by Jo Raven
***
“You kids done playing yet?” Storm’s voice booms alarmingly close to my ear, and I snap upright.
And find myself sinking into tepid water.
Fuck.
“Don’t drown in the tub, buddy,” Storm calls out, the bastard, and then a slighter body collides with mine.
Layla wraps her arms around me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I grumble, though her slick body against mine feels incredible.
“You fell asleep. Didn’t want to wake you, but the water is getting cold.”
“You didn’t wake me, that idiot did.” I send Storm a pointed glare.
“So you don’t need any help climbing out of that tub, do you?”
Asshole is having way too much fun with this.
And I can’t deny I do need help, because my muscles are like jelly, and I’m not even sure I can stand up from the water.
“How about this? I help you out, take you to the bedroom, and leave Layla to get out with some privacy and join you later?”
“Damn right you’ll give her privacy, motherfucker.” I’m strangely protective of her.
Strangely jealous of the idea of Storm seeing her naked. The thought makes me wanna punch him in the face.
“So come on then.” Storm beckons, and although it pains me, I let go of her and hold on to the rim as I make my slow way to the steps. Moving in the water is okay, but the moment I emerge from the water it’s as if my limbs have turned to lead.
Storm sometimes has the right idea in his immature, stupid head, I think as he bends over to help me out and then lets me lean on him and hobble my slow way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of water on the floor.
“Feeling human again?” he asks, seating me on the bed and reaching for a folded towel someone’s left there. “You look more human. Less like a werewolf that went through a fucking sewer.”
“Always with the fucking compliments,” I snarl and flop back on the bed, too tired to move another muscle.
“I do what I can. Get under the covers.”
“Can’t.”
“Move your goddamn lily-white ass, Hawk.”
Groaning, I roll over until I can get under the covers. “Happy now, Mom?”
“Fuck you. The things I do for you, douchebag.” He shakes his head at me and glances at the bathroom door. “Gonna leave you to catch some Zs now. You and your girl rest, and don’t worry about a thing, okay?”
Okay, I think, already asleep.
***
I wake up a couple of times to find a warm, soft body curled against my side. Warm and silky and naked, a cloud of pale hair tickling my nose, smelling of vanilla soap.
Layla.
It makes me smile, and I find myself rearranging her body to fit better against me. Until her back is pressed to my chest and her ass to my excited dick.
She shifts in her sleep, and I slip my hand over her hip, up her belly to cup one heavy breast.
Mine, I think, rubbing my hard-on against the softness of her ass, the barbells in the head dragging on her skin, making me shiver. All mine.
This must be what heaven feels like. Waking up in a soft bed with the prettiest girl in the world naked in your arms.
Never woke up with a girl before in my bed. Never went to sleep with one, either. We never did this shit together, only fucking for a few hours and going our separate ways. Too bad I can’t remember her crawling under the covers.
Next time. Next time I’ll be awake to witness it and take her before we fall asleep.
My girl.
I find her nipple and circle it with my fingertip, wondering if she’s murmuring something, or moaning softly. I resist the urge to turn her around, to see her face, to hear it.
I can read her body just fine. Like how her breath hitches under my hand, her breast rising and falling suddenly, when I pinch her nipple between my fingers, a light pinch, followed by a soothing caress.
Like how her ass rubs against my cock as she unconsciously seeks me out.
I’m here, babe. All here.
Bracing myself on my elbow to see what I’m doing in the faint light seeping through white shutters, I roll her nipple, squeeze her tit.
Wait to see what she’ll do.
She puts her hand over mine and presses back into me, until my cock slides up the crease of her ass, the barbells sending jolts of pleasure into my balls.
She turns her head toward me. “Fuck me?” she mouths, and I groan.
“You’re a goddamn mind reader.” I rock against her ass. “The most beautiful mind-reader I’ve ever met.”
“Met many, have you?”
“Okay, so you’re the first. Still the most beautiful, though.”
“Good.” I squeeze her tit again, and she moans. “I want you deep inside me.”
“As deep as possible.”
“Like this. On our sides.”
“Fuck, yeah.”
My ribs hurt, but my dick hurts worse with the need to come, so hard I can’t fucking stand it. I release her breast to guide myself into her pussy, and hell, she’s so wet already I can hardly believe it.
I sink into her, planning to go slowly, but it feels too good for pacing. I thrust all the way inside her in one go, and we both shudder and moan.
“Like that,” she says, and I seek her mouth with my fingers and my lips. I kiss her, then dip two fingers into her mouth and groan when she sucks on them.
