Bad Idea- The Complete Collection

by Nicole French

  “Tell me what you want.” I sit up. I need to slow down, otherwise I’m going to lose it all over her.

  I trace my palms down the sides of her body to finger the edges of her panties. I tug the sides part-way down her legs before pulling them back into place. One finger draws over the fabric down the center of her pussy, just over her clit before toying through the damp fabric with the place I really want to be. She wriggles against my touch. Fuck me, I’m still about to explode.

  “You’re wet again, baby,” I whisper, entranced by what I’m doing as her hips writhe up to meet my finger, trying to pull it inside her, panties be damned. “Always so wet for me. Do you want me to touch you here?”

  I brush again over that sensitive spot, and she moans again, louder this time.

  “Yessss,” she whimpers. “Please, Nico, I want you.”

  “I need to taste you first,” I decide as I pull my hand away.

  So I get rid of her underwear completely, leaving her naked. I graze my lips up her legs, twirling my tongue over the soft skin of her inner thighs before covering that hot, dark space between them. She shudders as my tongue touches her entrance, the tip of it flicking against the edges before dipping inside.

  Jesus Christ Almighty. If heaven has a taste, this is it.

  “Oh Jesus!” she cries out, reaching down to clasp my head. Her fingernails dig into my scalp. My tongue dives deeper.

  Her insistence only turns me on more. I don’t just want to make her come; I want to make her fucking shatter the same way she shatters me, inside and out. With a free hand, I pinch her clit softly and massage the sensitive nub, causing her to writhe even more as I continue to lap at her like I can’t get enough. She’s a flavor I’ve never had and craved all my life. I’ll never get enough of her. Never.

  I continue to tease her, rubbing her clit and fucking her with my tongue until all at once, her entire body convulses, her thighs clenching around my head as the waves of one orgasm and then another match the rhythm of my fingers.

  “Nico,” she whimpers as the waves have passed. I sit up and wipe my mouth with my arm, but she pulls me back down to her.

  “Fuck me, please!” she begs. “Fuck me hard, now!”

  I kiss her roughly, and she moans again in my mouth. I can still taste her on my lip—can she taste herself? The fuck if it doesn’t turn me on even more.

  “I need you,” she whimpers as her teeth nip at my tongue and she sucks roughly on my lips.

  Without speaking, I scramble out of my underwear. I grab a condom from the bedside table and rip it open with a fever while Layla watches, blue eyes blazing in the striped light of the moon through the blinds.

  “That’s right, baby,” I mutter as I slide on the latex. “Beg for it. You want it bad, don’t you?”

  She stares up at me, completely enthralled as I cover her with my body. She’s soaking wet and ready for me.

  “You want it, Layla?” I ask again before pulling her lower lip in between mine. I bite down just a bit. I can tell it hurts a little, but I can also tell she likes it.

  “Yes,” she mumbles when I finally release her lip.

  I slide in just an inch or so, then pull back out. Looks like I’m feeling masochistic tonight. This is as much torture for me as it is for her.

  But I can’t stop. She wanted to toy with me. Now I want to toy with her.

  “What was that, baby? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

  In again, just a little, and right back out.

  “I want it,” she says louder, trying in vain to lift her hips to pull me inside. But I don’t let her, I just keep making enough friction to get her even wetter, even more ready for me. Because when I take her, I know I won’t be gentle. When I take her, it’s going to rock both of us to the core.

  “What was that?” I ask again. “Tell me, Layla! I need to hear it!”

  “Fine, fine, fine! I want you, okay! I lo—I want you so fucking bad!”

  “FUCK!” I shout.

  With both hands, I flip her onto her stomach and haul her hips up so I can slam into her with everything I have. With one harsh thrust, I enter with enough force that she barks at the intrusion. She’s tight. I’m hard. Together we’re dynamite.

  “God, Nico,” she groans as I pound into her, picking up the pace to generate that incredible friction we make together.

