He laughs, and puts his phone on the table and leans back on it. “Jilly, there’s not a man alive that hasn’t fantasized about a girl dancing to this song just for him.”
He pushes a button on his phone and it starts from the beginning again. “I suggest you stop stalling and get a move on.”
And I do.
I let everything melt away.
With my eyes on him I let my hips find the rhythm of the song. I let my body sway to the music, getting lost in the bass, the pounding thrust of the lyrics.
I dance closer to him, then back.
Retreating and pushing forward as his eyes never leave me. His gaze predatory and possessive. Hot. He’s in a claiming mood; I can see it in his expression. When this song is over, my wait will be over too.
On my next advance, I put my hands on his knees and dip down before rolling up over him. Pleased when I hear the low groan, and see his knuckles whiten.
I climb up him, pressing close, sliding my breasts along his chest and he growls, low in his throat.
I straddle him, kneeling over him and preform the sluttiest, dirtiest grinding lap dance in the history of lap dances, rubbing my bare pussy over his erection still covered by his pants.
I can feel how hard he is. How much he wants me.
It strains and pulses the air.
The fabric of his pants is a delicious, excruciating tease but I don’t stop, don’t let up.
I whip my hair, arch my back and slither over him.
“Christ,” he mutters and grips the edges of the table.
The song ends and he’s on me.
He takes my mouth in a hard, brutal kiss that steals my breath and whatever is left of my sanity.
His hands are everywhere.
He pulls viciously at my nipples and I cry out. Then he’s lifting us, turning and slamming me down on the table.
I’m panting.
Gasping for air.
My body is on fire.
I claw at his shirt, but he just unzips his pants and impales me.
At the force of his entry I keen, arching up off the table. “Leo. Fuck.”
He grips my hips and pounds into me, his expression hard and demanding.
He’s ruthless.
He thrusts, his fingers digging into my skin where I’m sure to have bruises.
He pulls out. Growls. And slaps me, full on the clit.
I scream. “I’m going to come.”
“No.” He’s Leo, unleashed. A cruel, selfish bastard that will wring every last bit of pleasure from my body before he’s satisfied.
He does it again.
And again.
I arch up. It hurts, but, oh my god, it feels so good.
It’s like something has broken between us.
He starts fucking me again.
Pounding harder into me.
Thrusting faster.
Just as I’m about to come he rips away.
And slaps me full on the pussy and I swear I see stars. “I can’t…”
“No.” He slams into me.
Harder. Faster. Unrelenting.
“Leo?” I cry out his name.
“Now.” His voice is vicious and harsh.
He thrusts into me while he slams my hips down with his hands and that’s all it takes. I’m coming so hard my vision blurs as it rolls through my body. I shudder, quake and lose myself in the sheer bliss of him.
I have no idea how long we stay like that but it feels like forever as we melt together boneless and satiated. Finally, he raises his head and looks at me before brushing my hair off my face. He smiles. “You are going to be doing that all the time.”
“So you liked it?”
He kisses me. “Hot as hell.”
I laugh. “Do I have to dance to ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’?”
“Fuck yes.”
I smile and close my eyes. We’ll see. Not worth arguing about now.
His mouth skims up my jaw. “Jilly?”
“Yes?” I might never move again.
“I can’t wait to marry you.”
I grin. “It’s going to be epic.”
“It is.” His voice is soft and sweet, his tone just for me. “I love you so damn much.”
“I love you too.” I kiss his lips. Brush my hand over his cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
He straightens. “There’s a million things I need to do to you tonight.”
“Then we’d better get started.”
He runs his thumb over my lower lip. “At home.”
Home. With Leo. The only place that really matters to me. “Home is definitely in order.”
“Oh, and, Jillian?” His expression turns wicked and my heart skips a beat.
“Yes?”
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the belt.”
I sigh in an exaggerated pout. Of course he hasn’t. Bless his deviant heart.
Layla
We sit down on the bed, hands clasped. Michael squeezes my fingers. “Start talking, Layla.”
I blow out a hard breath and gather my thoughts. “You’re right. I did make this into a pass/ fail. I think I thought if I could conquer this last little bit it would make me normal again.”
It’s a struggle of mine. To feel normal.
“I’ve told you before, sugar, you’re never going to be normal. And that’s not a bad thing.”
I nod. “I know. But… I want to be. You know?”
Another squeeze. “I know.”
I nibble on my bottom lip. “In my head, my idea was if I was able to do this, you would be able to finally be yourself around me.”
He jerks his head toward me, brows furrowed. “I am myself around you.”
“So, what you’re saying is, you’re perfect?” I wrinkle my nose.
He laughs. “Where do you get these ideas?”
I blow out a breath. “I’m serious. Do you know how hard it is? To feel all crazy, irrational and messy when you’re all calm and reasonable? It makes me feel like I never get to you. I’m one big mess of flaws and faults and you’re just… well, you. Unflappable.”
