“Mmmm,” she hums once I’m certain that her body is totally relaxed again. “That was nice.”
I nod and close my eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of her smile against mine. “Tell the bartender who you are, okay? He knows you’re coming. I’ll be inside as soon as I can.”
She giggles as I bite her lip lightly, then absorbs me in another soul-searing kiss.
“Okay,” she says, finally stepping away. “Don’t make me wait too long.”
With a grin, I watch her walk into the club. And Jesus fuckin’ Christ, that dress is even more dangerous from the back than I thought. I groan and rub a hand over my face, then check to make sure there’s no one watching before I adjust myself. Twice. It’s going to be a long night.
About an hour later, I head inside for my thirty-minute break, in search of one thing: Layla. AJ’s has a great band tonight—a local trip hop group that basically sounds like sex on a stage. They’re in the middle of a synth set while the singer croons against the beat. The combination of the sultry keys and the bass line basically has the whole crowd writhing together like snakes, lost to the rhythm. It’s hot. It’s sticky. It’s foreplay.
Like a magnet, I’m drawn to her. Layla stands on the edge of the crowd, a drink in one hand with her other arm wrapped around her middle as she sways a little from side to side. She’s stunning, of course, but that’s a posture I know well––one that says she’s feeling a little uncertain. Immediately, I feel terrible I didn’t just take the night off. It’s her first night in New York by herself. I should be there for all of it.
I approach from behind and she jumps about three feet when I slide my hands around her waist.
“Ohmygod!” she shouts, then softens when she turns around and finds me there.
“You okay?” I ask her, chuckling when she smacks me on the shoulder.
She sighs. At first I think I see a tremble of her lips, but it disappears by the time I pull her close. The taste of whiskey and Diet Coke is strong on her breath—I’m guessing she’s had at least two.
“You all right there, baby?” I ask again.
Layla smirks, her hazy expression sharpening when it lands on my mouth. “I am now.”
Then she kisses me, and this one is different from any kiss we’ve had since she got back. It’s a far cry from the downright Amish kisses when her mother was around, but it’s not exactly the joy or love that I’m feeling right now. This is a kiss that’s only about one thing: lust.
“Jesus,” I breathe when we finally come up for air. “That was––”
But I can’t continue before my girl fuckin’ swallows me whole all over again. Jesus, she’s voracious, and the effect is immediate. Suddenly my hands are everywhere, and the only thing I can think about is the fact that it has been a very long summer—no, fuck that, a very long year—and I need this body. I need to be inside this body. Right fuckin’ now.
“Nico,” she breathes as she presses every single one of her curves against me, especially one part that is aching to be let out.
“Ah.” I literally lose my voice as she grinds into me again. Coño, I didn’t know it was possible to want someone this bad. But I do. I always do with her.
“Where can we go?” she asks, somehow without removing her lips from mine. “I…I don’t want to be here anymore. I need you now.”
My throat constricts with need as my fingers dig into her hips. It’s been a long time since we were like this, and I’m hit with flashes of when we first met. Layla has always had a voracious streak. I wouldn’t call her an exhibitionist—it’s not like we ever did it in front of people. But there were times, like in Central Park or in the back of a cab, where my girl just could not wait to get her hands on me.
“Seriously? You don’t want to wait until—”
“Nico.” Her hands drop to my ass and squeeze. Hard.
That’s usually my move, but the fuck if it doesn’t have an immediate effect on me too. I groan into her neck. “Ahhh. Okay. Yeah. Follow me.”
I turn and guide her through the mass of gyrating bodies., including her friend, who’s rubbing up on some blonde girl. This isn’t where I’d do this if it were totally up to me. It’s not that I don’t want to fuck Layla. Fuck me, I’ve wanted to do the dirtiest things imaginable to this girl since I met her, things I’d never even say out loud because I’m pretty sure she’d slap me, things that make a fuck in a nightclub seem downright demure. But for our second first time, I’d have wanted it to be nicer. Special.
But apparently, that’s not what my girl wants. And if she wants me to give it to her right here, then that’s what she’s going to get. I tow her down the employees’ hallway in the back, checking for my manager before I knock on the door of the employees’ bathroom. It’s nothing much. A bunch of stored paper towels, some cleaning supplies, and a toilet and sink that haven’t been used by two hundred people. But it’s not exactly the most romantic spot in the world.
I lock the door, suddenly filled with uncertainty. You asshole. She deserves better than this.
I turn around. “Sweetie, you sure you want to—”
Again, my words are cut off by her kiss as she rams me against the door.
“Stop talking,” she mumbles. “Just fuck me.”
Her raw, brutal words undo the last bit of restraint I’ve got. In about a half a second, I’ve flipped us around so she’s shoved against the bathroom wall while I devour that sweet, filthy mouth. Another half second and my pants are unzipped. My cock falls out, throbbing against her thigh. She moans while I hurry on a condom. Almost as quickly, I toss her legs around my waist, yank her strip of underwear to the side, and thrust inside her with all the fury that’s been mounting since I left her for California over a year ago.
And she feels. So. Fucking. Good.
