7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Layla

Layla

Horny doesn't even begin to describe what I've been feeling since Josh rubbed suntan lotion all over me. What the hell was I doing just watching him intently as he felt me up? I was in a daze, watching his muscles bulge as he touched me in places I've only ever dared to let myself fantasize about at night when I'm alone with my thoughts.

Even then, I tell myself it's just because he's attractive, but that I still hate the guy.

I tried to find extra pillows last night to block myself from somehow ending up touching him in the middle of the night. I don't trust myself in the dead of night to make the wisest decisions. Not with him sleeping next to me in nothing but his sweatpants.

I don't understand what's going through his head. Sometimes, he'll look at me in a way that makes my heart skip a beat, not that I want him to look at me that way. But other times, he'll pretend like I'm not in the room while he laughs and flirts with another woman.

What am I supposed to make of that?

All I know is that I'm all kinds of confused. These days, I'm not the type of person to make super rash decisions, but I find myself thinking about what it would be like to just give in to my desires just once.

All these years, I've tried my best to hate the man, but I can't deny that my body feels another way.

I need a breath of fresh air before I do something stupid. I look over at him lying on the bed in his stupid grey sweats and no damn shirt on.

"I thought we agreed to wearing clothes," I grumble from the table across the room.

He looks over at me. "I got hot last night."

"Well, morning is here. You should be wearing a shirt."

He smirks at me. "Is it that distracting to see me without a shirt on?"

"Ugh, I'm going for a walk. I want to see if they have any granola bars or something downstairs."

I grab my purse and walk out the door without a second thought. I hate how he can be so damn cocky. But what I hate the most is how right he is. It is distracting to see him without a shirt on.

What time is it in Georgia? I think I need to talk to Charlotte. I reach for my phone, only to come up with an empty pocket. Shit. I left it in the room .

Luckily, my purse has my hotel key in it. I wouldn't put it passed Josh to refuse to let me back in without apologizing or something equally annoying.

I open the door and stroll back in, determined to keep my head down and retrieve my phone. But his sudden gasp of surprise forces my eyes in his direction.

"Oh my god!" I scream as I watch Josh gripping his dick.

"What the fuck! I thought you were going downstairs," he shouts.

"I forgot my phone."

His eyes bore into mine, but I can't hold them for long. I'm too busy looking at the most perfect dick I've ever seen in my entire life. I mean, like long, thick, and the sexiest vein running through it. His tip is swollen like his dick is just straining to get some attention.

"Geez, Layla," he screams in frustration.

"What are you doing jerking off the second I leave the room?"

"Because you piss me off!"

"What the hell does that have to do with anything? Wait a minute," I hesitate, "were you thinking about me?"

His head falls back on his pillow, but he doesn't answer. Holy. Shit. He was totally thinking about me.

"Well, don't stop on my account. You were thinking about me. Why not finish while looking at the real thing?" I say as I throw my hands up in the air .

I don't know what the hell I'm suggesting. I can't watch him do this. I'd literally never be able to look at him the same again.

My panties are already soaked from the excitement of the idea. I don't know if it's knowing he was thinking of me, even if it was in some kind of weird, angry way, or just the sight of his sexy abs as the backdrop of this perfect image. But all I know is my body is fully on board for this weird show I've just requested.

Hell, I said I needed to find myself on this trip. Before I owned the restaurant, I was bold and free. I did what I wanted. Maybe this can be my first experience back to that girl. Zane would totally be high-fiving me right now.

"I'm not gonna jack off in front of you, Layla," he bites out.

"Really? Cuz your dick is still in your hand, and it looks like it's even harder now. Do you like the idea of me watching?" I raise my eyebrow with a challenge.

I watch a little bit of precum drip out of his tip. It lands on his thumb, and I think I might pass out. I rub my legs together and feel the friction ease the ache that's building.

"Fuck, I'm going to hell for this," he says. "Alright, Freckles. You asked for it."

"Don't call me that," I bite back, but he just smiles.

I always hated his nickname for me. I have scattered freckles on my nose and cheeks, which I've always been self-conscious about. Sometimes, I try to cover them up with makeup. His nickname has always felt like an insult to me.

He ignores me. Instead, I watch him gather his cum on the tip of his dick and spread it all over himself. It's without a doubt the hottest thing I've ever seen .

I wish I could crawl onto the bed and lick it off, but I'm stuck standing at the foot of the bed by myself.

His hand wraps around his thick length, and now my eyes are fighting between watching the veins on his hand versus the one running along his dick. His eyes are hooded as he focuses on watching while his hand pumps up and down along his shaft.

"Is this what you wanted, Freckles? You wanted to be a perv and watch me touch myself? I can tell you, I'm not gonna last long with all those little moans and whimpers you're making over there."

My hand flies over my mouth. I had no idea I was making any noises. But hearing my nickname being used in such a dirty way is starting to make me feel like maybe I don't hate it after all.

"Fuck," he growls as he starts to stroke harder and faster. "I wish I could come all over your sexy ass instead of on myself. Did you like it when I touched you there yesterday?"

I can't answer. The truth isn't something I'm willing to speak out loud yet. But that doesn't mean I'm willing to tear my eyes away for a second. His eyes hold onto mine with such intensity that I feel like I'm somehow a part of this with him instead of just an onlooker.

His movements begin to get jerky as I watch his stomach muscles tense up. He's close. But I don't want this to end. I want to live in this moment forever.

"I'm coming. I want you to watch every drop of cum shoot out of me. Just know, you were the one who got me off, Freckles."

His head falls back deeper into the pillow in ecstasy as he moans through his release. Thick white ropes of cum rush out of him, landing all over his perfect set of abs. I find myself licking my lips, wishing I could run my tongue along his stomach.

When he's done, his entire body relaxes as his eyes open. The reality of what we just did together hits me like a ton of bricks. What the hell did I just do?

I'm supposed to hate this man, not give him any more ammunition to hit me with. I race back out of the room, phone forgotten, as I make quick work to get downstairs for some fresh air.

This is only day two of the trip, and I've already forgotten to keep my guard up. This is exactly why this was a bad idea. I should've never gotten on the plane. Now I'm stuck here with him in the same bed.

I pace back and forth outside until I feel like I've got my composure. On my way back to the room, I try to pump myself up so I have the confidence to walk in there and pretend like nothing ever happened.

Somehow, I feel like moving forward without discussing it is the safest plan of action. I don't trust myself to let my brain go back to the moment we shared together.