimicking his actions, shuddering in return, taking in quivering breaths. “N-No. I’ve…I’ve never done that.” I shake my head and rub my nose into his neck.

  Thomas moves away then and I squeeze his shaft, trying to stop him. He clamps his jaw shut and looks at me with dangerous, passionate eyes. Now I’m scared, shivering with a good kind of fear, waiting for his next move, blinking up at him.

  Without a word, he almost tears the buttons of my coat open and the cold air punches me in the chest. I gasp, losing my breath.

  “Th-Thomas, it’s…it’s cold.” My teeth chatter when his hand goes under my skirt and fists my tights. “Please, I’m so cold.”

  He pulls on the material and brings me closer to his body heat. “I’m reminding you.”

  “About what?”

  “What I said about trespassing.”

  A fleeting thought touches my mind. A long ago memory of us bantering at The Alchemy on poetry night. Bad things happen to those who trespass.

  “I’m sorry. I panicked. I thought you’d leave me too. I—”

  “I know, like Caleb.” He pins our foreheads together. “And that’s another thing I’m going to remind you of—that I’m not Caleb.”

  “Oh God, you have to stop. Please.”

  A smile sits on his lips, one as cold as the winter around us. He lets go of my tights and I’m left disappointed even though I asked him to do so. Then he hooks his fingers around them and pulls them down, leaving my thighs vulnerable and bare, and I lose my breath to the chill all over again.

  “Caleb wouldn’t do that, would he?” He adjusts the waistband of the useless material so that it cuts into the soft flesh just above my knees. “He’d stop if you asked him to, but who am I, Layla? What’s my name?”

  “Thomas,” I answer, quivering as he circles his hot hands along the back of my thighs. My frozen insides begin to melt under his touch. The cold has no meaning, no power over me.

  “Yeah.” He rumbles, as if pleased. My breaths shake with the pleasure in his voice. “I won’t stop even if you beg me to. I’ll make you strip in the cold, put you on your knees on the ground and fuck you till I fill you up. You know why, Layla?” I shake my head, hypnotized by his voice. “Because you want me to. Because that’s why you came here, scared out of your mind. You want me to fuck you in my backyard, isn’t that right? You want me to bend you over and pound into you so you scream and wake everyone up. And you know what’ll happen then?”

  “Wh-What?” I shudder when his hands go to my ass and squeeze it.

  “They’ll open their windows, all sleepy and irritated, ready to call the cops on whoever is making all that noise, but then they’ll see you, on your hands and knees, getting fucked, taking my cock and screaming. Your face all scrunched up. Tears streaming down your cheeks…” He pauses, groaning into my neck, getting aroused by his own story. “And they won’t be able to stop themselves. They’ll stroke their cocks to the rhythm of your moans and when you come, they’ll come in their pants. Won’t they, Layla? They’ll see you on the ground, naked and writhing, and they’ll lose it.”

  I could die at the shocking words falling from his mouth. I’m so tangled up in the erotic web he’s woven that all I can do is moan. All I can feel is the imaginary eyes looking at me, looking at us, and I want to put on a show for them.

  “You love that, don’t you? You love being wanted.” He’s as much gone as I am.

  “Yessss,” I hiss, imagining the lewd picture he just painted with his words. He’s a wordsmith, a filthy, commanding wordsmith, and I don’t ever want him to stop.

  “And what’s my name?”

  “Thomas.”

  I open my eyes to look at him. A half-smile blooms on his lips, making me even hornier. The elastic of the tights bites into my skin as he pushes my feet even farther apart.

  “Hold up your skirt for me,” he whispers over the fluttering pulse of my neck, then licks it, sending electric waves to my core.

  He is massaging my ass cheeks, infusing warmth into all parts of my body, and I don’t even think twice before doing as he instructed. I give up all control and hold my skirt, white-knuckling the checkered woolen fabric, exposing my panty-covered pussy. Thomas runs his fingers over the seam of my plain cotton underwear and I let out a moan, rubbing the back of my head against the tree.

  “You’re so fucking wet.” He bites the juncture of my neck and shoulders, then soothes the sting with his tongue. “Ask to suck my cock.” Another whisper followed by another bite on the neck and a lick of his tongue. He is running his finger up and down my pussy before sliding under the fabric to play with my wet hole, but he never makes contact with my tight bud. He doesn’t give me relief.

  “Come on, Layla. Beg me.”

  The need in his voice supersedes the need in me, and I’ll do anything for him. I’ll forget about my own pleasure and suck his cock, just so I can feel him pulsing on my tongue.

  “Please, Thomas, can I suck your cock?” His eyes squint in desire but he holds his silence. I know he wants me to beg more, and I do. “Please, I want it so bad. Please. Won’t you…Won’t you put it in my mouth?”

  Thomas grits his teeth, hard—harder than I’ve ever seen him—and squeezes my ass with such force that I can’t stop the whimper from escaping.

  I lick my lips. “Please, Thomas? Put your cock in my mouth.”

