by Sylvia Day
Brian caught her face in both hands. “Open your eyes, Layla.”
Her neck arched as he withdrew a little bit, then pushed deeper.
“Look at me,” he coaxed. “Let me watch you take my cock.”
Her lids lifted. She watched him, too. Watched his skin tighten over his cheekbones, watched the pleasure cross his face like the sweetest agony. He worked into her with slow easy drives, holding her gaze as the connection deepened. Tugging him closer with her legs, Layla lifted as he bore down, the pleasure hot and drugging.
The leisurely penetration felt like a deep inner massage and she moaned. “Brian, please . . .”
His tongue followed the curve of his lower lip, his look so fiercely sexual she trembled with the force of her desire. “There,” he purred, rolling his hips and pushing home. He stroked in and out, then pushed his torso upright. “You’ve got all of me.”
God, how she wished that was true.
With her legs draped over his thighs, Brian looked down between them. “I’ve dreamed of this. Dreamed of filling you again. So many damn times.”
His thick cock pulled free to the crest. The vein-corded length pushed back into her, stretching her deliciously. His raw, serrated groan of pleasure made her come.
“Oh!” She trembled violently as the climax hit her. “Brian.”
“Yeah,” he growled, holding her hips and pounding through her orgasm, driving deep and hard. His head bent to her breast, his mouth surrounding an aching nipple and working it with his tongue, his hands keeping her still as his cock shafted her convulsing pussy with savage hunger.
She clung to his wrists and fought for breath, the mattress squeaking under the ferocity of his thrusts, her body quaking with the violence of her pleasure.
“Me, too, baby.” He gasped. “Ah, shit . . . me, too.”
He crushed her against him, his hips grinding against hers as he emptied his seed deep inside her.
“Layla.” He gripped the sides of her head and rubbed his cheek against hers. “Layla.”
Closing her stinging eyes, she held on as tightly as she could.
Chapter 5
Showered, dressed, and standing over the bed, Brian woke Layla with a gentle tug on her ear with his teeth.
“Put it away, stallion,” she muttered, clutching tighter at the pillow in her arms.
He laughed, his love for her a purring beast in his chest. “I’ve got a hot bath waiting for you. I’m going to grab something to go from the diner, make a couple calls, then gas up the truck. I should be back in about thirty minutes, then we’ve got to hit the road.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven thirty.”
“Oh, man . . .”
He smacked her ass through the sheets. She’d never been a morning person. On nights like the one behind them, she usually didn’t roll out of bed until after noon. “You can sleep in the car.”
“How can you be awake right now?” she groused. “I’m dead.”
“Sex with you is invigorating. You keep me going.”
“Don’t remind me.”
For all her complaints, when he pulled the sheet back and trailed his lips along the curve of her back, she moaned with pleasure and arched into the contact. The bruises on her elbows were darker than they’d been the day before, reminding him of how fragile she was.
“Be a good girl,” he whispered against her skin, “and I’ll reward you later.”
One bloodshot eye opened and glared at him. “You owe me.”
“I’ll pay. Gladly.” Brian straightened and backed away from the temptation her sleep-soft naked body presented. He’d fucked her for hours, finally managing to pull away from her when sunlight peeked around the edges of the blackout drapes. But he still had so many nights to make up for. He’d had little appetite for sex since she left him and it felt as if every hunger that had been dammed up behind his heartache was breaking loose. “Don’t forget to pack the lube.”
She held up a hand, revealing the bottle clutched in her fist.
The smile on his face fled the moment he left the room. Before he walked away, he made certain the latch was firmly engaged. The morning was cool and gray, with a slight nip in the air. With a baseball cap pulled down low over his forehead, he kept a careful surveillance of his surroundings. He took a weed-riddled path through a copse of trees to the strip mall up the road, where he’d parked the Bronco. There, he bought a newspaper from a coin-operated stand in front of a grocery store and looked for any signs that the vehicle had been staked out. Digging one of the disposable cell phones out of his pocket, he called Jim.
“Hey,” the deputy answered. “You all right?”
“So far. How are things on your end?”
“They’re not looking at me for anything, so you’re still clean with the car. But you’re the lead person of interest, of course. Your mug has been sent to every law enforcement agency across the country. The heat is on, my man.”
“I can take it.” He’d expected it. He had survived the blast and taken off with the witness. To call that suspicious would be an understatement. “Thanks, Jim.”
“Take care. I won’t breathe easy until you get to San Diego.”
“You and me both.”
Brian ended the call and dismantled the phone. Then he pulled out another one and called the assistant U.S. attorney in San Diego to assure her that Layla Creed would appear on the witness stand as scheduled. He made the call short and to the point, despite the groggy AUSA’s valiant efforts to get more details out of him. He took that phone apart, too, and as he passed a parked pickup truck, he tossed the pieces in the bed. Then he drove the Bronco to a gas station and back to the motel, where he grabbed some foil-wrapped breakfast burritos and coffee from the adjacent diner.
