He shrugs as he pulls the curtain shut. “Since I came to Glensdale about two to three weeks ago.” He looks around as if searching for something then hurries past me and over to the nightstand. I stand near the door, waiting for him to explain to me why he’s been around for that long and not made it aware to me until now, but all he does is start digging around in the drawer. It goes on forever, too long. Whatever he’s looking for, he’s clearly not going to find it.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me something—anything—that would explain what the hell’s going on.” I set his weapons down on the bed and make my way across the room toward him. “Layton, you have to give me something.” When he still doesn’t respond, I put a hand on his shoulder. His whole entire body jolts, surprising me. I’m not sure what’s going on or handle this. “Layton, I don’t—” My lips are silenced as he spins around and smashes his lips to mine with so much force I’m sure they’re going to bruise.
My initial reaction is to jerk back. No kissing, no lip-to-lip contact, but then I remember how much I wished I would have kissed him properly when I thought he died. And I don’t ever want that to happen again—regret something like that.
So I let him kiss me, our lips connecting, my pulse throbbing to kiss him back in a way I never have. There’s so much passion and desperation behind the kiss that something snaps inside me. Maybe it’s that he’s alive and not dead. Maybe I’m giving into my own emotions, but I kiss him back, grabbing onto him, willing opening my mouth as his tongue fights to get it.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since the last night I saw you… been dreaming about it for two years,” he whispers against my lips then the metal of his tongue ring grazes against my teeth as he kisses me deeply, fiercely, like he’s trying to steal my oxygen away. His hands tangle through my hair, drift down my back, feeling me and pushing me closer. I moan, bit his lip, slip my hands up the back of my shirt and drag my nails against his flesh, completely untamed. And I feel every part of it. Every single damn emotion pours through my body, one’s I’ve been suppressing for over a year. Passion. Anguish. Guilt. Pain. Sadness. Anger. Anger. Anger. For making me think he was dead. Before I even know what I’m doing, I pull away from him and slap my hand across his face.
“Oh my God.” I throw my hand over my mouth, my body uncontrollably trembling. “I don’t even know why I did that… I was just so… so upset over thinking you were dead.”
He places his hand over his cheek, eyes locked on me. “It’s okay.” He no you winces as his finger brush against his skin. “I deserved that. And I should have known what to expect. You are my feisty Lolita.” His lips quirk.
I want to smile back, but I feel so terrible still. “No you didn’t.” I lower my hand from my mouth and step toward him. Lifting his hand from his cheek, I look at the damage I’ve done. A bright red handprint marks his cheek. “I’m so sorry… I just… I was feeling too much… It’s been a long time.”
His gaze bores into me and I’m afraid to make eye contact with him. “I know it has.” His finger caresses my cheek. “God, I’ve missed you,” he breathes.
I don’t even know what to do with what’s going on inside me. Even before everything happened, I still wasn’t the best with my emotions. And after two years in solitude from them, it’s overwhelming to the point where I’m finding something as simple as breathing complicated.
“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 nipples 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.