  He lets go of my ass and shoves me down. The sting I feel as my bony knees fall to the ground isn’t a normal one. I think I cut my skin when I fell before, and now I’m going to grind that wound while sucking him off…but that’s okay. I’ll do anything for him.

  “Since you asked so nicely.” His growly voice makes me wetter.

  Then I forget all about my own arousal because his hard cock is before me. Thomas has shoved his pants down enough to reveal the giant…thing in my face. Fuck. Fuck. No wonder it hurt me so much last night. It’s huge, and thick and wide and…so many other things for which words haven’t been made yet.

  There’s a groove in the middle of his purple head and I can rest my tongue against it if I want to. A vein snakes down the length, the skin becoming darker as it reaches the wide base. And those two ball
s he’s got? Wow. Are they supposed to be this huge?

  I try to remember all the porn I’ve watched, all the naked cocks I’ve seen, but I can’t.

  “Scared, Miss Robinson?”

  I whip my eyes to his smirking mouth. Asshole. I want to give him a piece of his mind for laughing at me, but I don’t, because he’s drowning in lust. I can see it. His tensed shoulders. His panting chest. The tight grip of his fist in my hair. He needs me.

  “It’s so big,” I tell him truthfully, like he doesn’t know, and I touch the knobby head with my finger. It jerks up in reaction. “I don’t think it’ll fit in my mouth.”

  His hand flexes in my hair at my small voice and he drags in a deep breath. “Then we’ll keep trying until it does…” He forces my head back, straining my neck muscles, and nudges my lips with his cock.

  I open my lips to suck on the tip and moan at the first taste of him—salty edged with sweet and something masculine and hard. His skin is so soft, so delicate. I’m scared of nipping it. Oh, and it’s hot, so very hot that all thoughts of winter, of the chill winds battering my chest, are gone in an instant.

  I lave his head, flicking my tongue on the groove, trying the texture of it. Thomas groans over me, both his hands holding my hair prisoner now. A sudden burst of salt overtakes my tongue and I whip back.

  Right. Pre-cum. Of course.

  A drop sits at the crown and I let my tongue catch it.

  “Fuck,” Thomas rasps.

  I go back to sucking on the head, but this time I don’t stop there. I take him deeper, until he’s wedged between the roof of my mouth and my tongue.

  “Shit,” Thomas curses again and I lift my eyes to him. The twin flames are roaring right now. He’s staring at me like he’s going to fuck the life out of me. I lick the underside of his cock to reward him for that look, to tell him he can do whatever he wants with me.

  His stomach clenches and I reach out to touch the muscles under his hoodie, but Thomas shakes his head. “Uh-uh. Keep your skirt up. I want to see those thighs shake with the force of my thrusts.”

  I lift up my forgotten skirt as Thomas pushes inside my mouth, almost leaning over me until my bare ass hits the snow-covered tree. I jump at the wintery sting. He keeps pushing in until my jaw is wide and aching, and then he begins to move. Short, grinding jabs.

  Even though he’s only inside my mouth, I feel him all over, like I’m bursting at the seams, full of him, his essence.

  “God, that feels…” He trails off on a grunt, moving in an erotic, horny rhythm. “Fuck, you’re good at this. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve done this before.”

  Despite my strong gag reflex, I’m flushed with pleasure, but it doesn’t last long. Thomas whips his cock out while keeping my jaw prisoner in his strong grasp. He is bent at the waist, looming over me. “Have you done this before, Layla? Did someone teach you?”

  Teach. The word means so many things between us. If he wasn’t so serious, shooting fire from his very touch, I would’ve laughed at his question.

  But I shake my head—or try to, since he’s holding it still. “No. Never.”

  You’re my only teacher.

  I’m not bold enough yet to say it, but it’s implied. I lick my wet lips, surprised to find a glob of saliva sticking to my lower lip, and blink up at him. The pressure of his hold on my jaw and my hair increases, making me whine, “Thomas, it hurts.”

  It doesn’t, not really, and even if it did, I wouldn’t mind. I only say it to make him go crazy. Mission accomplished.

  His demeanor becomes even harder as he straightens and stabs his cock back inside. He goes in even farther than the last time until I start coughing with the invasion. He retreats immediately, letting me gulp in air. Once my breathing is stabilized, he repeats his actions, punctuating my breaths with coughs.

  “This is what happens, Layla.” His speech is both slurred and cutting at the same time. “This is what happens when you do something I specifically told you not to. This is what happens when you strut in here in your short skirt and purple fucking coat and give me those big, violet eyes.”

  He is panting, keeping up the punishing pace that feels anything but punishing. It feels…intimate, out of control, desperate, and I love it. Every inch of my body loves it. My thighs shake as he predicted they would. My breasts dangle heavy and full, and my tattoo burns bright on my stomach.

  “You make me do this.” He rolls his hips, making my eyes water with the pressure. “You make me abuse your mouth.”

