Layla Morgan’s feet burned as she shoved her key card into the hotel door’s lock and pushed inside. But kicking off her overpriced boutique heels rested low on her priority list this morning. She was hot. Too hot. She needed to be naked. This instant. She pulled on the buttons of her shirt, yanking them free one by one. The noise of the city below barely reached her through the panes of the unopenable windows.
She continued to unbutton the crisp white blouse and let the fabric slide down her arms. It dropped to the carpet with a soft puff of air. The cool breeze from the air conditioner danced across her skin, bringing her nipples to hard peaks. She sighed as her temperature finally began to dip below boiling. Damn these New York summers. Even at six a.m. after the sun had only peeked over the horizon, the temperature was eighty, and humidity clung to the air. It made her long for the temperate climate and cool sea breezes of San Francisco.
She walked into the bathroom and ran her hands under the cool water. She sprinkled slick droplets on the back of her neck, let them slide their way down her spine, leaving a trail of goose bumps. She refused to look at herself in the mirror, knowing what she would see behind her black-rimmed glasses. Knowing her pulled-back hair and barely-there makeup made her look like the lawyer she was. Just the way they were supposed to. She hated it.
She moved her head to the side, trying to release the tension built up from the night’s work spent sitting over books. Damned Paulson case. They were going to make her crazy over the following weeks of prep before the court date. She’d already been here almost a month. She didn’t know if she could handle another four to six weeks. Or eight, depending on how the trial went. Never could tell with murder trials. Layla forced herself to push those thoughts aside. She needed to unwind and get herself ready for bed because she had to be back in her basement office at eight that night. She spared a quick glance through the double-paned glass overlooking Times Square. She’d long since tired of the view, though she kept the curtains open to allow sunlight into the room. She even left them open when she slept, not having to worry about passing hordes of tourists on the eighteenth floor.
She forced her shoulders down, working to take deep breaths, but it didn’t help calm her nerves. Spending all night in the basement office poring over books usually took the edge off her need to run wild through the streets of the city that never slept. It calmed her libido, centered her. But something about being back in New York this time stole away all her hard-won Zen and control. She let herself sink into a chair in the middle of the hotel room. The plush softness caressed her back on the way down. The sweat, still beaded on her skin from her trek home, should’ve cooled her, but she was burning up from the inside out.
Layla reached behind her to the zipper of her pencil skirt and opened it, then lifted her hips and let the fabric slide to the floor around her ankles. She flicked it to the side with one flex of her high heel and sank back into the buttery leather. She sighed at the feeling of cold air against her hot skin.
She trailed her fingers up to the tips of her thigh-highs, playing with the edge of the fabric. She raised her hands higher, needing to settle her nerves, searching for the release she knew was only moments away. Her eyes closed as she slipped a finger inside her thong. Images of Brian, her incredibly hot, very sweet, and married boss danced behind her lids as she glided her middle finger up first one lip and then the other. She quivered at that first contact. Needed it. She could lust after Brian and fantasize about him all she wanted, but she wouldn’t touch him. Not for real.
Because Married meant Off-Limits.
But here, in the privacy of her hotel room, with no one looking, she could pretend it was his thick, slightly tanned finger flicking the edges of her clit. Imagine she sat in his office chair as he crouched beneath his desk to pleasure her while she caressed his blond hair. She moved her right hand down the inside of her thigh, picturing Brian doing the same, and groaned. Her mouth parted in a pant as she pushed her right index finger into her hot sheath.
Brian pushed another finger inside her, stretching her, loving her. She gasped as he worked in a third finger, using his other hand to push against her clit. The rough pad of his thumb swirled again and again around her sensitive nub. He hooked the three fingers up inside her until she bucked against his hand, her muscles clenching down on him as she screamed his name. Layla lay limp against the big office chair, Brian’s fingers still deep inside her, heat suffusing her skin and weighing down her limbs. She could sit here forever, she decided. The three fingers moved, causing waves of an aftershock as they slid from her. She smiled and opened her eyes.
And stared into the dark, hooded gaze of a man sitting behind a desk in an office across the street.
TYLER LACHLAN COULDN’T believe what he saw through his office window. A woman across Times Square, eighteen stories high, scantily clad in the middle of her hotel room, pleasuring herself. And here he sat, staring at her like some sick Peeping Tom. His mother would be so ashamed, but he couldn’t look away. He could feel the way his body reacted to the sight of her. When he’d looked up from that morning’s briefing documents and gazed across the way to the hotel, he’d never expected to be greeted with such a sight. The minute she had started unbuttoning her blouse, his gaze had followed her every movement, his pulse increasing with every step. Blood pooled low in his groin. He was lucky no one else was in the office at six a.m., or he would have been interrupted.
And wouldn’t that have been a shame.
Now she sat there, her hands still between her legs, frozen. He’d never realized how close together the buildings in the square were, too busy focusing on what happened inside his office rather than through the window. He could only make out some of her facial features from this distance, but her body language was clear. He imagined her eyes were dark behind her thick-rimmed glasses. Probably brown, a few shades darker than her decadent mocha skin.
She’d become coiled like a cat the moment she realized she was being watched. He had the sudden desire to lick his lips. What a pervert!
He tried to force his eyes closed, tried to spin his chair to the side or look away. He should look away, but he couldn’t move. Apparently neither could she. He stared at her beautiful, brazen body as she did the unthinkable. She smiled at him. She spread her legs wider, and he found himself leaning forward in his desk chair, waiting for more.
She looked right at him as she pulled her hands free from between her legs, gliding them up her mahogany stomach and higher to cup her barely covered breasts. Her bra and panties were darker than her skin—black, perhaps. She maintained eye contact as she moved her hands around her breasts. His cock hardened at the sight. What the hell are you doing?
She didn’t stop, and he couldn’t look away. She pushed a finger into her mouth, sucking it, then trailed a wet path down her chest and slipped it into the front of her bra. She didn’t seem inclined to remove the fabric, and he couldn’t care less. She dipped another finger into her mouth, and he watched, mesmerized, as her other hand slid down her abdomen and between her thighs. He gripped the edge of his desk, desperate for her to continue, though afraid it might kill him if she did.
She didn’t close her eyes this time as she pleasured herself. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit it to keep from reaching to relieve his aching cock. It seemed wrong somehow to gain so much pleasure from what she was doing, but he couldn’t help himself. The muscles in his body grew tight in anticipation, his cock throbbing. And still he did nothing but watch until her body shook with her release. She looked at him as she licked her fingers clean. As she stood and walked to the window, pressing her body against the glass, she gave him another smile. Then she kissed the window and closed the curtains.
And he’d never been more turned on in his life.