He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Layla, what am I going to do with you?”
“I don’t know.” My stomach clenches. “I worry. You know?”
“About what?”
He’s not going to like it, but I trudge on. “That someday, you’ll get tired of all my crazy and decide to find an easier girl to love.”
His jaw hardens, and a flash of anger passes over his face. “Don’t you have any fucking idea how much I love you?”
“I know you love me. I just don’t know how to be perfect for you.”
He lets go of my hand and stands, and then starts pacing around the room, clearly agitated. “I don’t want you perfect. Even when you’re driving me insane.”
I motion with my hand. “Yes, more of this.”
He stops, and just stares at me for several long beats before he takes a breath. “Here’s the thing, if I was crazy, you couldn’t handle it.”
I vault off the bed and throw my hands in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about though. That’s exactly it. I can handle it. I’m tired of you acting like I can’t. I want all of you, not just the part you think I’m okay with. Is that so hard to understand?”
“You are twisting my words.”
“Then what are you trying to say?”
“What you need, who you are requires someone with a long fuse. You might hate it, but you wouldn’t last two seconds with someone that was messy and irrational. You need an anchor.”
I pick up my dress from the floor and slip it on, not asking for permission. When I straighten, covered now, a muscle in his jaw jumps. Before he can say anything about breaking the rules I say, “Yeah, I get that, Michael. But I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you. We talk ad nauseam about what I need. My point is what do you need. And how can I begin to fulfill those needs if I don’t even know w
hat they are?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “So you’re saying you don’t know me?”
I screech and throw up my hands. “No! I’m saying I don’t want our entire relationship to be about managing my needs. I’m saying sometimes it’s okay to get pissed at me because I’m being a bitch. That it’s okay to get sick of me because I’m too moody, or I’m crying for no reason. Or be aggravated because I’m having a panic attack and you just want to kick back with a beer after work and don’t feel like dealing with it. I’m saying it’s okay to be human.”
“I’m human, Layla.”
“If you feel those things, I don’t know it, because I never see them. Tonight was the first time you actually ever communicated your frustration with me.” My throat gets tight. “And I need that too.”
“That’s not true, Layla.”
“It is!” I insist, stomping my foot for good measure. “Michael, think about it from my perspective. When you were shot, and lying in the hospital bed I left you. That was a shitty fucking thing to do and when I came back, you were forgiving.”
One dark brow rose up his forehead. “I was forgiving because I knew you were going to leave and I knew you were going to come back.”
“So what?” I shake my head at him. “It was still a shitty thing to do.”
“Yeah, it was.” He shrugs one big shoulder. “But it wasn’t because you are a shitty person, it’s because you were scared.”
“I know,” I say, my voice softens. “And you can still be mad at me.”
“So you want me to be mad at you?”
“I want you to be furious with me if that’s how you feel.”
It seems like a myriad of emotions pass over his face before he finally steps toward me. “You’re right.”
I blink. “I am?”
He nods. “Sometimes I force myself to cool off before I deal with you because there’s a part of me that is always worried you have one step out the door.”
My heart swells and my chest grows tight. “I don’t. I know I did for a long time, but I don’t. You’ve conquered me.”
“I know that here.” He touches his temple. “But sometimes I still worry about it. Or I worry something will happen to me and you’ll leave again.”
I gulp, and swallow down my emotions. “I worry every day something will happen to you, but I don’t let it stop me. I’m all in. Both feet and my whole body. I can’t live without you, how can I leave?”
He opens his mouth to speak, but then stops, shakes his head and starts again. “Here’s what I need.”
I pin my gaze on him. “I’m listening.”
He steps toward me and his hand curls behind my neck. As always the chemistry that burns between us flares to greedy life. It’s a hot tangible thing, stronger today than that night I first met him. It’s a bond so strong, and so deep it’s exclusive only to him.
His fingers tangle in my hair. “I need to be your rock. I need to be that one person in your life you cling to.”
I nod, some of my rigid muscles loosening.
“I need you to push me past my patience sometimes.”
“Mission accomplished.” I smile.
He smiles back. “Indeed. Believe it or not, I need your messiness because how boring would I be without it?”
I put my hand on his arm. “There’s not a woman alive that would think you were boring.”
“I don’t care about them, I care about you.”
We move a little, closing the inches that still separate us.
“What else?” I ask.
“I need your submission. And your devotion.”
“You have those.”
He swallows and the cords in his neck work and I know he’s struggling with something he doesn’t want to say.
I squeeze his arm. “Tell me, please.”
His expression twists. “I don’t know how to communicate to you how much I love you, how much I need you. I wish you could see inside me so you would understand. I have never even come close to loving anyone the way I love you and I know I have to share that with John and I accept that, but…” He trails off and looks away.
Suddenly, I get it. The fog clears and I understand. That feeling I get, that he’s holding back, it’s not about sex as I assumed. It’s about fearing that if he pushes me the wrong way he won’t be able to live up to the expectations set by a dead man.
