Authors: Theodora Taylor
The Wild One
Published by Amorous Publishing
Copyright Ⓒ 2012 Theodora Taylor
ISBN: # 978-0-9849193-4-5
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
To my grandmother, who I would never let read this (whispers: because of all the s-e-x), but who taught me to love soap operas. Most of our favorite soaps are gone now, but they live on in my heart.
And to all my fellow soap opera fans, who I hope will enjoy this book most of all.
not sure I have this on right,” Layla said on the other side of the bathroom door.
Andrew, who felt like he’d already been waiting a lifetime for Layla to come out, sat up on the suite’s California king-sized bed. “How about you come out, and I’ll let you know.”
A moment later the door creaked open and Layla stepped out dressed in a peach bra that hardly covered the nipples of her dark chocolate breasts. The cups of the bra were tied together with a satin bow at the center of her chest, a bow that seemed to be begging Andrew to untie it and release the two bountiful treasures it was barely constraining. Underneath the bra, she wore a pair of matching peach panties, the crotch of which was sheer enough to frame the swollen lips beneath it.
White-hot bolts of lust shot through his cock, making him fully erect underneath his black briefs in an instant. “I’d say you have it on exactly right.”
For a moment, Andrew held still, his mind in the throes of warring compulsions to strip her bare and savor the sight of her like this at the same time. Seconds ticked by and she seemed to grow even more nervous under his gaze, shifting from foot to foot next to his bed.
But Andrew kept her pinned with his eyes. He wanted her to fully understand the Andrew she remembered was no more. Her sweet and considerate college boyfriend was gone, replaced by an untamed animal who wanted nothing more than to devour her whole.
She wiggled her fingers at her side nervously. “So are we going to…?”
He came across the bed in an instant, dragging her into his arms and covering her wide mouth under his with raw and naked hunger.
“Andrew,” she moaned against his lips.
He forced himself to ignore the siren call of her breasts, and instead dug two fingers into her pussy. “Yes,” he said when he found her wet. “I want you wet. I want you fucking dripping for me, sweetheart. I’m going to lie back, and I want to you ride me so hard I forget everything that went down between you and Nathan. Can you do that? Can you make me forget?”
She nodded and pushed against his fingers, so hot for him, she probably didn’t even realize what she was doing.
Andrew had never come in his pants, even as a kid. But the sight of her writhing into the fingers he was thrusting in and out of her nearly undid him. He had to let her go or risk embarrassing himself.
And the last thing he wanted to do now that he had finally gotten Layla Matthews into his bed was come early.
He dragged his lips off hers and, even more reluctantly, removed his fingers from her hot pussy. As it was, he wasn’t the least surprised when he took his cock out of his briefs and found it rigid, already dripping with pre-cum.
For a moment, an image of Layla sucking him off the night before with her sweet mouth invaded his mind. Even more pre-cum erupted from the eye of his dick. But that was last night. He had something else in mind for this afternoon.
He lay back on the bed. “Come on, sweetheart. Get on top.”
Shy Layla was back now and once again, she didn’t seem to know what to do with that luscious body of hers. But Andrew was more than happy to tell her.
“Get rid of those panties, then crawl over to me on the bed and swing your leg over.”
With tentative movements, she did as he asked, but before she could sit down on top of him, he said, “No wait a minute, stay kneeling. I want to look at you.”
And look at her he did. Her naked cunt glistened, weeping with need in the soft afternoon light.
Finally he untied the bow, freeing her soft breasts to his hungry gaze.
“Invite me in,” he said, his words thick with lust.
She once again hesitated, but then placed a finger on each lip of her pussy and pulled it apart wide for him, giving him the most blatant physical invitation a woman could give. His manhood pulsed in immediate answer, and his mouth began to water. Another fight erupted in his mind. He wanted to taste her so bad again, but he didn’t think he could take not being inside her for even a minute more.
He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her down over his dick until he was buried deep inside of her.
She cried out. “Oh, Andrew!”
She was so fucking tight, like a velvet glove made just for him. If he had known they’d fit this well together, there would have been no way he’d let her stay with Nathan as long as she had. And for minutes on end, the only sound in the room was of their two hungry bodies slapping together.
But just as they were about to reach their apex, he stilled and stopped her hips from moving.
“Layla, tell me you want this,” he said.
Layla seemed to be in a daze, wild with lust to the point that it took her several moments of trying without success to move her hips to realize he’d asked her a question.
But Andrew waited for her to figure it out. Considering how long he had waited for Layla, it wouldn’t do to have his patience give out now, even if his cock was practically yelling, “Less talk, more rock!”
After the haze cleared from her eyes, she said. “I want this.” Then she lifted her eyes to meet his. “I want you. The truth is, I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never wanted anybody like this. It feels like my body is going crazy.”
“You want this more than you want to be with Nathan?” Andrew should have felt like a heel for demanding her acquiescence this way, in the middle of sex. But when as much stuff had gone down between two people as it had between him and Layla, he couldn’t blame himself for wanting to hear her say it. “Tell me you want me more than you want my brother.”