When he returned to the room, he found Layla packed up, bathed and dressed, and falling asleep at the small table under the window. He loaded the suitcases into the truck, then came back for her.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yep.” She pushed to her feet, slapped a hat on her head, and set her hand in his. She’d pulled her dark hair back into a ponytail, showing off the slender neck he loved to run his lips over. She wore jeans and a T-shirt with body armor over the shirt, and his flannel from the day before over that. Call him a caveman, but he loved the idea of her wearing his scent. Loved that she’d always wanted to and still did.
He’d backed into the parking spot in front of the motel room and left the passenger door open. Keeping Layla between the vehicle and himself, he escorted her to the car, then rounded the back end of the Bronco and climbed behind the wheel. He headed straight for the highway.
“Thanks for this,” she said, referring to the unzipped sleeping bag he’d set on the floorboard. She dragged it up to her neck and snuggled into it.
“Recline the seat. Take a nap. If you’re hungry, there are egg, bacon, and salsa burritos in the bag. Coffee with way too much cream and sugar—just the way you like it—is right here.”
Instead of looking at the cup he pointed to, Layla kept on looking at him. “Are you okay?”
He took a sip of his overly hot black coffee. “After last night? I’m better than okay. I haven’t felt this good in years.”
“Liar.” Her exhale was audible. “What is this going to do to your career, Bri? How much trouble are you going to get into for this?”
“I’m not worried about it.” Not absolutely true, but mostly so. He’d invested a lot in his job. Shit, he had lost her over it. But that old argument between them had been about his life being on the line. Now, they were talking about hers. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t sacrifice to keep her safe.
“I am.”
“Don’t be.” He glanced at her. “The only thing you need to be concerned with is following my directions.”
She nodded, but still looked troubled. He wasn’t worried about her making his job harder. She knew the drill and she was an intelligent woman. She might give him a hard time
about everything else, but when it came to his job and her safety, she’d do what needed to be done.
Silence followed, but when he looked at her, she was still watching him.
“Tell me about your dream last night,” he said.
She shook her head. “It was morbid.”
“I don’t care. It might do you good to talk it out.”
“I doubt it.” Her lashes lowered over her eyes. “Just remember you asked for it.”
With a sigh, she began. “You died in the car bombing. Everyone died except for me, and I was screaming at your corpse, telling you I’d known it would happen. That I knew you’d leave me behind. I was so mad that out of all people to be the sole survivor, it had to be me.”
“Jesus,” he breathed, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.
“I’m sure I had that dream because I was so damn happy to see you yesterday. I stepped out of the safe house and saw you and . . .” Her eyes fully closed on a harsh exhale. “I was too happy. You were running toward me and I thought it was for a different reason at first. Then, everything blew up and you hit the ground face-first at my feet. And I couldn’t cry about it, because I was too pissed off at you.”
Brian rolled his shoulders back, remembering the wounded animal noise she’d made while asleep.
“As you can see, I have issues,” she muttered, snuggling deeper into the sleeping bag.
Layla may have been ticked off at him in her dream, but the way she’d externalized her emotions wasn’t with anger. She had reached for him and held on as if she would never let go. Then she’d seduced him. Shredded him. Stripped him down to nothing but his need for her.
“It’s okay to be pissed off at me, baby,” he said. “I’m pissed off at myself. I shouldn’t have let you walk away.”
“It was for the best. We were both strong enough to break it off when we needed to.”
“Stubbornness isn’t strength. It’s fucking stupid. Living miserably without each other is stupid.”
“Have you been miserable, Bri?” She was looking at him again; he could feel it. “You asked me if I had anyone in my life, but you never said if you did.”
Glancing at her, he said, “You know better than to ask me that.”
“Because it’ll just make me jealous? I’ll get over it.” Her face gave nothing away. That was new for her. She’d once been so expressive, so open. But she’d been innocent then and life had dealt her some painful blows.
“There’s nothing to get over.”
“Still lovin’ and leavin’ ’em?”
He caught her gaze and held it. “No.”
Her lush mouth twisted wryly. “Sorry. Fuckin’ and leavin’ ’em?”
“No, damn it.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me. But don’t expect to interrogate me. It goes both ways, Bri.”
“Really?” he said grimly, his muscles hard with building anger and barely tempered jealousy. “Did you save your body for me, baby? Did you think of me at night and get yourself off? Were your fingers—maybe some toys—the only things to fuck that sweet, hot cunt of yours, because damned if you’d let another man touch what’s mine?”
“Ha!” She straightened. “As if you spent the last five years jacking off to memories of me. Jacob told me all about you, Bri. Tried to warn me off of crushing on you with stories of your many, many conquests. You can’t keep it in your pants.”
“Did those stories make you hot?” he purred, pissed off that she didn’t give him the credit he damn well deserved. “You sure asked about them often enough.”
“Fuck you.”
“Only you.”
Layla shut up, her open mouth snapping closed. She glared at him.
“Say you don’t believe me,” he coaxed darkly, reaching between his legs to rub his palm over his cock.
“You’re a crazy-assed motherfucker if you’re serious.” Her voice was clipped and hard. “You sure found it easy enough to let my golden pussy get away.”
