Let's choose

 Kelvin Mckenna said without looking at her, “This is not going to be done. You can be my secretary or my mistress, but you can't be both. Let's choose."

Layla Larson paused, her nimble fingers hovering over the stack of classified papers searching for the contract he'd asked for... His request was out of the sky, and she felt Her breathing seemed to stop.

Choose, he said. It's this or that. Kelvin always said exactly what he thought and remembered what he said.

In a flash, she saw clearly, what that would be, depending on her answer.

If she chose to be his secretary, she wouldn't take any more actions that, to her, could be interpreted as private.

She knew Kelvin well, knew his iron will, how he could completely divide his life. His private life has never been drained in business and vice versa.

If she chooses to be lover, not mistress, he will certainly provide her completely, and in exchange for that, she must be willing to have sex with him whenever he has the time. . She would expect to give him total loyalty while he promised nothing in return of loyalty, or a future.

With common sense and self-respect, she had to choose the proper position of a secretary and refuse the horizontal position of a mistress, but she hesitated.

She had been Kelvin's secretary for a year, and had fallen in love with him for that time. If she chose the job, he would never allow her to have any closeness to him as she does now. As mistress, she was at least free to express her love in her own way, and the hours spent in his arms were like a talisman against a future without him. That future she will gradually have to face.

Kelvin is not a man of endurance, someone a woman can plan for life with. He does not condone any contact.

She said in a low voice, "If I choose to be your mistress, what will happen next?"

Finally he looked up, and his dark blue eyes looked at her quizzically, "I'll hire a new secretary then," he said bluntly, "And don't expect me to propose marriage, I won't. So, under any circumstances.”

She took a deep breath. He stated it more clearly than anything. The fiery attraction of the body that had overtaken them the night before would never be stronger, at least to him. He would never allow it.

How surprised she was, how he was able to stay calm after the hours of intense lovemaking they shared on the carpet at her feet. If it were a hasty lovemaking, they would be able to ignore it as a mistake. But in reality, they made love over and over again in prolonged frenzy, with no other pretense. His office was filled with sexual memories, he had taken her on the floor, on the couch, on the desk, the desk now covered with contracts and plans, even They even made love in the toilet.

He was not a tender lover, he was demanding, fierce, almost out of control, but generous in the way he was sure she would satisfy as he was with every touch. The thought of never knowing the extent of passion again made her heart clench painfully.

She was 27 years old and had never been in love before, even as a teenager there was a classification between passion and official lover. If she missed this opportunity she might never have another time and certainly never another time with Kelvin.

So, with full self-control, she became Kelvin Mckenna's woman. “I choose to be your lover,” she said softly, “on one condition.”

There was a hot spark in his deep eyes, which quickly cooled at her last words.

“There are no conditions.”

“There is one condition,” she insisted. “I am not naive enough to think about this relationship.”

“It is not a relationship. It was an arrangement.”

“This arrangement will not last forever. I wanted a guarantee to sponsor myself, a way to make money for myself, because suddenly I wouldn't be looking for myself if I didn't have a place to live or a way to make a living."

“I'll provide for you, and trust me, you'll make every penny of it,” he said, his eyes moving down her body in a way that suddenly made her feel naked, her skin hot. burn and squeeze.

“I would make you an account, but I don't want you to work, and that's the last thing.”

She hated it, the way he laid out their relationship, calling it a relationship, angry at his assertion of such a self-interested platform, but on the contrary she knew it was the foundation. The only platform on which you can agree. On the other hand, she would take him on whatever platform he craved.

“Okay,” she said, searching mechanically for words he could accept and understand, words that didn't evoke any emotion.

He stared at her silently for a moment, as usual his face was unreadable. There was only heat in his eyes. Then he walked leisurely to the door, closing and locking it, even though it was time off and they were alone. When he turned around, Layla could clearly see his lust, and her entire body tightened in response. Her breathing was quick and weak as he reached for her. "Then you can begin." he said and pulled her back to him.

2 years later.

Layla heard his key at the door and sat up straight on the sofa, her heart suddenly beating faster. He'd returned a day earlier than he'd told her, and of course he hadn't called. He never called her when he was away on business because that seemed like a confirmation of a relationship, which, as he claimed, two years later maintained their own residence.

He still had to come home every morning to change his clothes before going to work. She didn't jump up and run into his arms. That can also make him uncomfortable. Now she understood very well the man she loved. He couldn't accept anything like care and she didn't understand why. He was very careful never to show up suddenly to visit her, he never called her by her first name, never gave her sudden gentle caress, never whispered words of love inside her ears even during the most intense lovemaking.

