“Oh, hey, Vin,” Layla says. She tugs on my arm, urging me to look at the kid. “Nico, this is my friend, Vinny. We’ve known each other since we first started at NYU.”
I give the kid another look, but now I can tell by the way he’s glancing between me and Layla that he’s not interested in her—just looking out. I relax. Preppy shitheads with too much entitlement? They can fuck the hell off, and I’m happy to help them do it. Scrawny guy down the hall watching her back? Him I can deal with.
“Hey, man, nice to meet you,” I say, holding out my hand.
Vinny accepts, still looking at me like he’s afraid I’m going to kill him. Is it fucked up I kind of like it? Is it fucked up that I kind of want this kid to put the word out about Layla’s new thug boyfriend, just so those other pricks will lay off?
Whoa. Boyfriend?
“Good to meet you too,” Vinny says, interrupting me from my sudden panic.
The doors open, and we follow him into a hall that’s lined with doors, a lot of them decorated with pictures, magazine cutouts, whiteboards scribbled with notes. The exact opposite of my building’s sober halls.
“Have a good night, you two,” Vinny says with a wink at Layla, although not until I’m well out of swinging arm’s distance.
His lanky form bounds away, and I have to smile a little. He kind of reminds me of Gabe, all arms and legs, not quite grown into his body. I hope he’s a good friend to Layla.
“This is me,” Layla says as she stops in front of one of the doors.
She unlocks it, then turns around and pauses, biting her lip a little. Those big blue eyes flicker up at me, and suddenly her awkward friend is the last thing on my mind. She bites her lip. I rock a little closer.
“It’s, um, small,” she says as I close the gap between us.
I prop my hand on the door, right beside her head. Slowly, I run my nose down her cheek, enjoying the way her inhale sharpens and her fingernails claw at the door.
“Did you change your mind?” I ask, even though suddenly I’m terrified she has. I’ll stop if she wants. I have the sneaking feeling I’d do anything this girl wanted. But I really, really don’t want to.
And thank fuck, she shakes her head.
“N-no,” she breathes as her hands grasp at my belt buckle. “I just—”
Before she can speak again, I crash my lips against hers, effectively shutting off any worries she might have about whether or not I want to be here. She’s surprised at first, but after a second returns the kiss whole-heartedly—and I mean really gives as good as she gets. Suddenly, her arms are wrapped around my neck, and she’s got a leg slung up on my hip so she’s grinding against me in a way that shoots pretty much every conscious thought I have straight to my cock. My hands find her ass and lift her up against the door, and before I know it, I’m about two seconds from yanking down her jeans and taking her right here in the hallway.
A door slams. Layla freezes, then squirms until her feet are back on the carpet.
“I-um-I—”
Christ, she’s cute when she’s flustered. Her nose is pink, and her eyes are brighter than normal. I just grin and try to adjust my pants as subtly as I can. It’s not easy. She’s got me hard as a rock.
“Layla?” I say, stopping her stuttering.
She blinks. “What?”
“Open the door. Right the fuck now.” I cock my head. “Please.”
Chapter Eleven
Layla
The girls, thank God, have cleaned up their stuff in the common area. We’re not terrible about keeping things neat, but there is always the chance I might find someone’s books piled on the coffee table or a box of tampons that haven’t been put away. True to their words, the place is empty.
As the door shuts behind us, I suddenly feel inexplicably nervous to be alone with Nico. My buzz is mostly gone, and we’re a long way from the romance of streetlights and falling snowflakes. One kiss, and I almost just let him fuck me in the middle of my hallway. Seriously, what that man can do with his mouth should be illegal.
But now that we’re inside the homely apartment I share with three other people, will I look as good? Or will he take a look at the posters of Jennifer Lopez and Carrie Bradshaw that Shama and Jamie have plastered all over the common area and think he’s walked into a den of teenage ridiculousness?
I didn’t need to worry. When I turn to hang my coat in the closet next to the door, I almost immediately feel a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist from behind. Nico presses his face into my hair and inhales deeply. I turn to face him and welcome another long, thorough kiss that leaves me breathless.