And just like that I know what needs to be done.
“Michael, sit down.” I step away from him and point to the bed. “Please.”
His face is pinched with worry and I can tell he thinks he’s said the wrong thing. With a wary glance he sits.
I straddle him, and his arms go around me, his big hands settling on my hips.
“Look at me,” I say, using words he’s said to me a thousand times.
He does, and I can tell he wants to protest the sudden shift of power but he remains silent.
I cup his cheek. “I’m going to tell you something, and I’m only going to say it once, so I hope you’re really listening.”
“I am. But—”
I cut him off. “No, just listen.”
“All right.”
My throat is tight and I clear it. “I don’t feel the same way about you that I felt about John.”
“Layla, this isn’t necessary. I understand. I don’t want—”
I kiss him. “Just listen to me.”
“I—” he begins again.
I shake my head. “Listen. You don’t have to justify your feelings to me. I loved him. He was comfort to me. Like a safe, warm blanket I could wrap around myself. We had a great relationship, and we had so much fun together. If he were alive I’m positive we’d be living a nice, happy life.” Michael’s shoulders bunch and flex under my fingers and I can feel his stress. I press my mouth to his in a soothing gesture before I continue. “But the truth is, as much as I loved him, it wasn’t like it is with you. Not better or worse, but different. You and I have something unique. The way I want you is unmatched. It’s like the second I laid eyes on you every cell in my body woke up.”
“You don’t have to do this,” he says and his voice is strained.
I don’t stop. Because I understand him, he doesn’t want to feel competitive with John, but he is showing me he’s human. I owe him this peace, because it’s true. This is what I need to do for him. It’s something I can give him, after everything he’s given me. And he deserves to know how important he is to me, how essential.
I run my thumb over his strong jaw. “I know I don’t have to but I want to. I think the difference is, I loved him with the heart of a girl. And I love you with the heart of a woman. The way it is between us, sometimes I’m afraid it will swallow me whole. That I’ll burn up with it. Sometimes when we’re out, and we’re with our friends, all I can think about is when I can have your cock. How soon you’ll fuck me and make me whole. It’s like a preoccupation. When we’re sitting on the couch in our sweatpants, eating takeout, it should be comfortable. And it is. But it’s also like there’s electricity sparking the air between us. It wasn’t like that with John.”
His muscles relax under my hands. “So you’re obsessed with me?”
I rock against his erection that will be in me soon enough. “Totally.”
“You know I’m just as obsessed.” His fingers squeeze my hips.
“Are you?”
He yanks me down, grinding his hard cock against my soft, swollen center. “What do you think?”
I lean down and whisper in his ear, “I think I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”
He groans, hot against my skin. Before he stills me. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.” My mouth settles on his and our tongues entwine, but before I get lost, I pull away because I want to make sure he understands. “You’re not sharing me. I am all yours.”
He looks guilty. Conflicted. Because, at his core, he’s a good guy with a hero complex that doesn’t want to feel anything as petty a
s jealousy over a dead man.
I know just the thing to ease his mind about that one. I grin and lean back. “You do know you’re a better person than me, don’t you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Ha. Trust me, you’re a lot more understanding than I am. Because believe me, if you had a dead fiancée, it wouldn’t matter how good she was to you, I’d hate her. I’d annoy you with questions and make you do a compare and contrast between us. Even then I still wouldn’t be satisfied, and I’d make you tell me all sorts of terrible things about her.”
He laughs before shrugging. “That doesn’t sound unreasonable.”
I tilt my head as though pondering. “All right, let me think.”
“Not necessary. I don’t want you to say anything bad about him.”
“No, no, I want to.” I can think of John now and it’s not a big gaping hole. I can remember the good things about him, and the bad with fondness, instead of grief. I wrinkle my nose. “Well, he was kind of a slob. He used to leave his socks on the floor, like right next to the hamper.”
His muscles relax under me. “That is annoying.”
“It was. And he would somehow manage never to empty the dishwasher.”
“That’s not so bad.”
“That’s because you hate emptying the dishwasher too.”
“Yeah, I do.”
I give him a sly look and glance back and forth, as though someone might be watching us. “And he let me top from the bottom, like, all the time.”
Michael laughs. “Now that is a crime.”
“It was.” I give him a pout. “You never let me. Not even once.”
“You wouldn’t like it if I did.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t. Now. You have certainly refined my perception of dominance.”
“Is that good?” His expression turns curious.
“Very good.” I rock against him. “The best.”
His gaze locks with mine, and everything inside me stills. He runs his hands up and down my back. “Thank you, Layla.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I think you’re right, we needed to have the conversation.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know. And I’ll try, okay.”
“That’s all I ask. I’m not asking you to change your personality. But it’s okay to get mad at me.” I grip his jaw in my hand. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”
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