Because of You

by T. E. Sivec

  Shame washes through me when he brings up what I did this morning. Shame for letting myself get so worked up over his words and letting my emotions take over.

  “Wipe that look off your face right now,” Finn reprimands as he unfolds his arms and leans towards me. “I said some things I shouldn’t have, and you put me in my place. I deserved it. End of story. Do you want to always be the woman who does what she’s told or the woman who does what she loves and to hell with everything else? Because now is your chance to make that decision. Who do you want to be, Layla?”

  My heart is pounding and the hands wrapped around the neck of my guitar are sweating as I contemplate his words. I know who I want to be. I’ve always known who I want to be. Could it really be as simple as making a decision and jumping off of the ledge into the unknown?

  I turn away from Finn and scan the crowd. They are all laughing and having a good time, slinging back drinks with friends, and listening to the music piped through the sound system. They have no idea that a monumental decision is being made up here on this stage.

  “Who do you want to be, Layla?”

  I want to be free. For one moment in time, I just want to be free.

  I clear my throat, my decision made, and perch on the edge of my stool with my guitar resting in my lap, one foot hooked on the top rung of the stool to balance my guitar and the other one planted on the ground. I hum a few warm-up bars softly to myself while I hear Finn tinkering with the strings of the extra guitar, making sure it’s in tune. I see June walk out from behind the bar and over to the jukebox, unplugging the machine and giving me a huge smile and a thumbs up. She glances at the guitar in my hand questioningly, silently asking me if I’m okay, and I nod confidently in her direction. I’m okay. This is okay. I can do this.

  In a normal bar when you turn off the music, people will boo and complain and shout profanities. But in June’s bar, everyone just goes with the flow. They continue downing their shots of Jack and sipping their drafts of beer, and once in a while, they glance around to see why the music isn’t playing. They don’t care if a stranger is up on stage, and they don’t bat an eye when the music starts back up again, switching from recorded music to live music. They have no idea the woman standing on the stage in front of them is petrified. They are unaware that for the first time in years, she will be playing an instrument given to her by her father and she's putting her heart and soul right smack in the middle of the stage for all to see and judge.

  It’s absolutely perfect.

  I take a deep breath and a grin of excitement takes over my face as I wrap my arms around my guitar and pluck a few random chords to get my fingers warmed up. Finn chooses the first song, just like he always does when we’re here, and I smile to myself as he strums the first few notes to Janis Joplin’s Piece of my Heart and starts us off. This is our song―the first one we ever performed together at June’s bar and the first time I ever found out Finn could play the guitar. He is amazingly talented and I never understood why he settled for the military instead of pursuing a career in music. The many times I’ve asked him about it, he just grunts and replies that I'm the star, not him, and that’s the way it should be.

  I close my eyes and let the beauty of Finn’s playing wash over me. With my eyes still closed, I forget about the fact that I haven’t played on stage since my father was alive; I forget about the fact that I’ve kept this part of myself locked behind closed doors for so long that I almost lost it. I've almost allowed the one part of myself that I actually love to be snuffed out like a candle.

  I gently rest my fingers on the strings and familiarize myself with the rough texture of the wire and how natural it feels to have it brushing against the tips of my fingers. I listen to Finn’s playing with my head cocked to the side, waiting for the perfect moment to jump in with him, like a child standing on the playground as her friends swing the Double Dutch jump ropes. Almost, almost, one more time around, there it is: the perfect opening.

  I take a deep breath and join in with Finn’s strumming, flawlessly. The vibrations from the guitar work their way up my hands and arms until I can practically feel them wrapping around my heart and shocking it back to life like a defibrillator. Easing into the first line of the song while I play, I use my real, raspy voice instead of the bubble gum pop voice I usually use.

  We make our way through the song effortlessly, and I put everything I have into belting out the song and strumming the guitar, letting the words and the music flow through me and take me away. As Finn closes out the song with the last few guitar notes, he barely takes a pause before jumping right in to the next song. By the time we finish a half hour later, I’ve played and sung covers from Brandi Carlile and Sheryl Crow, to Johnny Cash and Nine Inch Nails. I finally let my eyes scan the crowd after singing the last note of Something in the Way by Nirvana and a huge smile takes over my face as I see the patrons in the bar standing on their feet, hooting, hollering, and whistling for me.

  For ME. Not Layla Carlysle the pop singer. Layla Carlysle who sings whatever the hell she wants and enjoys every minute of it.

  I tip my head forward in thanks but when I look back up, my heart skips a beat, and I feel my face flush with nerves. Standing right in front of me, with a look of awe on his face, clapping and whistling louder than everyone else, is Brady.

  I stand there like an idiot, clutching the microphone tightly with one hand and my guitar with the other, while he shakes his head at me in surprise. I come here to sing when I’m home because I can be anonymous. Having Brady here watching me enjoy what I do without having to put on an act sets a swarm of butterflies loose in my stomach, and I have to let go of the microphone and press my hand against it to calm my nerves. It suddenly means more than anything to me that he likes what I just did. I realize I want to impress him. I want him to think of me as something other than a pop princess who sings shitty songs that a teenager can write in her sleep. I want him to see that I have talent, even if I rarely exhibit it.