  The way his voice breaks at the end makes me moan, and I caress his cock with my tongue. With a curse that echoes right down to my bones, he wrenches my mouth away and comes on my chin and throat. His cum splatters on my face in thick drops, sliding down, some soiling the neck of my white sweater and some reaching my chest.

  Over me, Thomas props one hand on the tree, the other stroking his still-jerking arousal. His head is bowed and his eyes scrunched shut. If I didn’t know any better and if I hadn’t sucked him to completion, I’d think he was in pain. But no—this is the aftermath of his lust for me, agonizing and glorious.

  Thomas focuses on me. “Goodbyes aren’t my forte, but I won’t leave you like a coward either.”

  Thomas’ words rattle inside my brain, and it takes me a moment to get it. When his meaning settles over me, I sag with relief and swell with tenderness. He is giving me a non-promise promise that he won’t leave me like Caleb did, not without telling me first.

  I let go of my skirt and rub his cum over my neck and chin in circles, hoping to get him under my skin. I lick a few drops clinging to my mouth. It tastes like the best kind of chocolate, salted and thick.

  His lips part on a harsh breath and he yanks me up by the arm, at the same time pulling his pants up. I squeak at the sudden pain in my knee as the pressure of kneeling lifts off.

  “What’s wrong?” Thomas asks with a frown. “Did I…Did I hurt you?”

  His concern for me eases the pain. “No. It’s just… I think I busted my knee when I fell earlier. It’s nothing.”

  Before I can finish, Thomas is the one on his knees, examining my injury. He lowers my tights even farther and inspects my knees—they’re bleeding. He curses and unzips my right boot.

  “What are you doing?” I brace myself on his shoulders as he lifts my leg and takes the boot off. The ground is freezing—like, literally freezing—and it makes me shiver. I feel like a bleeding Cinderella who just sucked off her dirty Prince Charming, and now, instead of fitting my boots on my feet, he’s taking them off.

  “You can’t go home like this,” he replies while working on my other boot. “You need to be cleaned and bandaged.” After my boots are off, he strips off my leg warmers followed by my tights, until my lower half is exposed to the chilled air. He stands. “Come on, I’ve got a first aid kit.”

  Like the weather, I freeze at his words. They punch me awake, dispersing the insanity. My actions become crystal clear, as if I hadn’t committed them myself. I sucked him off in his backyard, right in front of the window I watched him and his wife through.

  God, I’m such a slut, and even Thomas’ presence can’t ease the guilt right now.

  “Layla.”

  I focus on him, the languidness of his frame, the flecks of arousal still coloring his cheeks. “I can’t…I can’t go in there.”

  He is silent, like he understands why, like he sees the craziness of what we’ve just done. We can’t break all the rules. I can’t break all the rules of being The Other Woman and step foot in his house.

  He runs his eyes over my legs and pauses a beat on my stomach, as if seeing my tattoo through the sweater.

  “I made you bleed, so I’m the one who has to clean you up.” He says it like a punishment, but it still manages to sprout butterflies in my cartwheeling stomach. With that, he turns around and begins walking to the back of his house, carrying my tights, boots, and leg warmers.

  I stand immobile for a fraction of a second be
fore righting my coat and taking off after him. Thomas is at the door, waiting for me to catch up. He unlocks it and stands aside to let me in first. Entering his house through the back door makes the whole situation even more illicit. It feels like we’re breaking in. His shoulders are tensed as if he realizes the same thing as me. We’re like thieves in the night, trespassing together.

  The stove light is on and the fridge makes a dull whirring noise. It’s a typical sound of a typical kitchen, but I’m in awe—because it’s Thomas’ house, and I’m in it.

  Thomas stands still at the island, not for a long time, but long enough that I notice and wonder. Why does he look lost in his own house?

  He comes out of his trance then, and tosses his phone, wallet, and keys on the marble island. “Take a seat. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

  I hear him walk down what must be the hallway and I use my time to absorb everything about the place. There’s a coffee machine right by the door with a stand for mugs. He’s got an NYU mug hanging at the top and I touch the cold ceramic, missing the city with an ache. Thomas went to NYU when I must’ve been eight or nine. He lived in the same city as me. It floors me to think we might have crossed paths, the poet in the making and me. Soul mates. Maybe I saw him through the crowd but never took notice.

  His house has an open floor plan and the living and dining rooms are both visible from the kitchen, lit by tiny nightlights. I trace the leather couch with my hands, the couch he sits on at night while grading papers.

  To the left are the stairs and the hallway down which Thomas disappeared. I can hear him rattling things in the bathroom. I pad down the hardwood floor, my bare feet hardly making a sound. I stop at a room with a half-open door. It issues an unspoken invitation for a trespasser like me.

  Swallowing, I open it wider to reveal a room full of boxes and a sprawling desk, illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window. I trace my palm over the surface of the wood and feel the scratches, the rough texture of it. This is a desk with history, with a certain character to it. It’s unlike the glossy, polished surface of the desk in his office. I like this one better.