The firehouse, on the other hand, hasn’t quite lost its gleam. Three months after I graduated from the academy and was assigned a station in Queens, I still get a little thrill every time I arrive. The door to helping my mom get residency still might be glued shut, but this one finally opened. My job. My girl. If I can just focus on the good stuff, maybe I’ll be able to pick that last lock.
“I’m sorry for being such a dick back there,” I say as we stop.
Layla looks up at the three-story brick building, her eyes bright in the cold winter sunshine. It’s her first time here––with the business of the semester and then her leaving for Christmas, she never got the chance to come up and see it, but I know she’s been curious.
“I think you owe Ileana the apology,” she says. “You weren’t very nice to her.”
I sigh. “Yeah. I know. I wouldn’t blame her if she told us to fuck off.”
“She’s not going to do that. But you should make it right too.” Layla looks up at the firehouse. “This is so cool. Can you show me around?”
The look on her face––the pure, unadulterated pride––lifts me out of my shitty mood in about ten seconds.
I grin back. “You fuckin’ bet.”
Still holding her hand, we cross the street, and I push open the heavy door.
“It’s one of the oldest firehouses in the city,” I tell her proudly as I walk her around the bottom floor. “They used it on a set of some movie, but I forget which one.”
Layla’s all eyes as I give her the grand tour through the downstairs, showing her the lockers where we keep our stuff, the dispatch room. I lead her into the big garage, where we keep the trucks. She walks around curiously, examining the interactive map on one side of the room, the rows of helmets and jackets hanging on the walls, the boots with pants bunched around them, ready to be pulled on as soon as an alarm goes off. She drags her fingers over the red paint of one of the trucks in awe. It reminds me a little of my first day on the job. I’d been in the trucks at the academy plenty of times before, but on that day, I was starstruck. I stared at the ladder I was assigned to for a solid ten minutes before I could do anything else.
Layla takes a look at the ladder eagerly. “This is so cool, Nico. So if the bell rang, everyone would come racing down here?”
I shove my hands in my coat pockets and nod. “And they’d probably thank us to get the fuck out of the way too.”
I glance around the garage nervously. I’m a rookie, so I’m still getting used to the way things work, although the job is beginning to commit itself to muscle memory. Still, I’m pretty sure I’d catch some serious fuckin’ heat if the chief caught me in here with my girlfriend when they get a call.
“Come on, sweetie,” I say, nodding toward the door. “There’s more.”
I take her up the stairs to where most of the guys are crowded in the kitchen. Mike, who’s about the same size as the industrial-sized refrigerator behind him, is stirring a big pot of sauce while pasta boils on another burner. Four other guys are leaning over the counter with Cokes, probably wishing they were beers. They’re laughing, teasing Mike about his bad habit of putting too many onions in his sauce. On the other side of the kitchen, a few other guys are watching a basketball game in the lounge area. It’s a typical scene. I never knew how much of this job was just waiting around for something to happen.
“Rooooook,” Joe, a younger guy from Staten Island who’s on his fourth year, calls from his spot at the counter, starting off a round of the same calls all around the room.
Layla grins until the chorus ends. They all sound like dogs barking at the damn moon. I’m rolling my eyes, but I’m not going to lie. I kind of like it.
“You just can’t stay away, can you, rook?” Mike says as he ambles over. “What the fuck? Are you obsessed with us, or something? Are you like that chick Herrera’s dating, the one that shows up at the firehouse at all times of the night and day?”
A bunch of other guys chuckle while Damien Herrera, the guy in question, rolls his eyes from the couch. He’s the butt of a lot of jokes like that, but the dude really does bring it on himself. His woman is a legit psycho.
“And who is this beautiful thing?” Mike asks as he looks over Layla frankly. “And what the hell is the rookie doing with a girl as fine as you, sweetheart? He should know better than to bring you around here with all of these hooligans.”
“Hey, hey, take it easy,” I warn him. “This is my girl, Layla.”
“We got a live wire, I see. How you doin’, sweetheart?”