“Hi,” he says against my nose, flashing that smile that shoots another pang of desire straight between my legs. Yeah, I have nothing to worry about.
“Hi,” I answer, and fit my lips again to that mouth, that incredible mouth that’s going to be my undoing.
I walk backward with him into my bedroom, yanking off his jacket and tossing it over my desk chair. Like magnets, his hands come right back to my body, tracing the uneven lines of the fabric wrapped around my waist. He shudders slightly when his fingers catch on the edges and come across itinerant patches of bare skin.
“I like this shirt,” he grumbles before he slips his tongue around mine.
As his hands slide below the waistband of my jeans, his fingers hook the straps of my underwear, a thong. He groans audibly. Oh, he wants me, but not nearly as much as I want him.
I push him over to my bed, and he sits down obediently, placing his hands on my hips while I lean over to kiss him again. My hair falls around us, forming a dark cocoon of desire. He slides his palms up to tug off my shirt, only to find that the straps won’t budge.
“Uh-oh,” he says with a cheeky grin as he jerks playfully at the knot next to my belt buckle. “I think we’ve got a problem here.”
I smile and untie the knotted fabric at my waist so he is holding the ends. “It’s kind of like a bandage.”
Nico pulls one of the newly freed ends, and I start to spin in his arms until the strips of fabric are completely unraveled down to the floor. He easily tugs the rest of the top over my head and lets it fall while he reaches eagerly for my newly bared skin. His fingertips are feather-light over my torso, thumbs pressing gently up the soft skin of my stomach and around my rib cage until he reaches the clasp of my bra and unhooks it. I let the straps fall down my arms along with the rest of it, and suddenly I’m standing before him half naked, my skin and nipples perked in the cool night air.
He stares at me wordlessly, his hungry gaze roving over my body. Nervously I move to cross my arms over my chest, but he grabs them and holds them down to my sides.
“Don’t,” he orders softly.
“Is…is everything okay?”
My voice sounds so weak, so unsure. What is it about this man that makes me lose my usual bravado?
But Nico looks up and smiles kindly, shaking his head. Then he leans in and places a soft kiss directly between my breasts, taking time to inhale slowly and exhale there. His lips float over the curve of one breast, then the other before both of his hands cup them gently.
“So…beautiful,” he murmurs, his low voice rumbling against my skin as he pulls one nipple into his mouth, rolling the taut edge between his teeth until I shudder.
“Aah!” I yelp as I tug on his hair, sinking my fingers into the tight black curls that literally had me speechless when he removed his hat in the restaurant. All I wanted to do was grab them.
I press him closer as he performs the same ritual on the other side, teasing the nipple with that sinfully talented mouth until I’m tingling absolutely everywhere. He moves back and forth between each side until I can’t take it anymore. Roughly, I push him back.
He knows what I’m after. Eager to feel his skin against mine, I claw impatiently at his shirt as his hands search for the zipper of my jeans. His shirt falls to the floor next on the growing piles of clothes, and I take a second to look at what I’ve got.
Even half-hidden in the shadows of the unlit room, he’s perfect enough that I can’t quite breathe properly. Though it’s dark, I can still see the contours of his abs and the lines of his chest, which is smooth, with only a thin smattering of hair in the center. It’s just the right amount. This guy is naturally just that gorgeous.
He watches with hooded eyes as I reach forward and run my fingers over the lines of his tattoos, a half-sleeve of various black designs that arches over his shoulder on one side and down just to his elbow. I had noticed the edges of that one at dinner, when it stuck out of the sleeve of his t-shirt, but was too entranced with our flirting to think about it.
Over his heart is a large black compass, bigger than the span of my hand. I want to ask him what that’s for—Nico doesn’t really seem like the nautical type. But right now, I’m caught up in the smooth contours of his pectoral muscles, the sinewy slopes of his shoulders and biceps. The taut lines of his stomach ripple and shift under my fingertips. Lifting boxes all day definitely does this body good.
“Like what you see?” he asks playfully.
He leans back on his elbows now, unabashedly giving me a full view of his shirtless chest while he runs his eyes over me. We’re both staring now, equally caught up in seeing each other’s bodies for the first time.
