Layers of Her

by Prescott Lane

  “It never came . . .”

  Suddenly, a stillness takes over her body, the shaking stops, and her eyes laser in across the street. Turning around, I see a man opening up the door to the restaurant. “That’s him?” I ask, and she nods. “He’s old. Got to be at least . . .”

  “He’s sixty-eight,” she says quickly.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know everything there is to know about him.”

  That’s the first rule. Know your target. I’ve never seen her like this, but I know that look. I’ve seen it in the cage lots of times. The primal need to hurt someone else. Some fighters are in it for the money, fame. Others have pure talent. But some just need to hurt someone else—those are the most dangerous. “I’m getting you out of here,” I say.

  “No,” she says. “Take me inside. This is my chance to get close to him. I haven’t been close to him in years.”

  “Years?” I ask. The only good thing about her focus right now is that her guard is down in other areas, and she’s finally answering some questions.

  “Since I was sixteen.”

  “You’ve been following this guy for ten years?”

  “No,” she says, her eyes shifting to me.

  “How long have you been following him?”

  “A year or so.”

  I glance towards the restaurant. “Tell me who he is.”

  “My father,” she whispers.

  “Jesus Christ! What’d he do? Tell me what he did.”

  “No.”

  “Tell me. It’s not going to change how I feel about you.” I can see in her eyes she doesn’t believe me.

  A million thoughts running through my head, I gnash my teeth, and my stomach churns. I don’t know why she won’t open up to me. I hate that she holds back. Whatever the fucker did to her, it must be bad that she won’t tell me, and that she had a gun. I’m glad I took it from her. I want to kill him myself, to break him in half. I think about telling Campbell that, but I don’t want to inflame the situation. She’s already on edge. I hate that I created this situation by bringing her here of all places. So more than killing the old man, at this point I just want to help Campbell, to protect her.

  “We should go,” I say.

  “I want to go in,” she says, taking a step off the curb, but I stay put. “Stone, are you coming?”

  This isn’t the first time I’ve made her choose, but this better be the last time. “Him or me. You can’t have both.”

  “But,” she says. “I . . .”

  “Right now,” I say. “You can’t keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

  “I haven’t come in weeks,” she says.

  “You’re not starting back up again now. Whatever is going on, whatever happened before, you can’t stay stuck in the past.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is,” I say, eyeing her white dress. “It’s black and white, really. It’s the choice between love or hate.”

  Love and hate—those emotions are very similar, kind of like how pain and pleasure are linked. I spend so much time in doctors’ offices with Tate that I read about this stuff in old magazines. I once read an article that proved love and hate come from the same parts of the brain. Strange, but true.

  It’s pretty damn easy to hate someone. Yeah, it takes a lot of energy, but there’s a power in it, too. Love takes the complete opposite. You have to surrender your power to another person. It takes a lot of fight to love someone and let yourself be loved by them. I know Campbell’s got the courage to do it. I’m just not sure if she knows that.

  “You can’t stalk the guy. That’s dangerous. You need to let this go,” I say. “You were able to stop following him. You never replaced your gun. You don’t need to do this anymore. You’ve got me now.” Her eyes glance back and forth between the restaurant and me. “We’ve got so many good things waiting for us. Let this shit go. This isn’t who you are.”

  “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  “Something happened when you were sixteen?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you started stalking this guy a year ago.”

  “So.”

  “So, there are a lot of years in between and before. Years when you were going to school, working, hanging out with Jenny. Years that weren’t spent on street corners, carrying guns. Years when you didn’t define yourself by whatever that bastard did. Years when I’m hoping you were at least a little happy. Years when you were just you.”

  She nods a little but then steps away from me, tears rolling down her cheeks. It’s not looking good for me. She looks up into the night sky and whispers, “I’m sorry.” My eyes close, and my head falls, and I don’t even want to talk about what she just did to my heart, and my daughter’s heart, too.