  As the crowd continues to shout and demand for more, my eyes don’t leave Brady’s as he walks the few feet needed to bring him right up to the platform I’m standing on. He’s so damn tall that it’s strange to be standing above him looking down. It makes me feel powerful all of a sudden, and all I can think about is being above him somewhere else, preferably a bed, where I can be in charge, taking him inside me, and riding us both to the edge.

  He crooks his finger at me, and I lean forward until his lips are brushing up against my ear.

  “You up on this stage singing your heart out with a voice dripping with sex is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Did you seriously just rock out a Nirvana song? And play a God damned guitar better than Jimi Hendrix?”

  I pull away from him just enough so I can look at his face and give him the most seductive smile I can muster, running my tongue slowly across my top lip before biting down on the bottom one. He lets out a heavy breath as his eyes zero in on my lips. I don’t know what’s got into me tonight, but I feel a boldness flowing through me that isn’t usually there when I’m not pretending to be The Layla Carlysle. I want to jump down off of the stage, drag him to the back room, and rip his shirt off of his body. I want to push him against the wall, drop down on my knees, and take him in my mouth. I want to do everything to this man, and I don’t care about the consequences.

  “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to haul you off of this stage and bury myself inside of you before we even get outside,” Brady groans softly, reading my mind as he finally tears his eyes away from my mouth.

  Without answering him, I stand up and lean the guitar against my stool. I turn around and give Finn a nod of thanks for playing for me, for bringing my guitar, for knowing me better than anyone else, and for pushing me to finally take a stand. He smiles softly at me, and it makes me happy to know that no matter what happens between us, he will always have my back.

  Turning back around, I jump down off of the stage, grab Brady’s hand,
pull him through the bar and out the front door, and wave goodbye to June as I go.

  I guide us across the parking lot to Brady’s dark blue Ford F150 extended cab and let go of his hand to walk around to the passenger side and climb inside.

  Brady gets in behind the wheel and looks over at me with a confused raise of his eyebrows.

  “Did I offend you in there or something? Because―”

  Leaning across the seat and hooking my hand behind his head, I pull him towards me and crash my mouth against his, cutting off his words and letting my tongue say everything that needs to be said.

  Without moving my mouth away from his, I deepen the kiss and slide one knee underneath me on the seat, pushing myself up, and swing my other leg over his lap until I’m straddling him.

  He recovers quickly from the shock of me taking over like this and wraps both of his arms completely around me, pulling my body tightly against him.

  Both of my hands go to the back of his head, and I clutch handfuls of his hair in my fists as I sink my body down lower on his lap, thankful that I decided to wear a fun, short, flowing black skirt tonight.

  As soon as Brady spoke against my ear in the bar, I felt myself getting wet with need. He groans into my mouth as I slide the wet satin of my underwear against his denim covered erection. The smoothness of my underwear combined with the roughness of his jeans creates the most amazing friction that causes a shiver to run through my body.

  With his arms still wrapped securely around me, he slides one hand inside the back of my skirt until he’s palming my bare ass, pushing and pulling me back and forth over him. His other hand moves up my back until his fingers slide under my hair, wrapping it securely around the back of my neck. I angle my head and push my tongue deeper into his mouth, rocking my hips and grinding myself harder against him.

  I’ve never been the outrageous type of person that just screws someone in a car in a dark parking lot. My handful of sexual encounters have all been in a bed, soft and slow, and lacking something I never knew was missing until right this minute: all consuming passion. There is a fire burning through my body, and I need this right now; I need him and only him.

  I bring my hand down from the back of Brady’s head and wedge it between us, lifting my hips up just enough so I can jerk open the button of his pants and quickly slide his zipper down.

  Brady pulls his mouth away from mine and breathes heavily against my lips as I reach inside his pants and pull his erection free, pressing it against my soaked panties and thrusting my hips, moving against him a few more times until he groans.

  “We need to stop before I lose my mind and can’t stop.” His voice is shaky, and I let go of him long enough to shove my panties to the side and bring his cock right back where it was, this time having no barrier between my wet skin and his hard length.

  “Son of a bitch.” He hisses as I move my hips faster and coat him with my arousal.

  “We’re not stopping,” I whisper against his lips as I gently bite down on the bottom one and tug it into my mouth.

  Without giving him a chance to protest, my hand slides down to the base of his cock and I angle him towards me. I lift my hips, line the tip up with my entrance, and push myself down roughly until I’m seated fully on top of him and he’s deep inside me.

  “Fuck!”

  Brady lets out a guttural shout as I hold myself still, letting my body get used to having him inside of me so quickly. He’s big and he’s full, and I’ve never felt anything so amazing in my life. There’s a tingle shooting through my core, begging for me to do something to ease the ache, so I pull myself up the length of him and quickly push back down, both of us groaning in unison.

  Brady squeezes his eyes shut tightly and lets his head fall back to the headrest as I begin quickly moving up and down on him, riding his cock, and loving every minute of what I’m doing to him. I never knew I could be this assertive or in control, and it’s a heady feeling— one I never want to end. I want to give him pleasure just as much as I want to achieve it.

