Page 75 of The Tryst

I grab his arm tightly, dig my nails into his flesh, desperate to hold on to him.

I shatter, breaking apart into forbidden bliss in the back of my sports car on a deserted road outside a country club in Greenwich, Connecticut.

With a man I can’t have again.

A man who sees me for Lola and for Layla. But who sees my present, not my past.

He sees me as I want to be seen, and I don’t think that’s because I’ve held back pieces of me.

I think it’s because of him. How he is. Who he is.

And I like who he is so much it hurts.

24

MAYBE IN CONNECTICUT

Nick

Sure, I did say this was wrong.

But I guess I bent the rules again.

You broke them, dickhead.

But dammit, breaking the rules feels so good as Layla’s skin flushes, her cheeks red in a post-orgasm glow.

We’re sardines here in the backseat of her sports car, parked outside a country club Rose’s parents belonged to way back when.

The place I worked at in high school, waiting tables. I traveled here from Queens, since the tips were better in Greenwich, so I know all the nooks and crannies, but I don’t want to tell her my stories of the club right now.

Nope.

This is the place where I was looked down on. Where the members tossed their greenbacks at me with barely a second thought.

I feel a little defiant tonight, wrapped up with Layla outside the country club that I could now buy a million memberships for. But I never will. I won’t buy one. Anywhere.

I like it better on the outside.

And on the outside, I get to havethis. A woman who doesn’t judge.

This fantastic woman, basking by my side.

And I think I’ll take a little more of her, thank you very much.

As she breathes out hard once again, I lift my fingers to my mouth and suck off the taste of her.

I groan salaciously.

She turns her head, watching me with avid eyes. “How do I taste?”

“Like salt and sex and sweetness,” I tell her.

Her gaze drifts down me to the ridge in my slacks. Hard, insistent.

I’m not asking for a hand job. I’m not asking for anything. I didn’t make her come so I could come too. But when she palms me, I groan.

“Let me,” she whispers.

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