  I feel her smooth fingers lightly stroke my cheek, and my eyes open. Then she takes my face in her hands, which are steady and calm. “I thought you were . . .”

  “I could’ve killed him a hundred times and never did,” she says, leaning up against the light post. “I’ve wasted so many nights on this damn sidewalk. And I’m tired, Stone. I’m so tired of fighting.”

  I take her in my arms and tell her how strong she is. “I can handle him for you.”

  She shakes her head. “Like the bloodstone says: Know when to walk away.”

  Damn, she would use that against me when I’d be happy to march inside and pound my fist into the guy’s face over and over again. “I’ll give you this round. But only if you let me buy you a whole new wardrobe tomorrow.” She flashes me the biggest smile, and I pick her up so we’re eye-to-eye. “I love you.”

  She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes like she’s letting it sink in. When her blue eyes open, they are full of light. “I love you, too.”

  She said the words back to me, without pussy-footing around the subject. There’s the courage I knew she had. Scooping her up, I carry her down the street like a groom carries his bride across the threshold. People are staring, some clapping, others whistling. But this is New Orleans, so they’ve seen a lot stranger things on the street than this. I once saw a woman rollerblading through the French Quarter in only nipple tassels and purple hot pants. This is nothing.

  *

  By the time we reach her house, Campbell is breathless from giggling so much. “What about dinner?” she laughs out as I open up her front door.

  She is the only thing on the menu right now. Carrying her into her bedroom, I set her down and rip her dress off. I’ll just buy her a new one. Her bra and panties meet the same fate. My nose buried in that sweet little patch of hair, I take a deep breath. Christ, she smells good, like baby powder.

  “Oh, my God,” she says, and I know she’s embarrassed I just did that. But I plan on making her feel so amazing, she’ll get over it real damn quick.

  But I didn’t realize how quick. If I’d been doing that alphabet thing with my tongue, she’d have orgasmed by the time I got to F.

  “Can you do that to me every day?” she asks.

  Licking her slowly one more time, she spreads even wider for me. “I may never leave this spot.” Her muscles start to clench, pushing against my tongue, but I pull back.

  “No,” she groans. “Go back.” Instead, I lay back, pulling her over my head so she’s straddling my face. “Stone,” she protests softly.

  “Grab the headboard, baby.” She does what I ask. “Now fuck my mouth.”

  But she doesn’t move. Slowly, I kiss my way up her leg, making sure my tongue lingers on the hot flesh of her inner thigh. I want her to take what she wants, not be embarrassed of her own pleasure. Letting my mouth hover over her folds, I wait. “Please,” she whimpers.

  Smacking her ass hard, I force her to my mouth, sucking deep and slow. She cries out, her hands gripping the headboard tighter, and her hips start to move. Thank God, she’s out of her head and just lets go. The headboard starts banging against the wall. I should have gotten undressed, because my dic
k is pushing against my zipper so hard, there’s liable to be marks on him. And like a teenage kid, I’m leaking all over the damn place watching her.

  A few more thrusts, and she flies over the edge again then collapses down next to me. I cradle her naked body next to mine. Maybe this was a bad plan. She’s too exhausted from her orgasms to do anything about mine! But as if she’s reading my mind, she lifts her head, the hint of a smile on her lips. “Strip!”

  It’s cute she thinks she’s in charge here. I’ll play along. Her fingers gently trace the faded bruises from my fight, and leaning over, she places a sweet kiss on each one. “Look at me, Stone,” she teases, and I lift my eyes to her. “That’s better.”

  Watching her slide down my body, our eyes fix on each other. With that coy smile on her lips, it’s obvious who’s really in charge here—the same person who’s been in charge the whole time. Clearly, it ain’t fucking me!

  So many people say this is a “man’s world,” but they are dead wrong. I don’t care about whatever man code we pretend to have. There is no bro code under the sun that won’t go flying out the window when the right woman comes along. George Carlin might have considered this part of the “pussification of America,” but he’s never met Campbell.

