Read Online Breaking Leila by Lucy V. Morgan - Free Book Online Page A

to
bed.”
    “You weren’t
seriously in bed?” I said, incredulous.
    “I had a
mouthful of cock, but it was still bed.”
    Snort. Baha.
“At least one of us is getting some.”
    “No thanks to
you! I’m sorry about those guys–we fucked up, I know. Now, sober
yourself up and call me in the morning. If you still want to come
back, we’ll talk about it. But I doubt you will.”
    Three voices
beckoned in my mind. Bed was one, wine was another. Then there was
the internet and the shiny new credit card that languished in my
purse.
    Clickety click.   Who knew drunken shopping
could be so much fun?
    * * * *
    I awoke on the sofa to the chime of a text message. The clock
on my phone read   12:41pm . The text read:
     
    Thanx 4 the
flowers. Always did like roses. Send them when my mates aren’t here
nxt time? M x
     
    Jesus,
Charlotte. Lay off the wine.
    * * * *
    Most people
keep their knives in the kitchen. Mine were sheathed in my email
inbox.
    Between the
work reminders, messages from old friends and Viagra spam, nestled
hoards of old mail from Charlie: five years’ worth of photographs,
links, and hotel booking receipts. A legacy made in pixels and
breath poured over the screen–my own personal pornography. On long
afternoons like this, I splayed the blades and pricked my
fingertips until the blood drew sticky sighs.
    Like all the best seductions, it was achingly slow. Though
handsome for his age, I doubt he attracted many teenaged girls–his
eyes crinkled when he smiled, his hair was flecked with grey. There
was just something arousing about how he was
always   right .
    His
inappropriate flirting became a joke between us. I loved having
that kind of rapport with someone who was not only much older–a
grown up!–but a master in the field I loved. As I typed his notes,
he would stand over me and peer into my shirt, take guesses at the
colour of my bra. I always made sure I wore something new.
    Often, I
fantasized about not wearing one at all.
    Did I realize
how questionable his behaviour was? Yes. Did I mind? A little bit.
Did I want him to stop? God, no.
    The first time
it happened, I had only been there for a few months. Charlie made
excellent excuses and took me with him on a networking dinner.
Every gesture he made ended with his fingers brushing my bare
thigh. Before long, he ventured up and outright fondled. I had
never been so grateful for a flowing white tablecloth.
    In the cab, he
asked if I minded stopping by the office to pick up some paperwork.
I felt nauseous with pleasure at the prospect. The building was
dark and deserted and he didn’t bother to switch on the lights;
street lamps lit the rooms in milky shadows. I stood at his desk
while he rifled through the filing cabinet.
    When he came up
behind me and put his hands on my hips, I froze.
    “I hope I’m not
being too forward,” he whispered.
    “No.” I
swallowed as one hand slid up to my chest.
    He cupped a
breast, weighed it, rolled my nipple through my clothes. “Do you
like it when I touch you like this?”
    I nodded, inhaling sharply.   Yes, yes,
yesss –the erection that prodded my
buttocks had turned me into a parselmouth. Huh.
    His other hand
prodded my thighs from the back. I opened them slightly, holding my
breath–I knew what approached and I had been waiting for it for
weeks, months even. As he shoved my damp knickers aside and parted
me there, I leaned to grip the top of the chair. He laughed as I
pushed my pussy into his hand, easing his thumb inside me, and I
tightened on him with a little moan.
    “Leila…are you
a virgin?” The hope was evident in his voice–I didn’t dare to
disappoint.
    “Yes.” I pushed
myself further onto his thumb.
    He scraped past
my g-spot with frustrating slowness. “Mmm…”
    I was sort of a virgin. I’d never done   this   before.
    “But you seem
to be a girl who knows what she wants,” he went on, moving his
thumb for me now. “Do you want me to stretch you out, little girl?
You’re