“Letting you go was a lot of things, but easy sure as hell wasn’t one of them.”
“At what point did you realize you’d made a mistake?”
He breathed in and out carefully, trying to rein in his temper. “The instant before you walked out the door. I knew I couldn’t live without you.”
“But you did. For two years before that trip to Mexico screwed up my life.” She sat up and reached for her coffee.
“We hooked up before you had a chance to grow up. I felt like I’d pulled you straight out of high school into a marriage-like situation and you hadn’t had the opportunity to get your bearings or really figure out what you wanted.”
“Always trying to make all the decisions for me, because I’m just a kid.”
“What the fuck? I tore my heart out giving you the opportunity to make all the decisions you wanted.”
“And who made the decision that I needed those opportunities?” Putting the coffee down, she dug into the bag for a burrito and dropped it into his lap, then grabbed one for herself.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I decided you are. Eat.”
Brian cursed under his breath.
“I knew what I wanted, Bri—you. I knew there wasn’t another man in the world for me. I didn’t want to check out the scenery or waste time that could be spent with you.”
“Then why did you leave?” Keeping one hand on the wheel, he used his teeth to rip the foil wrapping off the burrito.
“You know why.”
“And you knew what I did for a living when we started.”
“You lied to me when you joined the Marshals Service.”
“Bullshit.”
“You never said anything about volunteering for the Shadow Stalkers!” She tore a chunk out of the burrito with violent gusto.
“I was qualified.”
She chewed angrily, then washed down her food with a large swallow of coffee. “You were also qualified as a security expert.”
He put the burrito down. Starting his own firm had been a dream he’d shared with Jacob. After his best friend died, Brian felt as if the dream had died, too. He couldn’t imagine going forward with the endeavor without Jacob on board. “Things changed.”
“You didn’t. You’re an adrenaline junkie with a hero complex.”
“And a big dick,” he lashed out, stung. “Don’t forget that.”
Her gaze bore into him. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Your pussy doesn’t seem to mind.”
She flipped him off and resumed eating, canting her body toward the window.
He’d wanted to at least have a dialogue about his work with the Marshals Service Special Operations Group before she tossed out her ultimatum, but she’d said the discussion should have been held before he volunteered for SOG and she wasn’t staying with a guy who had a death wish.
“What about your painful truths, Layla? Your fear of abandonment kept you from trusting me. You were always laying out ultimatums, with the proof of whether or not I loved you hanging in the balance. You were always waiting for some excuse to say I wasn’t going to stick around after all.”
“And you gave it to me, didn’t you?”
“Look for something hard enough, you find it, whether it’s really there or not.”
Shrugging, she said, “People have baggage. When you love someone, you deal with it.”
“I was dealing with yours. You’re the one who couldn’t deal with mine.”
“You know what?” Layla pivoted on the seat to face him. “I don’t know why we’re talking about this. It really boils down to the fact that our personal issues conflict. What you require to be happy is exactly what makes me unhappy and vice versa.”
“And the fact that I need you and you need me?” he challenged. “What about that?”
“What about it? In forty-eight hours or so, I’m going to disappear and you’re going to face whatever the hell you’re going to face for going rogue with a witness.” With a sigh, she faced forward
again. “We’ve been trumped by fate, Bri. Consider it a blessing. God knows we’re too stupid to stay away from something that’ll never work.”
Maybe, he thought savagely. But stupid or not, he wasn’t giving her up again without a fight.
Chapter 6
They holed up for the night in Joplin, Missouri. The motel Brian chose was cheap and in need of serious updating, but Layla was so relieved to get off her ass that she didn’t care. She stumbled into the room and collapsed on the bed face-first, pointing her toes to stretch out her legs.
She heard Brian bring the suitcases in and sighed with gratitude, eager to take a hot shower.
“What do you want for dinner?” he asked, his hand wrapping around her ankle and squeezing.
“A salad with grilled chicken or fish. Nothing fried. I can’t keep eating crap while sitting on my butt all day. I’m starting to feel icky.”
“Good call. I’ll be back in a bit. You know the drill.”
“Yes. Don’t answer a knock at the door, even if it’s you.”
He closed the drapes before leaving the room and Layla crawled off the bed. She repeated her preparations from the night before, wondering as she pulled out another disposable razor if Brian was thinking at all about the box of condoms they’d left in the trash in the other motel.
Condoms were something they’d never used. She’d always been on the pill and they’d both been too addicted to the feeling of total connection to put a barrier between them, not to mention how spontaneous they were. He probably thought she was still on birth control.
She wasn’t. What was the point when she wasn’t having sex?
Remembering his assertion that he’d been celibate since they broke up, Layla felt a surge of guilt. She’d taken lovers after they’d broken up. Enough to prove what she had always suspected—no other man would ever make her feel like Brian did. She’d found men who were similarly attractive, men who had dark and ravenous appetites, men with experience and the patience to make sure she had a good time. But sex was just sex without love, no matter how good it was. She’d never gotten over the feeling that she was in bed with the wrong guy.