Read Online Recovery by Abigail Stone - Free Book Online Page B

pelvis upwards into the air. She moaned into the cusp of Leo’s neck, digging her nails into his back. He stared deep into her eyes, pumping his fingers harder in and out of her as she feverishly worked his swollen cock in her hands.
    With a loud groan, Leo jerked forward, a long ropy stream of cum cascading from his cock. He sucked on the flesh of Emily’s neck as her body convulsed beneath him, the sound of her moans filling his ears as her own orgasm quickly flooded through her.
    When it was over, they laid in each other’s arms, sweaty and at a loss for words. Hours later, Leo opened his eyes, blinking back the sunlight that leaked through Emily’s blinds. She was already awake, staring at him, her red hair matted against her face. She looked beautiful – almost identical to Layla.
    “When you are going to tell her?” she whispered again.
    Leo didn’t have to ask her what she was talking about. He shook his head, standing up and pulling on his clothing. He squared his shoulders, pulling on his leather cut and pausing in Emily’s doorway before speaking.
    “I’m not going to.”

POISON HEART
    "No one ever thought this one would survive.
Helpless child, gonna walk a drum beat behind.
Lock you in a dream, never let you go.
Never let you laugh or smile, not you."  
    ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

    There had been a time not long ago when Layla had dreamed of becoming an actress. What little girl in LA didn’t? Acting, to Layla, seemed no different than playing dress up, only on a larger scale. Long before Layla had ever landed any roles, she would stand on her tiptoes in her front of her mother’s wardrobe mirror, trying on the expensive clothing that men bought for her – a different one each weekend – all of them wealthy.
    “Mom?” young Layla once asked. “Who are all these men? Why don’t they ever come back?”
    But Emily dodged the question, kissing Layla lightly on the forehead and wiping away the red lipstick mark she left behind.
    “That’s not for you to worry about,” she said simply.
    Sighing, Layla pulled herself from her thoughts. She had been looking at her mother’s Facebook account on her phone to pass time, scrolling through each flawless photograph as she reminisced.   It’s crazy what plastic surgery can do, Layla thought. Emily didn’t look much older than twenty-five despite being in her late forties, and she owed it all to her daughter. Layla’s fame and fortune had afforded her mother endless rounds of Botox, lip injections and even new breasts. There wasn’t a single part of Emily that wasn’t artificially enhanced, but the men she spent her time with never seemed to care.
    Layla paused on a photograph of her mother on a yacht in the arms of a handsome Swedish doctor. His name was Stephen, and he was the man Emily spent most of her off time with. He looked like a Greek god, and was hardly the kind of guy that craved natural beauty.
    Not that Emily wasn’t one.
    She had always been naturally striking, but in Los Angeles, getting work done was simply a rite of passage. At least that’s what she told Layla everytime she would point out how unnecessary it was. Tired of staring at a screen, Layla set her phone back down on the coffee table just as a text message came in. She picked it up, scrolling through the lock screen. It was her mother.
    At least she texted instead of calling, Layla thought. She read the message.
    Where are you?
    Sighing, Layla typed out a quick response. She told Emily that she had spoken with Ronald and needed a few days to digest the news, if the not so sudden end of your career was really something that could be digested. Then, Layla powered down her phone before her mother could reply, or more likely, call her to object.
    “Fuck,” she whispered, standing up and limping towards the fridge. She opened it, grabbing a carton of orange juice and checking the expiration date on it. It was fresh. She took a sip, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her