Tight. Wet. This body was fucking made for me to do this. Made to be taken in every possible way. Made for me to slip inside, made to undo me completely. Her body squeezes, and as she moans loudly into my mouth, I just about come right there. With two handfuls of the sweetest ass on the fuckin’ planet, I’m the happiest man alive as I pound home again and again.
Any time. Any place. That’s how it’s always been with us. Once again, I’m taken back to memories of everywhere we gave into this need all over the city. Central Park. A restaurant downtown. The far corner of a subway station. Another in Chinatown. It doesn’t matter that I’ve lived here my entire life. This city will always be marked by Layla and me—marked by us and the connection that can’t be denied.
“Baby,” I moan against her neck. Her legs are in a vise-grip around my waist––I’m not going to be able to hold it much longer. “Baby, are you close?”
“I…” She drifts off as her head bumps into the wall with one particularly hard thrust. The sound brings me even fucking closer. Fuck.
“Just do it,” she whispers, her voice low and guttural. “I want to feel you come.”
Fuck. That’s all I need.
“Jesus Christ!” I shout, slamming my fist into the wall behind her head while my other arm holds her up.
She arches against me, her entire body quivering. We come together, our bodies clenching tight, and, at least for me, the world goes black. Gone is the thump of bass vibrating through the walls, the dingy walls of the bathroom, the stale scent of alcohol and cleaner. All I can hear, see, smell, touch, feel is her. Layla. Only Layla.
I shake out the rest of my orgasm, and she shakes too. Her feet fall back to the floor while we both collapse against the wall together to catch our breaths. But it’s not until the world comes back into focus that I realize she’s still shaking long after I’m done—but not from ecstasy. From tears.
“Oh, shit.”
I yank up my pants, not even bothering to zip everything up, and gather her into me. She curls into my chest and sobs. What the fuck is going on?
“Shhhh,” I croon as I stroke her hair. “What’s going on? Talk to me, baby. This wasn’t the right place, was it? S
hit, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. The bathroom of a bar—what the fuck was I thinking, right?”
“N-no,” she stutters as she stands up fully. She wipes the makeup bleeding under her eyes, but remnants of tears make her blue eyes glow. She’s so beautiful, even when she’s sad. “I’m sorry. I–I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
I run a finger over her cheek, then through her hair before I pull her back to my shoulder. She sighs as she lays her head there, and we just stand for a minute as her emotions settle. I don’t press her with the questions swirling around in my head. Something about this was totally wrong. At some point, I’m going to need her to tell me. But not now. Right now, I just want her to feel better.
“I think I should probably go home,” Layla says after another minute or two. She stands back up and gives me a sad smile, but doesn’t maintain her gaze.
I toy with her fingers. I don’t want her to go. Or actually, I do, but I can’t leave work just yet. I have at least three more hours of tossing drunk assholes out on the street before I can climb into bed with her and hold her until she’s herself again.
Damn.
“Okay, sure. Give me a minute and we’ll get you a cab.”
She nods and waits patiently while I put myself back together. She doesn’t have much to do. That dress of hers is short enough that one tug puts it back into place. I give her forehead another quick kiss before we go back through the club.
“What about your friend?” I ask her as we step outside.
Paul, the other bouncer, gives me a nod as he gets off the stool. I gesture that I need a minute as I lead Layla to the curb.
“Vinny will be fine,” she says. “He was cozied up with some girl. I’ll send him a text that I went home.”
I hail a cab, then turn to my girl and cup her face, urging her to look at me. Her blue eyes, usually so bright and full of attitude, right now are clouded with uncertainty.
“I love you, you know that, mami?” I’ve said it to her a million times all summer, but it occurs to me I haven’t said it once since she got off that plane. Fuck, I really am an asshole.
She cracks a smile, and her small frame relaxes a little. Okay, we’re on the right track.
“I love you too,” she whispers. “So much.”
I kiss her again, this time gently, even though I can already feel that yearning for her that never stops. Put it away, asshole. That is not what she needs right now. I don’t know what exactly that is, but it’s not a boner pressed against her leg in the middle of the street.
“Can I come over after my shift is up?” I ask. “Not for that, I promise. I just…goddammit, baby. I just want to fall asleep with you in my arms again. Would that be all right?”
Again, that sweet smile appears, and it just about lights up the street at damn near close to midnight.
“Sure,” she says. “Just call when you’re on your way. Don’t worry about waking me up.”
I give her another more innocent kiss before she gets in the cab. I have questions, so many questions. But for now, I’m content just to be with my girl. I’ll take Layla any way I can get her. That will never change.
Chapter Five
Layla
It’s not until past four thirty that my cell phone buzzes on the windowsill.
Nico: Still up? I’m downstairs.
Oh, I’m awake. I’ve been lying in this room for hours, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the hum of the city outside my window. Every sound makes me jump. Every creak of the fire escape. Every blare of a horn. Every drunken shout on a street corner. This is a decent neighborhood, but it’s true what they say. New York really never sleeps.
I buzz Nico in and unlock the door before I pad back to bed, turning on my side toward the window. Beyond the fire escape, the city twinkles against a sky that never quite grows completely dark at night. At the edges, the glow of the sun is already starting to make itself apparent. I’ve been watching it for hours, staring at the lights, burrowed under my covers, and trying to make sense of what happened at the club.