I stare back, brazen, and lick my lips. “Yes.”
There’s no getting around it, no reason to play games anymore. I’m getting exactly what I wanted—or at least I hope I am.
“Your turn.”
His voice is gravelly, suddenly overcome with want. He stands up, close enough that the tips of my breasts graze the front of his chest, causing both of us to suck in desperate inhalations. With a deviant grin, he unbuttons my jeans in a hurry, then slips his hands under the waistband so he can grab my ass, pull me firmly against him, and squeeze as he kisses me again.
Suddenly all the urgency from the restaurant, the street, the hallway is back, multiplied by ten. My hands fly around his neck. I grind into the hard length I feel against my hip as one of his hands slips lower down the cleft of my ass, dragging my pants with it until a finger lightly brushes the dampness through the thin silken fabric. I moan into his lips, and the pressure of his fingertip increases slightly as his breathing grows more ragged.
“Christ, baby,” he groans against my mouth in between kisses. “You’re so fucking wet, Layla.”
I whimper again, wordlessly imploring him to tear my jeans off already so he can move that hand farther, down to touch that spot that would make me lose the last remnants of control I still possess. Every cell in my body is screaming for me to fuck this man, to let him slide into me again and again, to put him into my mouth and do the dirtiest things I can think of just to undo him the same way he’s undoing me now.
But somehow, just as he pulls his hands out and starts to peel my jeans over my hips, the realization that I’m about to sleep with someone I hardly know pops into my head, a miniature version of my mother chiding me. Her conservative instincts combined with my father’s strict Catholicism echo through every word. “No one likes a slut, Layla.” She has never actually said such a thing to me, but I can hear her. And the thing is, I’m only nineteen. That voice, imagined or not, still has serious clout.
“Wait,” I say breathlessly as Nico sucks on the edge of my ear.
He doesn’t seem to hear me, concentrated as he is on removing the barriers between us. His own jeans have somehow come undone as well, revealing a solid bulge encased in gray boxer briefs that don’t leave much to the imagination. It wouldn’t take much to get them out of the way and see what’s really underneath that fabric. I groan. Damn my mother, and damn my imagination. Just…damn.
I summon every particle of will left in my treacherous body.
“Nico, wait.”
* * *
Nico
Shit. I was really hoping I had imagined it the first time, but then it’s clear. Despite the fact that I’m hard as a rock and she’s basically a water fountain, she’s asking me to stop.
Shit.
She pulls her hands back from around my neck and pushes me away a little, forcing me to release her earlobe from between my teeth. She shudders at the friction of my teeth, and I’m full of regret already. The only thing I want to do is strip her naked and show her what a fucking real man can do to a body like this. Make her lose control like I already know she’s going to make me do.
But then I look down and catch her gaze. And my hands still on her hips.
She’s watching me with a funny mixture of free and frustrated, her blue eyes still dark and dilated with desire. She covers her breasts with her arms, and giggles a little when I frown playfully at the movement. No, don’t do that! She’s too beautiful to cover up.
“Nico…I—I just want you to know…I’m not going to sleep with you tonight. I sort of have this rule, you see. I don’t sleep with men on the first date.”
For a minute, I’m stunned. It’s not that I’ve never heard that line before—plenty of girls have similar dumb rules. But for real. As if I give a fuck whether or not she gives it up on date one or date one hundred. Can’t she feel this energy between us? If there is one thing I have ever been sure of in this short, fucked-up life of mine, it’s that our bodies were made for each other. Mine is fuckin’ craving hers at this point, and considering the way her nipples are staring at me like headlamps, she’s dying for me too.
But again, it’s the look on her face that stops me from flipping her over and showing her just how badly we both want it. As turned on as she obviously is, she’s scared too. Those big blue eyes are as wide as the sky, and she’s got her lip in a death clench between her teeth as she watches my reaction.
It’s then that it finally occurs to me that maybe she’s feeling the same thing I’m feeling. Something that goes deeper than just bodies. That maybe she doesn’t just see a pretty face and nice abs—that maybe she wasn’t just after fucking the FedEx guy like everyone else in that stupid office.
