“Layton,” I say almost breathlessly. “I really need to know what’s going on.” I finally look at him and the intensity in his eyes almost makes me buckle. “Before we do this…” Have sex, because I know we’re going to. “I need you to tell me what’s going on.” But despite my words, I start to lean again, as if magnetized by him. Sex has always calmed me and being calm seems like such a good idea right now, better than anything else—being with him seems better than anything else.
He takes a deep breath his lips parting, but he’s cut off as I start kissing him again. I’ve never instigated a kiss before and this one’s pact with heat and need and I have no clue what else. A lot of things I’ve never felt before.
It starts off slow at first, our tongues tangling together. But the slow quickly heats up and suddenly I’m yanking his shirt off and he’s tearing off mine, along with my bra. His hand grips my breast while the other grabs at my waist. Every time his finger grazes my nipple, I groan,
“Harder,” I hear myself say, but it doesn’t even sound like me. I’m so used to my voice sounding empty, but my tone is radiating emotion.
I feel Layton briefly smile against my lips then he pinches my nipple harder, just like I asked. God, it’s been so long since I felt this, so long since I wasn’t just going through the motions, completely detached.
Suddenly thoughts of what I done start to creep up into my mind, how many men I’ve been with, the things I’ve done, and again I feel a flicker of shame. But I do what I’m good at and shove it down as I fumble with the button of his jeans, our lips still fastened, bodies welded together. We start to back toward the bed, stumbling over each other’s feet. Right as we reach the edge of the bed, he flips us around, so I fall on my back onto the mattress. Seconds later, he’s pulling off my jeans and panties. As I sit up and reach for him, to bring him back to me, he takes me off guard, his head dipping between my legs. I feel the flick of his tongue ring first… Good God that tongue ring. It’s driving me made. Everything he’s doing is driving me made. The way his tongue is driving me toward the edge, the way his fingers grip at my thighs, the way his nearness is making my heart slam against my chest, the way my body is responding to him, writhing, moving against it’s own freewill, but in the best way possible.
I need more.
I need him inside me.
Now.
“Layton… please…” I pant as I reach down for him.
His tongue ring flicks my flesh again before he moves away from me, slips off his jeans, and puts a condom on. Then his body is covering mine and he’s kissing me again. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he thrusts his hips and sinks deep inside me.
That’s when I feel it.
A flicker of panic.
The intimacy of the moment I’ve shared with so many men. It was always one-sided but still… God, I never thought I’d feel so guilty over this.
I force myself to be stronger though and focus on Layton. The way he moves inside me, the way our bodies meet, the feel of his tongue, hands, the way our chests brush together, the way my ni**les harden. I haven’t had an orgasm in forever but I can feel myself getting there fast, falling into blindness, my fingernails clawing into the flesh of his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something, afraid to fall all the way.
And then I’m gone. Lost inside everything that is Layton and for the briefest, most wonderful moment, I’m free. But then I return back to reality and it all hits me at once. Before I can stop myself, I start to cry.
Chapter 10
Lola
I haven’t cried in forever and I’m not sure how to turn it off. “I’m sorry,” I say to Layton as he slides out of me with a worried look on his face. “I don’t even know what the hell’s wrong with me.”
He looks like he understands, though, and without any hesitation, he wraps his arms around me and holds me against his chest. It takes a while for the tears to stop, but finally they do. Without asking any questions, Layton lets me go and then helps me get dressed, well at least as much as I’ll let him. Then he slips his jeans and shit back on and sits down on the bed beside me.
“You want to talk about it?” He asks, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.
I shake my head, wiping the last of my tears from my cheeks and eyes. “No, I want to talk about why you’re here… have been here for a couple of weeks without telling me. And why you found it necessary to fake your own death.” I’m using him as a distraction from my own feelings.
His lips part to speak but snap shut when we hear a soft knock on the door. I quickly move for one of the guns on the opposite side of the bed while Layton grabs a gun from the nightstand and rushes over to the window.
“Stay down,” he instructs as he pulls back the curtain and peeks out.
I linger near the bed with the gun aimed out in front of me. “Is it them? Is it Frankie’s men?”
It takes him a second to say anything and when he does speak it’s to himself. “Dammit, I thought I had more time until she showed up. Fuck.” Shaking his head, he turns to me, and the expression on his face startles me—packed with remorse. “Lola, I’m so sorry.”
“You’re always saying that.” Nervousness bubbles inside me at what the hell could possibly be on the other side of the door. “So what are you sorry for this time?”
“For what’s about to happen.” With heavy reluctance, he goes over to the door and opens it up. I’m not sure what to expect on the other side. Part of me believes that it’s going to be Frankie’s men, that Layton has betrayed me, that I just had sex with someone who’s going to help kill mer. But quiet honestly I don’t know what to think about what I actually see.
A woman about the same height as me with the same color of hair and eyes, similar lips and facial features, dressed in leather pants, boots, and a jacket. The woman in leather?
She looks like some sort of badass ninja assassin from the movies, a gun on each side of her belt, and boots that hug her legs and go to her thighs. Her dark hair is pulled into a tight ponytail She stares darkly at me as she strolls into the room, glancing around at the back area and then the bed, appearing completely unbothered by the gun in my hand. “You weren’t supposed to be seen, Layton. Tell me that through all that shit none of Frankie’s men saw you... They need to still think your dead otherwise we’re both f**ked.”