Mike waggles his eyebrows as he kisses Layla’s hand. He’s a teddy bear of a dude, and he’s just giving me shit, but that doesn’t make me like another guy hitting on my girl. I shake my head. I’m not jealous by nature, but I think a part of me might always feel that way a little bit with her.
“Yeah, you can stop that now,” I retort, unable to help myself completely as I tug Layla out of Mike’s reach. I don’t care that technically he’s my superior, the ranking lieutenant in the house tonight. I just want him to stop fucking touching my woman.
Fuck. Maybe coming here was a bad idea. I was all excited to show the place off to Layla, but now it’s just making me tenser.
“Is there more?” Layla asks, having been pulled tightly into my side.
She looks up at me, and the teasing and laughter surrounding us dies. Suddenly, the only thing I want to do is go home, lose myself in her gorgeous body for an hour or two, and reset my mind.
I soften. “Yeah, there’s more. I’ll show you the upstairs, grab my charger, and then we’ll go.”
We bid our farewells to the guys as I take her up the third flight of stairs to the sleeping quarters and the small weight room where I work out between calls. About half of the small single beds have sheets on them, dressed for the people who are currently on live shifts overnight. The rest are just plain vinyl mattresses, waiting for the next shift to come.
Layla turns and leans against one of the beds without anything. “It kind of reminds me of a fraternity house,” she remarks.
I nod, although I’ve never been in one. “Do they sleep twenty to a room like this?” I joke. “We’re like sardines in here.”
But Layla nods. “Sometimes. It depends on the frat and school, obviously. The ones at NYU are basically just on a floor of one of the dorms, but a few have pretty big common dormitory rooms. At least you don’t have bunk beds.” She looks around. “Which one is yours?”
I raise a brow. “You tryin’ to get me into bed, NYU?”
Right on cue, Layla blushes, sending a familiar flutter through my stomach. I could make her do that all damn day.
“You’re terrible,” she says. “I was just curious.”
I walk up to her so we’re standing close enough to be nose to nose. “It’s right…”
I bend and trace my nose down her neck, just under her collar. Just a taste, I tell myself. In her tight black jeans and clingy sweater, she’s looking particularly fuckable at the moment, but I’m not going to do that here. I shouldn’t. Not with all the guys downstairs. Not when Layla can’t always control her voice when I’m in her. No, I won’t. Even if the look in her eyes tells me that she really, really wants to.
“Here,” I say, as I tap the bedpost just behind her and stand up.
The pupils of Layla’s eyes have dilated slightly. “Do you ever think about…you know? Getting busy when you’re in here without me?”
Honest? Pretty much never. Late at night, when we’re all mostly asleep in here, it’s a chorus of snores, grunts, all of the sounds men make when they’re asleep. Pretty much the unsexiest thing on the planet.
But right now, with the room empty, the door closed, and the afternoon sunlight making Layla’s hair glow like that… We shouldn’t do anything. I know that. But I’m also not so sure I can wait until we’re home. And by the way she’s chewing on her lower lip right now, I don’t think she can either.
“What’s the chance anyone is going to come
up here right now?” she asks, her voice low and throaty as she links two fingers through my belt loops and pulls me closer.
“Unlikely,” I say. “No one comes in here except at night.”
My mouth hovers over hers, not quite taking what I want. I’m teasing myself here, but I couldn’t care less. Sometimes half the fun is anticipation.
Layla glances at the door, which is still cracked closed, then looks at me and licks her lip. And when I say licks it, I mean runs her tongue slowly around her plump, pink mouth until it shines, ready to be kissed.
Jesus Christ.
“Keep lookout,” she says, and before I can ask what she means, she’s sliding down to her knees, unzipping my jeans, and freeing the pipe I’ve had going down there since I watched her walk up the stairs in front of me.
“Layla, you don’t have to––oh, shit, that feels fuckin’ good.”