  Fuuuuck me, it’s too much, it’s just too fucking much. I can feel her tightening around me as the tension inside her rises again. Twice in a row is not something that happens a lot, at least not to most of the girls I’ve known. But I know I’m rubbing the right spot, particularly as she angles her hips down to receive me deeper, feel me more intensely.

  “You wanna come again, baby?” I ask, dipping my head down to nip at the edge of her ear.

  She likes it—she likes my animal side, the side that bites and nips at her like the dog I am. I’m following my instincts now, and as I sit up, taking a handful of her full, luscious ass, watching my cock moving between her legs, my hand reaches back and then lands with a crack on her cheek.

  “Ah!”

  She jumps while I take handfuls of her flesh as I pound away. I want her to feel me everywhere. I want her to know without a doubt that no one else will ever do this to her like this. That nothing else compares to what we are together. And fuck if I don’t want to punish her—and myself—for trying to forget it.

  “Goddamn, baby,” I grunt. I’m starting to lose control.

  I spank her again—I can’t help it—just hard enough to make her cry out for more. But I’m not going to last much longer. This is too much, even for me.

  So I slide my hand under her stomach to play with her clit again, to push her over the edge so I can fall right with her. Every part of my body feels like it’s expanding as she grips the edges of the mattress, taking every slap of our bodies, every twitch of my fingers, all driving us closer, closer.

  “Shit, Nico, I think I’m going to come,” she cries over her shoulder. Her words are barely understandable. She’s so close; I just need to hold on...come on, hold on, Nico.

  “Wait for me, baby,” I order, my breath and voice obviously ragged, like I’m running a marathon. “Just. A. Little. Bit. More!”

  I crash into her two, three, four more times before I can feel her seize around me. On the fifth thrust, she starts to shake, unable to keep herself together any longer. She cries out a long stream of insensible words. And then we both fall completely apart, careening loudly into a void where neither of us knows our names. We only know each other.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Layla

  Sharp rays of light shine directly in my eyes through cheap blinds over the single window in the bedroom. It takes me a second to remember where I am. To take in the unfamiliar sights, unfamiliar smells. But I have no problem remembering this very familiar touch.

  Nico himself is wrapped completely around me, one big arm draped across my waist and one muscled leg thrown over both of mine. He holds me tightly as he sleeps, head burrowed into the crook between my shoulder and neck. I’m his own personal teddy bear. A quick glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand tells me it’s just after six-thirty in the morning.

  I’m in his apartment. Not his friend’s fancy digs, but where he actually lives. Sleep and hangover fade away as curiosity takes over. Without moving, I look around the room, absorbing the place that Nico calls home.

  It’s a small, simple room painted white. It smells like dust and, well, sex, obviously from last night. A beat-up wood wardrobe stands next to the door, with a small green armchair in the corner next to it. The futon bed we’re lying on is shoved in the opposite corner. It occurs to me that Nico has spent most of his life on futons or couches. I wonder if he’s ever owned a real mattress.

  The single window looks out to the side of a neighboring building with a peekaboo view of the Hudson, and under it is a small desk on which are scattered a few bills, a pamphlet for the California State Driver’s Test, and a lar
ge black sketchbook that has seen better days. The walls are bare except for a couple of tribal masks hanging above the bed and a framed picture on the window sill of what looks like Nico and his family members.

  There are a few pieces of laundry strewn around the floor—a pair of shoes kicked off under the desk, a t-shirt or pair of shorts crumpled in the corner—but for the most part, Nico seems to keep his things in order, primarily by not having much to order in the first place. It’s an austere existence, and I find myself wondering if he’s been living in this place long. I’m also somewhat comforted by the fact that there appear to be absolutely no remnants of female visitors in the room—not a spare hairband on the desk, no random bobby pins in the corners. It’s the room of a man who spends his time here alone.

  It’s then that the memories of the night before come flooding back, enhanced by a distinct soreness between my legs and on my ass. He’s insatiable, and he brings it out in me too. There’s a faint throb as I recall just how Nico’s mouth felt down there, how hard he claimed me as his own.