“I want you more than I want your brother,” she answered. No hesitation. No looking away. No way he couldn’t see the truth of her words written across her eyes. “Andrew, I—I love you.”
And despite all the nasty things he planned to do and say to her, his heart just about came apart with joy then. “It feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say that. I love you, too, sweetheart. So fucking much.”
He surged up into her, and soon, as if to prove the validity of her professed feelings, she was coming apart for him, clenching her teeth as the orgasm took her and then him in a tidal wave of desire.
Layla was his now. Fully his. She no longer wanted Nathan—she loved him. He had never been so happy in his life. He had finally landed the girl of his dreams.
And this time, he was not going to be a gentleman about it. God help both him and Nathan if his brother ever tried to get her back.
Two weeks earlier…
MABEL scowled at Roxxy from behind the bright red, hydraulic barber chair. “You obviously hate me.”
Roxxy plopped into the chair, which stood in the middle of what they referred to as “the closet,” but what was really a repurposed, two thousand square foot room located off the master bedroom of her penthouse apartment. It had a view overlooking Central Park, and it was large enough to house her thousands of costumes, her extensive collection of wigs, and the special hair and makeup center where she’d met up with Mabel almost every single morning for the last several years.
“Good morning to you, too, Mabel,” she said with a huge yawn.
“What have I told you about sleeping in your hair and makeup?” Mabel asked, snatching last night’s powder-white, Marie Antoinette wig off her head. “You look like a raccoon prostitute. How am I supposed to get you ready for the
looking this bad?”
Roxxy didn’t bother to confirm Mabel’s assessment of her looks in the mirror. She simply placed her chin into the palm of her left hand and let her head droop into it. “If I sit like this, can you still do your job?”
“You party too much,” Mabel informed her. She pulled her own hair, which she wore in long dreadlocks, into a messy ball on top of her head and lodged them in place with a makeup brush.
“I’m about this close to getting together with Dexter to stage an intervention.”
Roxxy yawned again. “Doesn’t announcing a plan for an intervention kind of defeat the purpose?”
“Keep joking, but I’m honest to God worried about you,” Mabel said. She sprayed the short natural Roxxy wore under all her wigs with water, and rubbed a rich, moisturizing, leave-in conditioner into her tight curls. This routine was so familiar to Roxxy that it felt like both a massage and a ritual.
“I know you are,” Roxxy mumbled, feeling a twinge of guilt for yet again making Mabel’s life harder. “Maybe I’ll check myself into rehab after my last show.
She let the “or” hang, knowing Mabel’s busybody nature wouldn’t let her not ask.
And she was right. “Or what?” Mabel snapped, dumping a copious amount of makeup remover onto a large cotton round.
,” Roxxy said, “You, Dexter, and me can take a vacation some place where the boys are as hot as the weather.”
Mabel slapped her on the shoulder. “Dexter might like that, but what’s an old lady like me going to do with boys your age?”
“You’re only in your forties, Mabel,” she reminded her. “And I’m thirty now. I think there are plenty of things you could do with a boy my age. You want me to spell it out for you?”
More often these days, Roxxy resented her role as one of America’s sauciest, sexiest pop stars, but sometimes it was nice to let herself pretend she really was the kind of uninhibited woman who could actually seek out male attention without there being copious amounts of alcohol involved.
Mabel threw her head back with laughter. “You are
“Yeah, we’re definitely going to go with the vacation option,” Roxxy said, smiling as her eyes fluttered close. “I’ve been to rehab, and let me tell you…
She started to drift off into blessed sleep—only to be jerked awake with a hard shake.
Even before opening her eyes, Roxxy knew it was Shirelle. Getting abruptly woken up by this woman was even more familiar than her multi-hour hair and makeup sessions with Mabel. Shirelle had been shaking her awake for one thing or another since the age of three, when they’d first come to New York to make it big.
Roxxy groaned in irritation, but Mabel nodded with approval toward Shirelle who was decked out in a yellow A-line dress, which showed off her shapely calves and ample chest. Despite the early hour, she wore a full-face of perfectly applied makeup topped off with a sleek ponytail that fell all the way down to her butt. “Hey, girl! Look at you working that yellow dress.”
Roxxy knew for a fact Shirelle was almost fifty, but thanks to a few subtle procedures over the years and an almost maniacal commitment to staying fit, she could have easily passed for a woman even younger than Roxxy. In fact, very few people other than Mabel knew Shirelle wasn’t just Roxxy’s manager, but also her mother.
On the rare occasion that Shirelle and she where in a room together when Roxxy wasn’t wearing a crap load of makeup and fake hair, she couldn’t help but be taken aback by how much they looked alike. They had the same smoky brown skin, the same almond-shaped eyes, and even the same well-defined curves—though Roxxy’s toned lines came from putting on hundreds of concerts over the course of her singing career instead of two-hour exercise sessions every morning like her mother.