Maybe when we touch, she feels the same spark. Maybe this spark is more than just fire.
I glance over her body again—it’s right there, and I can’t help but look—but I settle my hands on her hips and gently stroke her hipbones. She closes her eyes, almost like she’s in pain. Oh...baby. I’m right here with you.
“Are you going to kick me out?” I ask softly. “Or...can I at least stay the night?”
I run my hands around her bare back and gently pull her closer, so that our bodies just barely touch. She keeps her arms in front of her chest, but relaxes a little into me. Her arms are surprisingly cool, and she leans into my warmth.
“You want to stay?” she wonders. “With me? In this tiny bed?”
I almost laugh, but I’m surprised by her obvious shock. She thinks I was only coming up here for one thing. Don’t get me wrong. I was definitely coming up here for that. But we haven’t even fucked yet, and already Layla means so much more than sex to me. I hate that she can’t see it.
So I lean down and land a tender kiss on her lips, one that I hope tells her the things I can’t quite say yet. I run my hands up and down her spine, hoping to tell her with my touch. Tell her not to worry. Tell her she’s safe with me.
“Of course I want to stay with you, sweetie. What kind of guy do you think I am?”
She cracks a smile, and my heart cracks in half. “I don’t know. I guess the kind who smashes himself onto a twin mattress with a girl even if she doesn’t put out?”
I laugh this time, then gather her close and kiss her again because I can’t not. She relaxes more, and her arms drop while she buries her face in my chest. It feels so good I laugh some more.
“Well,” I say with a few more kisses on top of her head. I worry her earlobe again between my teeth and enjoy her hum in response. “As long as the girl’s hot and won’t mind if I try some stuff on her later.”
“You better be careful,” she purrs, arching her neck to the side to give me be
tter access. “She’ll probably try some stuff on you too.”
“God, I fuckin’ hope so,” I growl against her neck.
She giggles. The sound is fucking music to my ears. I could die a happy man if the last thing I ever heard was Layla’s laugh. Then she pushes away reluctantly and grabs my shirt from the floor to hold against her breasts.
“Awww,” I fake moan, flopping my hands out as I collapse back onto the bed. “Don’t do that. Booooo.”
I’m being a clown, but it only makes her laugh more. She turns back to face me, unable to conceal her grin. That smile. It fuckin’ slays me.
“I’m just going to slip into some pajamas, if that’s all right with you,” she says shyly, even as her eyes run down the length of my body again. “Jeans are kind of uncomfortable.”
I can’t even hide the sly smile that arises at the thought of her taking off her pants.
“You mind if I make myself comfortable too, baby?” I ask, gesturing down at my jeans, which are still partially open and not hiding a damn thing about how turned on I still am.
She blushes visibly in the dark light, but shakes her head with another grin. “Not at all.”
She grabs some clothes from her dresser and leaves the room. I’m a little disappointed that she won’t let me watch her change, but I get it. I’m not that much of a creep. While she’s gone, I pull off my jeans, shoes, and socks, and stack my clothes on her desk chair. Then I get into her bed to escape the chill, taking a look at the room she lives in.
In some ways, the way she lives reminds me of my mom’s cramped apartment. I never slept in a room by myself until I moved out of there. The mishmash of posters and pictures taped all over the walls reminds me a little of how Ma used to let my sisters, brother, and me decorate her place. Almost as if to make up for the fact that we didn’t have our own space, she gave us hers.
This is a small room, split between the two sets of clunky wood furniture that each clearly belong to Layla and her roommate. Layla’s bed is crammed against the right side of the room, with a desk on the other side of the bed, and a dresser beyond that. I look around curiously at little ways she’s made the space her own: a really beautiful painting of something that looks like tribal art is tacked over her dresser, and a bulletin board crammed with photos is next to that. Her desk is cluttered with an open jewelry box, a bunch of books and scattered papers, cosmetics, and a computer. I’m tempted to ask her if I can get online. I don’t have a computer, so I don’t check my email that often.
Bad Idea: The Complete Collection Page 10