I still don’t have any good explanation. Just one that I don’t want to say.
Trigger.
I listen to the door open and close, then the sound of Nico locking up before he enters the room. He pauses for a minute at the door and smiles when I turn to look at him.
“Hey,” he says. “Sorry to wake you up.”
I sit up. “I wasn’t asleep.”
“No?” He enters the room and sits on the bed to remove his shoes. “So, you gonna tell me what that was about back there?”
“What do you mean?” Wow, he’s not wasting any time, is he?
Nico cocks his head. “NYU, come on. You can’t hide things from me. Layla, you totally froze. One second we were going at it like rabbits; the next, it was like I was doing a dead girl.” He leans over and slips a finger under my chin. “I’m not into necrophilia, baby. I like you alive”—kiss—“and kicking”—kiss.
His lips feel good. Soft. Full. Pliant. But my lips, damn them, don’t move.
Nico sits back. “Okay, really. What is going on?”
I scoot farther into my pillows and lie down. “I—”
Nico kicks off his other shoe, then scoots up the bed so he’s lying on the other pillow, facing me. A hand drapes over my waist, and gently, he turns me toward him. His eyes are wide and kind, full of concern.
No.
The word echoes through me, and I hate myself for it. I don’t want to feel this way. And a big part of me doesn’t. A big part of me just wants to lose myself in him again, like I wanted to do in the club. For a little while, it worked. The combination of whiskey, music, and Nico made me forget for a minute what a damaged person I am. Let him touch me the way only he can, the way that makes me forget my name, where I am, everything but the nameless notion of what we are together. I was close, so close, until his hand hit the wall next to my head. Just like someone else used to do.
My shadow threatens. My muscles tense. That ability to let go isn’t back yet. I stare at the wall behind him. I don’t want to see the disappointment I know is all over Nico’s beautiful face.
A finger tips my chin up again.
“Hey. It’s all right, mami. I got you.”
My lower lip trembles before I can stop it. Nico’s face clouds.
“Hey,” he says again, pulling me to him just as the tears start all over again. “What is it? Talk to me, Layla.”
“Fuck,” I whisper. “Fuck.”
He chuckles. “That’s usually my line.”
I shake my head, rubbing my nose into his chest. He smells so good—like detergent and sweat and soap and man. Nico. I want nothing more than to get lost in him—get lost in this perfect, strong body that’s never done anything but protect me.
But I can’t.
“I don’t want to be this girl. I wanted tonight to be perfect. You’ve been so patient, and I’m just…”
My voice warbles irritatingly as I trail off, but Nico just chuckles.
I frown. “What’s so funny?”
“You.”
He strokes the side of my face, and his grin is contagious. I smile back, despite the fact that I have no idea what he’s laughing about.
“What about me?” I demand.
“The fact that you think I’d be disappointed by literally anything about you.” He touches his forehead to mine. “I lived almost twenty-seven years loving you, and I didn’t even know you. I spent another year and a half dreaming about you, day and night. Layla, I’ll take whatever you have to give and still be the happiest fuckin’ bastard on the planet. You want to fuck in the nightclub, I’m down, obviously. But if you decide you want to wait until marriage or some shit like that, I’ll do that too. I’d do anything for you, baby. Don’t you know that by now?”
I can’t help it. I grin. His words are balm to my aching heart, my aching soul that’s still not quite healed. He pulls me close, and so I do what comes naturally and kiss him. His mouth stills
—he’s surprised, since he was just moving in for a hug. But quickly, he adapts, and before long, we’re right back against the brick wall, the back of the cab, the stairwell of my apartment. It’s several more seconds—minutes?—before we break again, both of us heaving.
Nico gulps and smiles bashfully. “I mean, it’s going to be a little harder if you keep kissing me like that.”
I giggle, and he sighs contentedly.
“God, I love that sound. You mind if I make myself a little more comfortable, sweetie?”
I shake my head, then watch openly as he gets up and strips off the black pants and t-shirt he wears when he’s checking IDs. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this, casual and at ease in his own body, uncaring that he’s on display in front of me. He grins when he catches me ogling, but I don’t care. He’s mine to look at. Right?
And he’s beautiful. His skin is smooth and golden, and practically glows in the moonlight, which casts shadows on his chest and stomach, playing over the ridged lines of hard-wrought muscle. His lips are full and open, and his eyes glitter, two black diamonds as they settle on me.
“Come here,” I beckon, and he immediately obeys, sliding under the covers and tucking me comfortably into his warm body.
I don’t have on anything but a thin camisole and my underwear. His warmth surrounds me, skin to skin. We lapse into silence, remembering the feel of each other again. This is good. This is right. My first night in this apartment, my first night back in the city, and he’s here. With me.
We lie there a moment, letting the sounds of our breathing fill the empty space of the apartment, until Nico puts a few inches between us so we are looking at each other across the pillow.
“Tell me what happened,” he says. “If you can.”
I worry my lower lip between my teeth, thinking hard until Nico reaches a hand and plucks my lip free.
Bad Idea- The Complete Collection Page 76