  Here’s the thing, guys. No matter how much we think we have the power, no matter how damn macho we think we are, we’re all just controlled by the pussy. Women have all the power because they control the pussy. They say when, where, how long. We may think we are seducing them, but the truth is, they have our balls in a vice. Because the moment the word “no” comes out of their mouths, it’s game over.

  But tonight, it’s game on.

  Her tongue glides over my shaft, balls to tip, getting her first taste of me. My back arches, my toes curl, and it feels so damn good I can barely think. Whatever she learned in those videos, I should write letters to the actresses – I use that term loosely – and personally thank them. Although, I think deep throating is a born talent, not a learned one, and Campbell’s got a gift. She’s damn enthusiastic about her newfound knowledge, working me over with her very skilled mouth.

  “Fuck, baby. That’s it.” I come so hard my vision goes white. If orgasms had a Richter Scale, that was a magnitude ten, off the charts. This woman is an artist, a master at the art of blowjobs. “Thank you, baby,” I say, pulling her up to me and cuddling in.

  I’m not sure if it’s just me, but nothing tires me out like getting great head. Coming in a woman’s mouth is the single most relaxing thing in the world. Some people drink or take drugs to relax, but she’s my drug, and I’m hooked already. Campbell adjusts slightly, and so do I. Then she rolls to her side, so I roll with her, wrapping her in my arms. She giggles a little. “When you move, I move.”

  “How on Earth did a man named Stone end up being my soft spot to land?” she asks. She rolls over so we’re face-to-face, her leg hiked up on my hip. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

  Stroking her cheek, I say, “It’s not luck. You deserve to be happy, to be loved. I can’t promise you that things will always be easy, but I can promise you will be loved through anything life throws at us.”

  “No matter what?” she asks.

  “No matter what,” I promise back.

  *

  Wrapped in each other’s arms, we laid together until Campbell’s bladder forced her up. Every woman I know takes forever in the bathroom, even Tate, who will spend hours in the bathtub. I’m more of a do what you need to do and get out kind of guy. What’s the point in lingering? “Campbell, I’m gonna order some takeout, unless you want to get dressed again and go out,” I call out.

  She opens up the door, leaning her naked body against the frame. “You want me to get dressed?” Hopping out of bed, I capture her in my arms, kissing her neck. Laughing, she pushes me back. “Don’t start that, or we may never have dinner. All the takeout menus are in the kitchen drawer.” She smacks my ass to get me moving.

  Throwing on my boxer briefs, I walk out of the bedroom. She must not have been joking when she said she can’t cook anything but breakfast because she’s got every kind of takeout menu imaginable. Settling on Chinese, I remember Campbell doesn’t have a landline, only her cell. My cell is buried in my jeans pocket on her floor, and her purse is right on the counter. Now, I know a woman’s purse is some sacred shit, so I yell out, “Babe, can I use your phone?”

  “Sure,” she yells back.

  Placing my hand into the black hole of the forbidden, I rummage around, feeling and looking for her cell. “Where is it?” I start pulling some things out and placing them on the counter—umbrella, crayons. I know those are for Tate. Thankfully, I don’t find another gun as I continue my hunt, pulling out a bunch of pamphlets. Next come the tampons, a comb, a crumbled up power bar, and dental floss. Finally, I pull out her phone, and looking down for the delivery number, my eyes get huge when I see the letters IUD highlighted on one of the pamphlets. Did she go to the doctor? Are we good to go?

  “Stone, my phone’s in my purse. Let me . . .” Campbell hurries into the room, seeing me holding the pamphlet. She snatches the other papers from the counter, shoving them back in her purse. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

  “You got an IUD?” I ask.

  “What?” she asks, and I hold the pamphlet out. “No, I haven’t done anything yet.”

