Joseph's phone lit up and for the third time the name of the woman driving him crazy blared across the cracked screen in bold letters. He let the call go to voicemail. He didn't trust himself right now to blow up and say something stupid just because Layla met a man like he wanted for her. Granted the guy looked like a black used q-tip begging to be trashed with his curly mop fro.

He went back and tried to concentrate on the excel spreadsheet report in front of him but his eyes kept glancing back at the phone. Unable to ignore it he picked it up and listened to his voicemail.

"Hey Joseph," came Layla's lovely voice, now tinted a little husky. It reminded him of how she sounded after making her scream his name as she came on his cock He wondered if the bastard in the photo had already replaced him in her bed. Anger, quick and pulsing writhed inside his chest threatening to erupt and smash his phone to bits.

Taking a calming breath he listened to her message treasuring like a rare gift. Which it was as his Layla hated leaving voice messages. Her philosophy was she either talked to the person then or there or try to reach them again. It was the only way to keep honesty. Though it was a modern convenience people it was too one sided. There was no connection. No semblance of human bonding can be found by talking to recorded message. But by talking to the actual person, hearing their voice and being in an one to one conversation.

As he listened to the rest of her message saying she had something important to talk to him about he sadly wondered if she already placed him as someone no longer worthy of speaking to.

"I don't know if you've been busy or dodging my calls but I need to talk to you. Call me when you're not busy."

Despite himself he replayed the message several times. Whether to commit her voice to memory or shifting through it to unearth some secret. Like she wanted to tell him as a 'friend' she met a new guy and some shit about they're hitting it off. Which would be cruel and Layla didn't even have a cruel molecule in her body. And she wasn't purposely spiteful. She would do something in a fit of anger then immediately regret it and try to apologize.

Like the time those death trap heels of hers managed to put a scratch on his car when she kicked it. The look on her face that night when she admitted what she done made him chuckle. Then other memories of that night resurfaced but this time instead of trying to bury it so deep underground no one can find or examine how he fucked up.

He lost the fight, leaned back and let the memories wash over him. The thin ice blue shirt where her tight buds first pulled his gazed and dusky brown areolas seen through it. The top of her breasts on display like ripe fruit on a tree begging him to pluck them. The hem barely skirting the edge of her panties and revealing toned curvy legs to grip and trap a man between them. He remembered thinking how she'd taste. How she'd feel with his cock buried inside her squeezing as she came. Then he remembered nothing but a dying need to find out. He was so hungry. For her. For years. And there she was standing before a starving man who didn't want to starve anymore.

His cock twitched and hardened painfully. Mocking him. Seeking the heated core of one particular woman. The one woman he love. Love so much he'd do anything to bind her to him. And fucking shit, he pushed her away into the arms of another man. What the hell had he done?

Joseph stood up so fast his chair wheeled backwards hitting the wall with a thud. He scrubbed his face and began to pace in front of his desk, as he moaned under his breath, "I fucked up. I fucked up."

His sister was right. Seven years might've been a big deal seven years ago when he met Layla at age eighteen. She was a young woman just discovering the world. Now she was a grown, sexy as hell luscious woman any man would be lucky to have and make sure no other man would.

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