Page 50 of Mister Mom

Oh, my God, the way he says ‘fuck’ makes me want to run to my nightstand and grab my Unicorn Cock vibrator and go to town. Instead, I take a deep breath and explain what I mean.

“I think he loves her, but I think this is a pivotal point to show her because they were almost hurt. Well, Melanie was anyway, and I think he’d be vulnerable to her at this point. When you stare death in the eye, you tend to hold the ones you love tighter. Like when I hear a kid has gone missing or heaven forbid something happened, I tend to keep Payne and Via close right after. I’m constantly kissing them and telling them how much I love them. I think Joseph would do the same thing. Realize how much she means to him and cherish her.”

He’s busy jotting notes down in the margin.

“I like it and I see your point.” He places the script down with his pencil, leaning toward me. “Tell me, Ms. Andrews, do you see anything else that needs tweaking?”

“No.”

I only see you.

But I don’t say that. I can’t.

His hand skims up the inside of my thigh. “Tell me, Layla, what do you want?” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

You! I want to scream, but instead remain quiet, allowing his hand to cup my pussy though my leggings.

“I don’t know,” I say in a breathy voice, just as he pushes one finger into me through the fabric.

My body tenses, my back arches, and I suck in a quick breath.

“You think we should keep this professional?” he asks as his finger runs up and down the seam of my leggings.

“Yes.”

“I agree. Should I stop then?”

My head is screaming yes, but he knows I’m like a bee to a soda can when it comes to him. I hover and hover and somehow, I’m not able to resist the lure even though I know it’s a trap. I’ll dive in eventually, knowing it’s sure to cause me pain.

“I think we should talk about the ramifications of our actions.”

He places an open-mouthed kiss on my neck. “Ramifications?” His fingers are conducting some sort of symphony that has my body humming. “I like you, Layla, and I think you like me too.”

Through the fabric of my yoga pants, he finds my clit and all his attention focuses on the small nub, alight with a million nerve endings searching for release.

“I do like you. A lot,” I manage to squeak out.

“Then let me take care of you. I want to feel you come all over my hand.”

With the one statement I lose the battle to fight.

My back is arched, and through the thin fabric of my t-shirt and yoga pants, Vance nips at my breasts. His fingers strum my pussy like he’s a Grammy-winning guitarist. Eventually his fingers push past the waistband of my leggings and the skin-to-clit contact is almost more than I can take. His lips capture mine in a slow kiss that matches the movements of his actions below. My orgasm climbs like a diver swimming up to the surface of the water. It’s not a fast release, not explosive. He slowly and steadily brings me higher and higher until I bite down on his lower lip with a long growl of pleasure.

Even after it’s clear my orgasm finished, Vance’s hand moulds to my hip and he continues to make out with me until we’re both out of breath.

“Are you relaxed now?” he asks, staring down at me.

“Like spaghetti.”

He laughs, kissing my lips one more time. “Then I did my job.”

He sits straight up, the weight of him gone, and it immediately brings a feeling of loss.

“Let me repay you.” I get on my knees, about to straddle him.

“Not tonight.” He packs his stuff and stands. “You need to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Well, this seems weird, but okay. I’ve never had a guy give me pleasure and not expect something in return. Not that I have all that much experience since I met Carver on the set of the family sitcom we both worked on as kids, but still.

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