Her mouth slides over me, with her small hand gripping around my base where her lips don’t quite reach. My head falls back as I lose myself in the sensation of her sweet mouth, and it takes me a few seconds to remember that we’re not in the privacy of our bedroom and I need to be watching the door.
“Fuck,” I hiss as she takes me even deeper. Her mouth is fucking magic. “I––Jesus, Layla. Baby, I––” I’m practically incoherent, but something’s missing. I want more. I need more.
Suddenly, I’m acting completely on instinct. I pull her off me and yank her up my body. Layla’s mouth, warm and wet, hangs open as her heated gaze drags over me. The uncurbed desire in her bright eyes just gets me that much harder.
“Nico––” she starts to say, but I cover her mouth with mine as I walk her backward a few steps, rip open her jeans, and shove them down her legs before she topples backward onto the empty mattress I usually claim for myself.
“I don’t want to come in your mouth,” I say as I sweep her legs across me so she’s facing me on her side.
Her pants, still twisted around her ankles, keep her thighs together, but that just makes her that much tighter when my cock finds her slick passage. She’s basically bound sideways as I hold her down, her sweet, full body open for me to do what I want.
I close my eyes in half-pain, half-pleasure as I slide into her warmth. Fuck. It really never stops. It doesn’t matter how many times we do this––her tightness, her depth, the way she squeezes around me as I fill her completely––it feels better every time.
“Why?” she whispers, barely able to get the words out as I start to move. She shudders, and I get even harder knowing I have the same effect on her.
I lean down to kiss her again, needing to taste her in that moment more than I need anything else––food, water, air. I need Layla more. I pull out, teasing her slightly with just the tip. Her breathing grows shallow as I look down, entranced by that scant few inches where our bodies are joined.
“Because,” I say as I shove back in with one hard thrust. “I want to come in you.”
It’s hard to make jokes when we’re like this, but Layla still manages one, breathy and light. “But you would have.”
She shudders when I deliver another punishing thrust. I give her the wickedest smile I can, thrilling in the way her entire body responds, then deliver a quick slap across her ass. Her nipples perk, even through her sweater, her back arches, her muscles tense, and she tilts her hips slightly to take me even deeper.
“Yeah,” I tell her in between more unforgiving thrusts. “But this way, I get to feel you come too.”
My hand reaches between her thighs to find that warm, soft spot that I know will push her over the edge. I circle my thumb over it, working in tandem with my hips. I’m close––if we were at home, I’d stop, change positions, bring her to the edge and take her back down three, four, five times before letting us both explode together. But here we could get caught at any time.
My brothers could walk in at any second, find me eight inches deep in the sweetest pussy in New York. And you know what? I’d have no fuckin’ regrets.
But for her sake, I wrap it up fast. Press a little harder until her body starts to shake and she loses a bit of its control, unable to keep as quiet as before.
“You know it’s better like this, don’t you, baby?” I ask, bending down and keeping my voice low so only she can hear me. The sounds of the guys’ voices filter from downstairs, and it only turns me on more. “When you get to feel my cock in your tight, wet pussy? When I get to feel you squeeze and shudder around my dick?”
“Ummmmm,” Layla groans into my neck, her teeth biting into my skin. She’s robbed of speech at this point, that slight pain brings me even closer.
“Fuck,” I swear as I pound into her. “This body was made for me, you know that? I fuckin’ dream about this body, Layla. I don’t care who sees me, baby. All they would see is the way I own this gorgeous. Fucking. Body. Whenever. Wherever.”
“Nico!” she gasps, now clawing hard. Her nails are going to leave marks, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
I take her clit between my fingers, and watch as she falls apart completely. Her entire body seizes, a lithe line of muscle quivering around my hips, squeezing me like a fuckin’ vise.
“Nico,” she whimpers as she holds on for her life, taking pound after punishing pound. “Please.”
“Fuuuuuuucccck,” I growl as I follow her into oblivion.
Layla opens her mouth to cry, and I stifle both our moans with one last demanding kiss that matches the final few thrusts of my cock. This is what I needed for the last hour. This banishes the last of my hopelessness, because when I do this for Layla, when I do this for both of us, I feel like I could rock the whole fucking world with what we are together.
