It’s only been a few days since he’s taken the reins for A Cunning Linguist, but already the feedback is amazing. The audience goes crazy for him, ratings are strong, and there has been a new rush of applicants who want to be on the show. Plenty to keep Toby busy for a long time.
I stand in the wings with my arm around Layla and watch as he interviews the latest guest. He hasn’t even touched her yet and she’s already moaning. I laugh. He’s right where he wants to be.
When he gets on his knees and starts giving his guest an off the charts pussy licking, Layla turns to me, giggling.
“So, do you miss this? Being on the show, taking over the world one orgasm at a time?”
I wrap my arms tighter around her and turn her to face me. “I do like being on TV,” I muse. “But I don’t miss being the Cunning Linguist at all.”
“Oh really?” she teases. “You sure one woman is going to be enough for you?”
Cocking an eyebrow, I look at her suspiciously. “Are you suggesting you already want to spice up our sex life?”
She laughs, throwing her head back. I take the opportunity to kiss along her neck, trailing my tongue along her sweet skin, up to her jaw, and then finally settling on her lips. The woman onstage starts to scream some incoherent string of words as another one of Toby’s mind-blowing orgasms rips through her. The dude has decided to up the stakes. He says the show needs to bring its A-game. No less than three orgasms per episode—all for the same woman, of course.
Smiling against Layla’s lips, I shake my head, then pull back a few inches and look at her.
“Seriously, though, you are the only woman I could ever want or need.”
She gives me this look like I’ve just made her insides go all gooey. That’s my cue.
Dropping to one knee, I pull out a small velvet box from my pocket and look up at the woman I’m totally, madly in love with.
Her hands fly to her mouth, her eyes widen, and she whispers, “Jake…”
I laugh. Guess we really are friends now because she hasn’t called me Jacob once since my last episode of ACL.
“I love you, Layla. I want to let the whole world know how much. You’re the only woman I ever want for the rest of my life.” I thought out this proposal in my head, w
ondering how best to word it. Proposals run the risk of being too sappy and ridiculous. I’m not that guy. I finally figured out where to go with it. Grinning, I open up the ring box, and the five-carat diamond shimmers and sparkles, light reflecting off its perfectly cut facets.
“If you’ll have me, I promise to never let you down. Every night without fail,” I cross my heart with my fingers then hold my hand up, “I do solemnly swear to go down on you until you have no less than five orgasms. So what do you say? Will you marry me?”
I fight to keep a straight face, but when she breaks into laughter, I lose it. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I couldn’t resist.” Then I take her hand in mine, suddenly feeling just as solemn as I pretended to be only seconds ago. “But I’m serious. I want you to be my wife. Marry me, Layla.”
She nods, her eyes glittering with tears. “Yes. Of course.” Then she stops me just before I put the ring on her finger. “With one stipulation.”
I wrinkle my brow. “What?”
“It’s only fair that two get to play at this game.”
“What are you suggesting?”
She grins mischievously. “Nightly blowjobs.”
Fuck. Yes.
See, what did I tell you? This girl? Perfect. And she’s mine.
Jake
“So, Claire, tell us,” my beautiful wife says conspiratorially to the woman sitting in the chair across from us, “which one had the biggest cock?”
The audience laughs. This has become a regular bit on the new show The O Connection that I host with Layla. Layla Kent.
Yep, we’re married now, and it’s been a wild ride. That promise we made the night we got engaged? We’re still going strong.
“Well, Layla,” the guest says, dropping her voice and leaning forward, “I’d have to say—”