Breaking Leila by Lucy V. Morgan

way his brow dipped as
he scooped her legs over his one shoulder, how he caught my eye as
he made the first thrust. Isobel scratched down my arm as she was
impaled.
    I watched as he clutched her hips, his blond hair askew and
sticking to his damp forehead. Swallowed up in a
dream,   I   was
the one beneath him, he took each long stroke deep
inside   me , I wailed like Isobel as he
slammed her further up the mattress. If this didn’t end soon, his
name would rush out before I could bite back down on it.
    I hated him for
that.
    Joseph
withdrew, his cock tight in his fist. His first drops splashed
across Isobel’s belly and then they caught my breasts and my cheek,
the warm aroma smacking up into my nostrils.
    “Very
resourceful,” Isobel said between breaths.
    Oh Christ. Not even whores stoop to those
lines .
    Shut   up , Charlotte.
    I looked up at Joseph and he nodded his
approval.   Well.   I slid down and lapped up his mess, rising to deposit it in
Isobel’s bruised mouth with a deep kiss. She hummed her delight as
she tasted him. Back on the pillows, I massaged the rest into my
nipples and watched as they nuzzled at each other the way satisfied
lovers do. I was jealous–I freely admit to that. Jealous,
trembling, and still slippery wet.
    I normally
left at this point. The couple were absorbed in their wicked
endeavours and wanted to congratulate each other in privacy, to
reaffirm their passions with a languorous fuck. So I peeled my damp
body from the sheets and crept into the huge living area, blinking
in the bright light before I stumbled over to the glass doors.
    The chill on
the breeze scraped me as I searched for my clothes. I found them in
a heap and took my time getting dressed–my limbs ached too much to
rush.
    Still. I needed
a drink.
    Inside, I could
hear Joseph and Isobel talking and laughing in the bedroom. Cold
water sloshed loudly into my glass and I winced at the hissing
tap.
    Joseph had asked that I wait for him. God, I wanted to. Could
even see it play out. He would take me back to the balcony and
shove me against the wall, ordering me to stay
silent   or
else . His mouth would work up my thigh
until he rested my leg on his shoulder, lashed out with his tongue
as I tugged at his hair. When my knees were too weak, he’d push
inside me and then–
    Ah, no. I couldn’t hang around. What would Isobel say if she
walked out now and saw me waiting? Job done, time to go home–this
was   my   etiquette. Charlotte had relished the hunt way too much
already.
    As I closed the
front door, a sigh erupted from the bedroom, and I knew they were
immersed in each other. It felt too soon to be wearing my knickers
again–the muscles there were taut in mourning. Then there was the
lie made corporeal. Isobel thought she had reclaimed her lover…she
didn’t know that he was mine, too.
    Not that he
felt like mine, of course. Not that he should be. Why did the
little m-word turn my fists to silent fireworks?
    I don’t know
what kind of skewed logic had got its claws in, but I hailed a cab
in one moment, and stood on Matt’s doorstep the next.
    The doorbell chimed.   Panic,
panic –I looked dishevelled, pink, and
probably reeked of sex. I’d barely rearranged my hair when the door
swung open, and a topless, younger version of Matt crackled bank
notes in his fist.
    His eyes were
wide as the doorway. “Don’t think I ordered you.”
    I blinked,
open-mouthed.
    “I mean, I
ordered pizza,” he went on, “but if they’re going to send me
a...you, I’m not complaining.”
    “Well, um,
thank you. I don’t suppose Matt’s here?”
    “Pah. Figures.”
He stood aside and ushered me into the hall. “I’m Toby, by the
way.”
    “It’s nice to
meet you, Toby.” Did I have lip gloss around my mouth? Why hadn’t I
checked? “I’m a work friend of Matt’s.”
    He led me to a
sitting room where television licked at the walls in the dark. Matt
sprawled over a corner group sofa, as topless as his brother