  So much for getting over him. So much for a clean break. Now I’m right back to where I was a week ago, and my heart sinks down to the lobby at the realization. No. I’m not going to let this happen again. I’m not going to pretend to myself that everything is going to be all right when I know that he’ll just break my heart.

  Very, very slowly, I unwind his arm and leg. He snorts and rolls to the other side of the bed, freeing me to look for my underwear, which was tossed somewhere at some point during the night. I find them slung over the small lamp sitting on the nightstand beside the bed.

  My fingers brush the edge of the sketchbook. I’m tempted to look inside. But I don’t want to snoop, and I’m sure whatever he’s drawn in there is intensely personal. Not to mention, it would only make me that much more invested when I’m trying to detach all over again.

  There are five text messages from my roommates and four missed calls from Quinn alone. Apparently, I set my cell phone on silent when I was sick and forgot to take it off. I scroll through the text messages to see what terror I’ve caused.

  Quinn (1:31 AM): We r going home. U ok?

  Jamie (1:53 AM): Home now. U all right? Pls call quinn shes worried.

  Quinn (2:44 AM): Layla where r u?? alan said blake left w o u!!

  Quinn (3:05 AM): trying 2 call pls pick up girl!!

  Shama: (3:30 AM): Srsly u need 2 call Quinn she is going insane. What happened last night?

  Quinn (3:45 AM): OMG LAYLA IF I DON’T HEAR FROM U BY 2MORROW MORNING IM GOING 2 CALL THE COPS!

  I glance back at Nico, who is now snoring audibly, and gingerly stand up from the bed. A stack of folded t-shirts sits on the armchair, so I grab one, slip it on, and tiptoe out of the room and into the kitchen, hoping to God his sister is an early riser.

  Once I’m safe in the living room, I dial Quinn’s number. It goes to her voicemail, and I leave a hushed message letting her know where I am and that I’m safe.

  “Don’t worry!” I whisper before hanging up.

  When I creep back into the bedroom, Nico is lying on his back, blinking up at the ceiling. He glances at me and smiles gently. There it is, I think as my knees tremble. That smile. My fucking kryptonite.

  “Hey.” Nico sits up. The blankets fall down, revealing the expanse of his defined chest and a few tiers of mouth-watering abs that point to exactly nothing underneath the thin fabric. “I thought maybe you’d left.”

  I shake my head. “No. But I should get going.”

  I sit on the edge of the bed and tug off his t-shirt so I’ll be able to pull on my dress, which I struggle to turn the right-side back out after I find it on the floor. Behind me, the sheets rustle. Nico’s legs slide to either side of me as he wraps his arms around my naked torso, pulling me close. The feel of his smooth, warm skin against my back is enough to make me arch my neck, welcoming the feel of his body around me. How, how am I going to walk away from this again?

  “I meant what I said,” he murmurs against my shoulder.

  I freeze in his arms, and then crane my head around to look back at him. “Yeah?”

  Honestly, I’m not sure what he means. We both said a lot of things last night. And did a lot of things.

  He meets my gaze, unblinking and without a trace of guile. “Yeah. I need you, Layla.”

  Slowly the fear and anxiety over losing him seeps out of my body, replaced with relief and elation. I should have known I couldn’t fight this. I couldn’t really ever say no to him. And apparently, by some miracle…he can’t say no to me either.

  I twist around to straddle him.

  “Yeah?” I ask again, stamping a kiss on his mouth. “Yeah?”

  I give another, and then another, and giggle as he flips me onto my back and pummels my neck and shoulders with kisses every time I ask “Yeah?”

  Finally, Nico stops, hovering over my face so we are nose to nose.

  “You sure you want to be with a big fuckin’ loser like me, Layla?” he asks softly.

  The doubt on his handsome face just about breaks my heart. I want to tell him he’s not a loser, that he’s determined and honest and honorable and dedicated. I want to tell him he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. I want to tell him that all he has to do is touch me and my entire being, mind, body, spirit, all come alight. But instead I just lift my head to kiss him lightly.