“Oh fuck, Layla.” Her pussy is tight around my dick, her lips locked around my fingers, and I’m one second away from blowing my load. “Fuck.”
I slide my fingers out carefully and kiss her again, our tongues twisting together. Hell yeah, this is perfect. I rock into her heat, licking up her mouth, and slide my wet fingers down the crease of her ass.
I slip the tip of one finger into her back hole and stroke in and out in time to my cock thrusting into her.
“Oh God,” she gasps against my mouth, drawing back for breath. “Hawk.”
“You like this,” I murmur. I know she does.
“Yes.” She shivers when I push my finger deeper. “Ah.”
Her pussy pulses, muscles rippling, massaging my dick in a way that turns my vision white. “Damn.”
Feels like years since we last did this, since we last let go in a safe place, and God, I love it.
I love her.
And then I explode inside her, still not understanding what I just thought, what I just felt, what hit me straight to the brain, straight to the chest like a bullet.
I love this girl. Love her.
She’s not only mine. I am hers, too.
Chapter Sixteen
Layla
Slipping out of bed at some indefinite point during the day—marked as such by the faint sunlight filtering through the window slats—I stagger into the bathroom to pee. My stomach isn’t very happy with me again today, but I’m starving and am probably dehydrated.
I gulp down water from the sink tap and splash my face. My skin feels too warm, as if I’m running a fever.
No wonder I feel like crap. Probably caught a bug with all the stress and the cold of the warehouse.
I shudder at the memory, shove it deep into my mind.
Returning to the bedroom, I stare at Hawk. He’s sprawled on the bed, one muscular leg thrown over the covers, one tattooed arm thrown over his eyes. My gaze snags on the tent made by his semi-hard cock. With his smooth, strong body on display, that pale hair fanning around his head and that short, blond beard he’s just… lickable. All over.
I lean against the door frame and rub a hand over my hot forehead. God, I feel icky. And so hungry.
Surely somewhere in this mansion I can find food? And clothes? And some ibuprofen? Maybe not in that order. Even though the housekeeper saw me naked and pressed to Hawk’s equally naked body, I don’t feel brave enough to wander the house in my birthday suit.
I glance around the room and discover some folded clothes on a stool. It turns out there are clothes fo
r Hawk and for me. Powder-blue draw-string pants and a T-shirt for me. Even a pair of black panties. No bra, though.
Everything’s baby soft, I discover when I pull it on, and I sigh at the novel feeling of freshly laundered clothes. Clean clothes.
Next priority: food.
Sending Hawk’s slumbering form one last lingering look, because honestly I’d love to crawl back under the covers and cuddle to his warm body, I set out to explore.
Beyond our room there is a TV room with comfortable looking sofas and a low coffee table, stacked with gaming magazines.
No food here.
My bare feet make no sound as I go down a wide passage with huge bay windows on one side, giving onto a small garden with bushes and flowers.
Crap, I don’t remember any of this, although I’m pretty sure I must have walked this way yesterday to get to the bedroom.
No recollection. Nada.
Scary stuff.
And just how big is this house? I’ve been walking down this passage for at least five minutes now. Doors dot its length, but what if I butt into someone bathing or sleeping or having sex?
I bet I’ll know the kitchen when I see it, right? Can’t be that much different from that of normal people.
I hope.
My stomach rumbles as I go down a short flight of stairs and find myself in a spacious… hall? What do you call an empty space with more bay windows and paintings hanging on the walls?
No, not paintings, I realize when I pass in front of one and stop. Photographs.
Huge, black and white photographs of people. Parts of people. Parts of faces, and bodies, and things. Grainy, their texture like oil, like liquid metal.
Breathtaking.
I look for a signature at the bottom, and I find it in the right hand corner.
JHFleming.
I blink. Jamie Hawk Fleming. Jesus. I didn’t know he took pictures. Such amazing, striking pictures. He’s an artist.
One more new facet to the guy I thought I knew. He’s courageous, and selfless, and kind of crazy but also crazy-brave, and artistic, and sexy.
Stop it, Layla. It doesn’t matter.
Doesn’t matter if he’s fascinating in every way that counts, if he’s so much more than you imagined him to be.
He’s not yours.
Shaking my head to clear it, I wander among his photos, and could have stayed there forever if not for the hunger gnawing at my insides.
But hunger wins out.
***
It looks like a kitchen. It has counters and a fridge and an oven.
It has to be a kitchen.
Right? Despite its overwhelming cleanness, the shine of the counters, the spotlessness of the table in the middle.
Uneasy, way out of my element, I wander over to the shiny silver fridge and pull the door open.
