He Divorced Me in Front of Four Hundred People, So I Moved Into His Rival's Glass Penthouse novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: No Curtains

At three in the morning Margo takes off her sweater against forty-eight floors of glass and tells Leighton to look at her. He goes down on her until she comes twice, fucks her against the window, and again on the rug until the sky goes grey.

The glass was cold against my shoulder blades, and Leighton's mouth was hot on my belly.

It was three past three, and I had walked down the hall in a cream sweater and taken it off in front of him.

Now I stood naked against forty-eight floors of dark air with the whole city lit below me, and he was on his knees.

"Tell me to stop," he said, with his lips against my skin.

"Don't you dare."

His mouth curved.

"That's a yes."

He kissed me low, just under my navel, slow and wet, and I put my head back against the pane.

His hands slid down the backs of my thighs and lifted my left leg over his shoulder.

The air touched me where I was hot and open, and I moaned.

"You're soaked," he said, and his breath hit my clit.

"Then do something about it."

He laughed, softly, and put his mouth on me.

I cried out.

His tongue was broad and warm and patient, and it dragged up through my folds and circled my clit once, and then again.

My fingers found his silver hair and locked in it.

"Yes," I said. "Right there. Don't stop."

He found the rhythm in seconds, a slow tight circle, and he held it exactly where I needed it.

My hips began to roll against his face.

I had never done that with anyone.

I had never been this loud.

"Leighton, God, your mouth."

He hummed against me, and the buzz went through me.

He slid two fingers inside me, slowly, and curled them up, and I heard myself say fuck.

He looked up.

His dark eyes were fixed on me and he did not look away once.

"I want to watch you come," he said, wet and rough. "Let me watch."

He kept his tongue where it was and pushed his fingers deeper, finding the place that made my knees give.

Then he sucked my clit gently between his lips.

The orgasm hit me from the floor up.

I came with my back against the glass and his name tearing out of my throat.

My thighs shook, and I clenched around his fingers again and again until my knees buckled.

He caught me by the hips and held me against the pane.

"Again," he said.

"I can't."

"You can. I can feel you can."

He put his mouth back on me, gentler this time, and licked me through the aftershocks.

The second one came slow and rolling, and I came with a laugh in the middle of it that turned into a sob.

He stood up and kissed me.

I tasted myself on his mouth, salt and heat, and I kissed him.

"Take your shirt off," I said.

He undid the buttons with his eyes on mine and dropped the shirt on the stone.

He was lean and long, with a flat belly and a line of dark hair running down from his navel.

I put both hands flat on his chest and pushed him back a step so I could look.

"Now the trousers."

He opened his belt and pushed his trousers and his shorts down together.

His cock sprang free, thick and hard and flushed at the head, and it curved up against his belly.

I wrapped my hand around it.

He drew in a breath through his teeth.

It was hot and heavy in my fist, silk over iron, and a bead of wet rolled from the tip over my thumb.

I stroked him once, root to head, slowly, and his hips jerked.

"Margo."

"I want this inside me."

"Say it again."

"I want your cock, Leighton. Now. Against the glass."

He made a rough sound and put his hands under my thighs.

He lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.

The cold pane hit my back.

The head of his cock slid through the wet between my legs, and I shuddered.

He dragged it up over my clit, slow, and back down, and again.

Each pass made my hips jump.

"Don't tease me," I said.

"I'm learning you."

"Learn me with your cock, Leighton."

He rubbed the head against my entrance and held it there, just barely inside, while I shook against the glass.

"Beg," he said, so softly it sounded like a kindness.

"Please. Please fuck me. I need you in me right now."

"Look at me," he said.

"I'm looking."

He pushed in.

It was slow and thick, and it stretched me almost to the edge of too much.

I dug my nails into his shoulders and gasped.

"Oh, fuck."

"Breathe," he said, and he held still, buried to the root.

I felt every inch of him pulsing inside me.

"Move," I said. "Please move."

He drew back and thrust in, and the glass shivered at my back.

He did it again, long and deep, and again, and each stroke dragged against the place he had found with his fingers.

"You feel so good," I said, and my voice broke on it. "You feel so fucking good."

"So do you. God, you're tight."

His forehead pressed against mine.

His hips picked up speed, and the sound of us filled the room, wet and slapping and frantic.

Behind him the whole city shone, and I did not care who could look up.

I wanted them to.

"Harder," I said.

He gave it to me.

He gripped my ass in both hands and slammed up into me, and my body bounced against the glass with every thrust.

I threw my head back and cried out at the ceiling.

"Fuck me. Don't stop. Fuck me, Leighton."

"That's it. Take it. Take all of it."

His hand slid between us and found my clit, and his thumb pressed down hard.

The third orgasm built so fast it frightened me.

"I'm going to come again," I said.

"Come on my cock."

"Leighton..."

"Come on it. I want to feel it."

I came with a scream.

I clamped down around his cock so hard that he swore.

My legs locked around his back, and I rode the waves with my mouth open against his neck.

"Fuck, Margo," he said. "Not yet. I'm not done with you."

He held himself still inside me, shaking, and I felt how close he was and how badly he wanted to wait.

He carried me, still joined, across the stone and laid me down on the rug in front of the long window.

My back sank into the wool.

Above me his face was lit blue and gold by the city, and he had never looked more wrecked.

"Spread your legs for me," he said. "Wider."

I opened my thighs and hooked my ankles behind his back.

He slid out almost to the tip, and I whimpered.

Then he pushed back in, slowly, a long deep stroke that bottomed out against me and made me arch off the floor.

"Oh, God. Do that again."

He did it again.

He rolled his hips in slow, heavy, grinding strokes, his weight pinning me, his chest dragging over my nipples.

Every time he filled me my breath left my body in a sob.

"Tell me how it feels," he said into my ear.

"Full. Like you're in my chest. Like I'll never get you out."

"Good."

"Kiss me."

He kissed me, deep and messy, and swallowed the noises I made.

I raked my nails down his back, and he groaned and began to speed up.

The rug burned a little against my shoulders, and I loved it.

"Touch yourself," he said. "I want to see your hand."

I slid my hand down between us and found my clit, swollen and slick, and rubbed in time with his thrusts.

He watched my fingers, his jaw tight.

"There," he said. "Just like that. Show me how you do it."

"I want to come with you."

"Then come with me."

I rubbed faster, and he drove into me harder, and the sound of it echoed off the stone.

"Leighton. Leighton, I'm..."

"I know. I've got you. Let go."

I came again, and this time he came with me.

He slammed deep and groaned my name against my throat.

I felt him pulse inside me, hot and thick, filling me while I clenched around him.

We shook together on the rug for a long time.

He didn't pull out.

He rolled us onto our sides, and I lay in his arms with my leg over his hip and his heart thundering against my breast.

Out past the glass the sky was going grey over the lake.

I started to laugh.

"What?" he said into my hair.

"I haven't come with another person in the room for six years."

"And now?"

"Four times."

His mouth tilted against my forehead.

"I'm only getting started," he said.

I tipped my head back and looked at him.

He looked at my mouth, then at my hand on his chest, then at the freckles on my shoulder, one at a time.

He never looked me in the eyes, and I was too warm and too wrecked to wonder why.

"Nobody has looked at me like that in nine years," I said.

"Then they were fools."

He kissed my collarbone.

On the rug beside my head, my phone lit up with a name I knew.

Dot had been calling since the roof, and now the message said she was standing in the lobby with a cardboard tube under her arm.

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