All he said to her in bed was always demanding and aphrodisiac words, his voice hoarse with tension, but he was truly a sensitive and devoted lover. She loved making love to him not only because of the satisfaction he always gave her, but also because in the process of satisfying her physical desires she was able to give him all the love he could not give her. never accepted outside of bed.

When they made love she had a reason to kiss him, touch him, hold him tight, and in that moment he completely let loose in the caress. During the long nights he could not be satisfied not only by sex but also by her closeness. Every night she slept in his arms, and if for some reason she was teleported away from him during the night he would wake up and reach for her, pulling her into him again. In the morning he withdrew again in his cold lonely shell, but in the night he was completely hers.

There were times when she felt he needed those nights just as much as she needed them and for the same reason. Those were the only times he allowed himself to give and receive love to some degree.

So she forced herself to sit and hold the book she was reading open in her lap, until the door opened and she heard the suitcase crash on the floor, she allowed herself to look up and smile. Her heart leapt at the first sight of him, as it had for three years, and pain gripped her as she thought of not being able to see him again. She had one more night with him, one more chance and then she would have to end it.

He seemed tired, there were shadows under his eyes, and the curving lines of his beautiful mouth seemed to deepen. It wasn't the first time, however, that she had been struck by how unbelievably handsome he was, with his distinctive olive skin, dark hair, and deep blue eyes. He'd never mentioned his parents, and now she marveled at them, at the combination of genes that made up such dramatic colors, but that was another thing she couldn't ask. .

He took off his suit jacket and hung it carefully in the closet, and while he did that, Layla walked over to the small bar and poured him about two knuckles of Scotch. He took the drink and, with a sigh of enjoyment, sipped it while his hand began to loosen the knot of his tie. Layla pulled back, not wanting to mess with him, but her eyes lingered on his broad, muscular chest, and her body began to stimulate similarly.

“Is the trip good?” business is always a safe topic.

“Yes, Howard has been expanded, as you say.” He finished his drink with a quick flick of his hand, putting the glass away and wrapping his arm around her waist.

Layla tilted her head back, surprise in her eyes. What are you doing? He always followed a pattern when he returned from every trip: he would take a shower while she prepared a snack, he would read a newspaper, then they would talk about his trip, and eventually they will go to sleep.

He would let go of sensuality only then and they would make love for hours. He'd been doing that for two years, so why would he break that mold by reaching for her almost as soon as he walked through the door.

She couldn't read the expression in his blue eyes, they were so bright but they were strangely sparkling. His fingers tightened around her waist.

"Is something wrong?" There was concern in her voice.

He laughed nervously, gruffly, "No, nothing wrong, it's just a fucking reaction after the trip" as soon as he said it, he moved them toward the bedroom. Immediately there, he spun her around and began to undress her clothes, pulling them off in impatience. She stood obediently, her gaze locked on his face.

Was it her imagination or was there a soft light that flashed across his face when she was finally naked and he pulled her close to him. He wrapped his arms around her, almost squeezing her. The buttons of her shirt pressed against her breasts and she twisted a little, quickly giving way to growing desire. Her response was always strong and immediate, lifting to meet him.

She tugged at his shirt. "Don't think you'd be better off without this." she whispered “and this.” She ran her hands between them and began to unzip his belt. He was breathing harder and the heat of his body was burning her, even through his clothes. Instead of stepping back so he could undress, he wrapped his arms around her and picked her up, then carried her to the bed.

He fell onto the bed with her still in his arms, then turned so that she lay beneath him. She made a small sound in her throat as he used his muscular thighs to stretch her legs, and his hips moved into the gap he'd just made.

"Layla." Her name was groaned from deep in his chest. He held her face between his hands and pressed his mouth to hers, then reached down between them to unzip his trousers. He was in a rage and she didn't know why but she sensed his intense demand and kept her with him.

He got inside her with a ferocious wave that made her curl up on the bed. She wasn't ready and his entry hurt her but she pushed her fingers into his hair and squeezed his head, giving him the comfort she could even though she knew something was wrong. .

Instantly he was inside her, yet the despair vanished from his eyes, and she felt the tension in his muscles ease. He leaned down against her with a small moan of pleasure, his large body pressed against hers on the bed. After a moment, he propped himself on his elbows, "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to hurt you."

She smiled softly and stroked his hair, "I know," she replied, pulling his head down within the scope of a kiss. Her body had gotten used to him, and the pain of his rough entry was gone, leaving almost nothing but the luminous joy of making love. She never said it out loud, but her body did, and it kept repeating in her head: I love you. She said the words again in her head as he began to move, and she was surprised if it would be the last.