If only it would last.
I work out the rest of my orgasm and hers until slowly, slowly, the room comes back into focus. Her body softens into mine, and I lean my head on her shoulder as I catch my breath. The sounds of the city call from the other side of the window, and the guys’ voices filter up the stairs. My mind puts itself back together. I can lose myself in Layla for sure, but when we’re done, the world is always waiting.
Slowly, I pull out, then point Layla into the bathroom to clean herself up when she asks. We haven’t used protection in months; things get a little messy. When she’s done, she comes right back to where I’m leaning against the window at the far end of the dormitory and lets me fold her into my chest. My hands float down and rest on her ass––that sweet curve that’s always seemed like it was molded for my palms.
“Yo.” I squeeze lightly. “You’re filling out a little more here, huh?”
“What?” Layla arches back to stare at me open-mouthed. “I’m what?”
I look her up and down, not even bothering to mask my open leering, and squeeze her ass again. “I know this ass like I know my own name, Layla. We’ve been eating well, huh?”
“Oh. My. God! You just told me I’m getting fat!”
Layla smacks me on the shoulder, and I can’t help but start laughing, which only makes her smack me harder.
“I didn’t say anything like that!” I shout, turning her around and binding her arms down in front of me. “And besides, I like it. More of you to love, right?”
“Ewwwww!” she cries, and now I’m practically wheezing because I’m laughing so hard. I’m being a dick, teasing her about a few extra pounds. I grew up with girls––I know better than to say a damn thing about their bodies at all, much less something that’s not exactly complimentary.
“We’ll see what you have to say when I start pointing out how you’re losing your six-pack,” she retorts, reaching down to pinch at the nonexistent layers of fat around my belly. “You’re going to be thirty in two years, old man. Time waits for no one.”
I just deliver another grin, the kind that always makes her stumble a little, and pull up my shirt. “These ain’t goin’ nowhere, baby. As long as you look at me like that, I’ll be doing my sit-ups every night before bed. That’s a promise.”
&n
bsp; Layla’s mouth drops a little as she looks over my abs, and then she bites her lip all over again. Fuck. The problem with teasing my girl is that her response usually gets me even more hot and bothered. And since we already tested our luck in here once, I’m not about to tempt fate by bending her over the mattress again, as much as I want to.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I nuzzle close for a kiss. She’s tight-lipped at first, but then she gives in, sucking gently on my lower lip. “I’m just teasing. You look perfect, sweetie. You always do.”
And yet. She does look a little different. What do they call it? Puppy love pounds, or something corny like that? I noticed it last night too. It’s a good thing––she never did gain back all the weight she lost when she got sick, and she seemed to lose some last year too. Not much of a surprise, considering what kind of stress she was under.
I search for the words to tell her what I mean. Because really, she’s even more beautiful than she ever was. Luscious. A little fuller. The word ripe keeps tripping off my tongue, but I’m pretty sure if I used any kind of word that could also be applied to produce, I’d earn myself another punch, and Layla’s starting to punch hard these days after training at Frank’s with me once a week or so.
So instead I fold her against me again, her back to my front while I rest my chin on her shoulder and enjoy the way her breasts––which, yeah, I think are a little bigger now too––push up under my forearms.
“You know I think you’re beautiful,” I murmur before inhaling deeply. Layla’s sweet scent surrounds me, and immediately, I feel at peace. “You’ll always be beautiful to me. No matter what.”
Layla sighs and relaxes in my arms as we look out the window, over the rooftops of Queens toward the taller buildings of Manhattan.
“Let me do this for you,” she murmurs.
I sigh. She’s not talking about sex anymore, I had a feeling she was going to bring it up eventually. Layla and I have been living together long enough now that we’re starting to know some of each other’s patterns. I know when something triggers her back to Giancarlo, and a little clowning around with some well-placed kisses can usually nip a full-on panic-attack in the bud.
True North Page 19