  “But you saw the doctor?” I ask, and she nods. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it’s a lot to think about, and nothing’s been settled yet,” she says.

  “Well, maybe we should talk about it. You’re doing this for me, partly.” I flip open the pamphlet and glance over it. “Ninety-nine percent effective. That’s good. Is there a surgery or something to put it in?”

  “Nothing major. They do it in the doctor’s office,” she says.

  “Says here it’s not recommended if you haven’t had children.”

  “My doctor said she’d make an exception,” she says.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “She wanted me to have more options, I guess.”

  “Five years? It’s effective for five years?” Something about seeing that time frame makes my stomach churn. “That’s a long time. Tate will be almost seven.”

  All the color draining from her face, she asks, “You want more kids?”

  “Are you surprised by that?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “I thought with all the scares with Tate, you’d be done with all that.”

  “Thought I was,” I say, smiling at her. “But Tate would love a sister or brother, and I’d like the chance to do it right this time.”

  “With me?” she asks. “You want to have a baby with me?”

  “Not anytime soon, but eventually,” I say. She’s just staring at me like I’m an alien from another planet. “Campbell, do you not realize where this is going between us?”

  “Maybe you should tell me,” she says, her voice a whisper.

  “One day real soon, I want you to be my wife.” Yeah, I know it might seem fast to think like this, or even say it—wife and kids, and all that. It probably is. But when you’ve got a tall, blonde hot woman who loves you, it’s best to just stop looking, put all the chips on the table, go all-in. Her knees weaken under her, and I reach out to steady her. “I’m not asking you tonight. But that’s my endgame.” She’s got this stunned smile on her face, but looks like she could shit bricks at the same time. “Breathe, baby.” Her breasts rise and fall as she inhales.

  “I’m seeing the doctor again in two weeks. I didn’t want to do anything too close to Tate’s surgery or when her implant will be activated.”

  “Two weeks,” I say, pulling her tighter to me. “Do we need to wait that long?”

  “No,” she says, pulling away. “We need to wait six weeks.”

  “What?” I pick up the pamphlet again and sure as shit, it says to use a backup method for four weeks after implantation. And I know how she feels about condoms. Damn! “Can’t you just get the pill?�
�� She rolls her eyes at me. “Is birth control the only reason we aren’t having sex?”

  “Why are you asking . . .”

  “Because if there’s some other reason, I want you to know you can talk to me. It’s safe to talk to me.”

  She swallows hard, her eyes on her feet. “There’s no other reason.”

  “You’re sure?” I ask, and she nods. Pulling her into a hug, I bury my nose in her hair. “I want you. But I don’t want to pressure you, either.”

  She lifts her head, giving me the sweetest smile. “You aren’t. I like that you want me so much. Don’t stop wanting me, ever. Not even a little bit.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  STONE

  “Sometimes when kids first wake up from surgery,” Campbell says, “they can be very angry and agitated. Don’t be surprised if Tate is screaming and crying. It’s a response to the anesthesia; she’s not in pain.”

  Why the hell did no one else bother to tell me that? I give Campbell’s hand a little squeeze, thinking to myself that the waiting is the worst. And whoever the hell designs the damn waiting rooms is a moron. Everything is open, so you get to witness everyone else’s nerves along with your own. There’s a nurse who’s supposed to give updates, but she never knows anything, and all the televisions are turned to talk shows. “They were supposed to be finished over thirty minutes ago.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything bad, either,” she says. “Sometimes they are late getting into the operating room, or the doctor is just being extra careful. Dr. Ridge is the best. She’s in good hands,” Campbell says.

  “They had to shave part of her head,” I say.

  “She’ll look kick-ass,” Jade says. “Like me.”

  “Or we can buy her some cute hats,” Jenny says, rolling her eyes at Jade.

  I don’t fucking know how I ended up surrounded by all these women, but my baby girl is blessed to have each and every one of them. Suddenly, Campbell stands up. “Dr. Ridge.”