I yank at my tie and pull it from around my neck. “How was your day?” I ask, starting on the buttons of my dress shirt.
She taps the wooden spoon on the side of the pot before setting it down on the stove. “It was good.” Going to the fridge, she pulls out a bottle of beer for me and a bottle of wine for herself. I take the bottle of wine from her. As I take care of the cork, she continues. “I had a talk with Katelyn’s parents. They’re going to reconsider letting Katelyn apply to Parsons.”
“That’s great. The girl’s damn good. I’m sure she’ll have no problem getting in.”
Katelyn Monroe is seventeen years old and is set to graduate next year. She’s brilliantly talented when it comes to art. She’s so good that several people in town already have her paintings hanging from their walls. Layla actually has some up in the living room. Layla feels Katelyn can hone her skills and become even better if she were given the opportunity to attend an art school. The only problem is, the school Katelyn dreams of attending is in the U.K. Parson School for Design is one of the top art institutes in the world, but her parents are reluctant to let her go so far away. I can’t say I blame them. It’s hard to let a child go, especially halfway around the world, but if she were to get accepted, her future could be so much brighter.
“I think so, too. I just hope she’s given the opportunity.”
I pour Layla a glass of wine and hand it to her. She takes a quick sip, sets the glass down, and walks over to me. As she moves her hands to my chest, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her to me. I lean back against the counter with her wedged between my thighs and her bottom half plastered to mine.
Stretching my head down, she meets me halfway until our lips meet. She tastes sweet, like the wine she just drank.
“Mmm….” She moans. “I’m glad you’re here.”
My tongue darts out and licks across her bottom lip. “Me too,” I whisper.
I tug her bottom lip between my teeth then slip my tongue inside her mouth for a better taste. It’s been two weeks since I’ve had Layla. I’ve missed her. I always do. Just like I miss the others when I’m not with them.
Come next Monday, I’ll be staying with Jamie for a week. The week after that I’ll be with Gillian. I’ll repeat the schedule the week after that.
Yes, I have three mistresses. No, I don’t give a fuck if people care or not. It’s a system that works for all four of us. I care about all three women. I’d give my life to protect them. I even love them. Just not in the forever kind of way. They don’t love me that way either. They each know of the other, and are even close friends. I treat them with the respect they deserve, and I give one-hundred percent of myself to the one I’m with that week, in mind and body.
They each have a house of their own with their name on the deed. One I’ve provided for them and one they’ll keep if our arrangement comes to an end. They have jobs they enjoy. Not because they have to work—I would happily provide for them if they chose to stay home—but they’re independent and choose to work. They don’t wait on me hand and foot. Yes, they enjoy cooking for me, but I return the favor by cooking for them some nights too. In almost every sense of the word, we act as happily married couples do.
My only hard limit is children. It’s not that I don’t like kids. I just have no intentions of settling down. I like the arrangement I have with Layla, Jamie, and Gillian, but I know it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring a child into that kind of life.
My cock hardens beneath my slacks, and I grind it against Layla. Her nails bite into the flesh of my pecs. Breaking our kiss, I grab her waist, hoist her up, spin around, and set her on the counter. Her legs open, and I step between them.
“How long before the food is done?”
Her legs lock around my waist and I’m tugged closer until her tits press against my chest. My hands rest on the counter on either side of her.
“A couple of minutes,” she answers throatily. “Are you hungry?”
Layla’s a be
autiful woman. Shoulder-length blonde hair, wide light-brown eyes, olive complexion, nice sized tits, and a round ass. She’s also highly sexual.
“Hungry, yes,” I answer. “For food, not so much.”
Her breath fans across my lips when she giggles. “Give me a minute to turn the stove off and put a lid on the pot. Meet you in the shower.”
I nip her lip once before stepping back and helping her down from the counter. My gaze lingers on her ass, clad in a pair of tight jeans, before heading toward the stairs, working on the rest of the buttons of my shirt as I go.