  He lets go of the back of my neck, and his hand joins the first one, clutching tightly to my ass and guiding my movements, pushing me down harder on him and sliding me up faster until we’re both panting and moaning. I smack my hands down on the back of the seat on either side of Brady’s head and use them to hold on tightly and ride him harder.

  We’ve long forgotten about kissing at this point. I’m fucking him too hard and too fast for our lips to stay in contact for more than a second, but Brady makes sure to quickly touch my lips to his every single one of those seconds. Staring at his face and watching how tightly he clenches his jaw to keep himself in control is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Unable to help myself, I lean forward to suck and lick the side of his neck, letting my teeth graze his skin. He hums and moans his approval, and I can feel the vibrations against my lips as I move faster and harder, up and down on top of him.

  My orgasm is building quickly; I can feel it pulsing just within my grasp, and it makes me take him in deeper, hold him in place, and grind my hips roughly against that perfect pubic bone of his that hits just the right spot.

  My lips continue kissing and sucking at his neck until he speaks softly to me.

  “Let me see your face. I want to watch you when you come.”

  I immediately pull my head back and stare down into his eyes. I force myself to keep my eyes locked on his even though I want to roll them in the back of my head as I push, thrust, and swivel my hips. He's buried inside of me to the hilt, his hands squeezing and kneading my ass as I move.

  “That’s it, baby.” His voice is breathy and soft as he moves one of his hands off of my ass and brings it between us. His thumb finds my clit, and he immediately slides it back and forth over top of it. “Let me feel you come.”

  His quiet, whispered words and his thumb moving in small, frantic circles makes me tumble quickly over the edge, my orgasm rushing through me so strongly it forces my toes to curl and keeps my body frozen on top of him, only my hips jerking slightly against his hand as I come.

  I don’t even know if I’m making a sound or if the shouts and exclamations are all in my head because my ears are ringing, and I can’t think of anything but the way my body squeezes and pulses around Brady. He grabs onto my hips tightly with both of his hands and slams me up and down on top of him three more times until he thrusts his hips up and holds himself suspended inside of me while he curses through his own release.

  “Fuck, Layla! Oh fuck!”

  He pulls out and pushes back in roughly one last time before his ass slumps back down on the seat and I collapse on top of him, burying my face into the crook of his neck.

  We remain like that for several long minutes, both of us breathing heavy, not saying a word. He’s still inside of me, and I can feel myself pulsing around him. It just makes me want him even more.

  The ringing of Brady’s cell phone cuts through the euphoria, and I push myself up from his chest and off of his lap, wincing as he slides out of me. Brady zips up his pants before lifting up his hips and pulls his cell phone out of his back pocket, wrapping his other arm around my shoulders and pulling me against his side.

  His kisses the top of my head before he answers, and I have to smile to myself at the sweet gesture.

  “Um, yes. She’s right here. Would you like to speak to her?”

  I tilt my head back to look up at Brady’s face and he mouths, “Your mother.”

  I roll my eyes and sigh, holding my hand out for the phone. He gives it to me and I bring it to my ear, regretting that decision as soon as I do it.

  I roll onto my side and check the clock on the nightstand, realizing it’s only one in the morning. I’ve been lying in the king size bed in Layla’s spare bedroom, staring up at the vaulted ceiling for what feels like days, but it’s only been about a half hour.

  I flop onto my back with a groan, scrubbing my face with my hands.

  Normally during a case, I would be restless from thoughts
about the job and what I could be doing better, who I need to talk to the next day, and follow-ups that need completed.

  Not this time. This time, my thoughts are occupied with a blonde-haired, blue-eyed enigma of a woman. Every time I drive my truck from now on, I’m going to picture her sitting on my lap, taking me inside of her. I’m going to remember the way she felt wrapped around my cock and the noises she made when she was close to coming.

  I don’t know what the hell got into her tonight and I don’t care. I just know that I want to do whatever I can to make that Layla—the confident, sexy, take-charge one—come out to play every single day. Watching her own that stage and the smile that lights up her face makes my dick swell and my chest ache. She doesn’t look anything like that when she does a concert. I haven’t known her very long, but I’ve become very well acquainted with the two different Laylas. One only acts confident and happy. The other actually is.

  When I first walked into that bar, I had no idea what to expect. I assumed June invited me there to keep an eye on Layla while she drank away her troubles. Fuck, was I wrong. I walked through the door just as she sat down on the stool behind the microphone. I stayed to the back and kept to the shadows so she wouldn’t see me. I have no idea why I did that. I could have just walked right up to her and asked her what she was doing, but something told me to hang back and watch what unfolded. It looked like she was having words with Finn at first—angry words. I cheered a little inside because she was giving him hell again after the shit he pulled with her that morning. I saw her grab the guitar from his hands and turn around to face to the audience, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, and it killed me to not know what was going on in that head of hers. As soon as she began playing the guitar and the first couple of words left her mouth, I sagged against the back wall with my eyes bugging out of my fucking head and my mouth gaping open and shut like a fish out of water. I remained that way for the entire thirty minutes that she sang.