  “Yeah,” I say as I fall back on the pillow. “I do.”

  “Then I’ll stay,” he says. He touches his forehead to mine. “I’ll stay for you.”

  Before I can take a second to comprehend what he just said, Nico gives me another drowsy kiss, this one long and thorough. Then he rolls onto his back and pulls me securely into the crook of his shoulder with my head resting on his chest. Together we sigh, long and content. This is where I belong.

  “What is this?” I ask as I play over the tattooed symbols over his heart. “Is it a clock or something?”

  Nico doesn’t move his head, but his other hand falls over mine, stilling it on his chest.

  “It’s a compass.”

  “A compass?” I blink. It’s...confusing. “Are you secretly a sailor? Do you take to the Hudson at night, like a weird nautical superhero?”

  Nico snorts. “Yeah, no. But I bet you’d like to see me in tights, wouldn’t you, NYU?”

  I punch him lightly in the side. “Seriously. What is it?”

  He sighs. “Um...well...you know I was incarcerated for a while...”

  “You were in juvenile detention,” I correct him. “That’s not the same thing.”

  He unravels his arms and lies on his side so we’re facing each other. His eyes are dark and solemn.

  “Baby, jail’s jail. They just call it something different when you’re under eighteen.” He weaves his fingers with mine and continues his story.

  “I was sent to Tryon when I was fifteen, like I told you. It’s about two hours from here, outside of Albany, middle of fuckin’ nowhere. You hear gunshots during the day instead of at night because of all the deer hunters. It’s a big property with bunkhouses, a main hall, classrooms, all of it surrounded by a nice razor-wire fence.”

  Nico watches as he rubs his thumb over my knuckles, but I know right now he doesn’t see the way our hands fit. He’s lost in another place.

  “They dictated everything to us. Uniforms. How many books we could have in our rooms. Where to keep our fuckin’ underwear.” He scowls. “We couldn’t go anywhere without being watched by the guards. Up at seven, brush our teeth, wash our face, take a piss. All with some dude watching.

  “Everyone was angry. Everyone there was fucked up, drugged up. A lot of fights. A lot of lockdowns. There was a kid in my bunkhouse who once swallowed screws that he tore out of the furniture with his fingernails. That’s how bad he wanted out of there.”

  I don’t say anything now, just listen in shock. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. Nico just plows on.

  “I was ther
e for over a year and a half,” he says softly. “I didn’t see my mom or my brother or sisters—they couldn’t—well, they couldn’t visit. K.C. came a couple of times, but that was it.”

  Still I stay quiet. There’s something I’m missing here, but I don’t want to pry. Not when he’s already opening up. But what would keep a mother from visiting her child for almost two years?

  “Anyway,” Nico says, “before I left, I had this teacher, Ms. Alvarez. She knew what I’d done—everyone knew, because everyone did it. I wasn’t the first one to knock over a bodega too many times. I wasn’t the first one whose family couldn’t get food stamps because their moms were undocumented.”

  He looks straight at me for a second, checking for my reaction at that revelation about his mother. I do whatever I can not to move a muscle.

  “Gabe was just six, you know. Six-year-olds eat a lot.”

  “I bet they do,” I say softly.

  Suddenly, things make sense. Why he and his family would be crowded into a one-bedroom apartment. Why at just nineteen, he had to support his siblings. Why his mother wouldn’t be able to visit her son at a detention center, a place that would almost certainly require identification.

  “Wait,” I interrupt my own thoughts. “When you were released, who did the state give custody to? You were a minor, right?”

  Nico swallows and nods. “Remember how I told you that K.C.’s mom and mine are tight?”

  I nod.

  He shrugs. “They grew up together. Tía was our legal guardian until I could take over. And I wasn’t allowed to do that until I got the FedEx job.” Under my cheek, I can feel his body tighten. “Fucked up, huh?”

  I frown. Something wasn’t adding up. “I thought you said your mom was from Puerto Rico. That would make her a U.S. citizen, wouldn’t it?”