Ah. Food. I’m in the right place. Yay!
Bread. Jam. Butter. Cheese. My mouth waters as I plunk everything on the counter and hunt for a plate and a butter knife.
I hope Storm won’t mind me eating his food. If he were around, I’d ask him, but I don’t know where he is, and he won’t miss a slice of bread and cheese, right?
Not like he’s poor or anything.
I’ve just barely managed to butter one slice of bread, and I’ve dipped my knife into the jam, when someone clears their throat behind me.
I swear I jump two feet off the floor, my heart in my throat. You’d think I was stealing diamonds, not a slice of bread.
Spinning around, my back to the counter, I prepare to defend my actions.
It’s a girl. She seems to be about my age, very pretty, with dark hair and eyes.
“Hi,” she says and flashes me a faint smile. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Raylin.” At my uncomprehending look, she says, “Storm’s girlfriend.”
Oh. Right. “Um. Nice to meet you. I was… uh, hungry.”
And why am I so nervous?
“Oh, sorry, go ahead! I’m hungry, too.” She pats her stomach and makes a face. “Mind if we share?”
“What? Oh not at all.” As long as we don’t share Hawk.
And what in the frigging hell, Layla? She has a boyfriend. Besides, is that the green-eyed monster I saw peeking over the table top?
Can it. Get something to eat. Calm the heck down.
“I convinced Storm to keep some basics in his fridge and send the chef home once in a while. Sometimes nothing beats a sandwich.” Raylin grabs the bread and a plate and lays on the butter thick. Then she does the same with the jam, and I follow her example, because hey, she lives here.
These must be the house rules.
“How’s Hawk?” she asks.
“Still out. He’s tired.” Although he has staggering stamina for sex, as I’ve discovered, even when bruised and bleeding.
“Glad you both came out okay. Storm was going out of his mind with worry. He’d never admit it, but I know his tells.”
Jealousy pricks at my chest again. What must it be like, to know someone so well? To be with them, body and soul, to comfort them through hard times and enjoy the good ones?
No, Layla. No more tears. What the hell’s wrong with you?
Christ.
“You all right?” Raylin is watching me, brows drawn together. “You look upset.”
“It’s nothing. I’m tired, too.”
“Have a seat then.” She goes ahead and sets the example, sliding into one of the cushioned chairs at the table. “Tell me about yourself. And Hawk. How did you two meet?”
He hasn’t told them about me. Well, he obviously told the guys I’m a good lay, that I am a hot body, but that was all.
And? There wasn’t anything to tell, Layla.
I really am hopeless.
“We met some time ago,” I say brightly, sitting down and biting into my bread. It tastes like ashes in my mouth. “At a restaurant. My boyfriend at the time had just dumped me for another girl, and Hawk just… came out of nowhere and asked me if I’d join him for dinner.”
“That’s so cool.” Raylin smiles wide, and I manage to smile back, because yeah.
“It was spectacular. You should’ve seen my boyfriend’s face. We spent the night together, and later he called me to meet again.”
For sex. Strictly.
“So romantic,” Raylin gushes, and I wince.
“We’re not… like that,” I say and then wish I could take my words back, because her face falls. “I mean… we’re not romantic.”
She nods. “Oh, that’s fine. When I first met Storm, we basically only had sex and ran from bullets, which might be romantic in some people’s book but not in mine. No, it wasn’t until months later that things settled down, and we started actually dating.”
I gape at her. “That’s… interesting.”
No. Don’t get your hopes up, Lay. Just… no.
“Yeah, weird, huh? But we met under strange circumstances. I was running from the Chinese mafia, and he was running from the Organization who wanted him dead, so… we had to catch up later.”
Hawk and I don’t have such an excuse. Sure, we had some intense adventures this week, but before that, all those months we simply fucked, we never… Well, I never…
Never thought dating was a possibility.
“Just give it time,” she says sympathetically, reaching for my hand over the table, and I wonder what my expression must be like for her to do that. “You’ve had a rough time. Hawk is a good guy. You’ll be fine.”
I don’t know what to say, but I’m saved by the arrival of Storm. He strides into the kitchen, spots us and his face breaks into a huge grin.
“Ladies.” He walks around the table, steps behind his girlfriend and slides his arms around her. Places his hands over her belly. “How are my girls today?”
It takes me an endless moment to understand what he’s doing. I mean, I wasn’t expecting this.
“We’re fine,” Raylin says with a smile. “Just fine.”
“Good,” he says, �
�because I was gonna—”
I never hear what he’s going to do because I push back my chair and escape the kitchen and their perfect family bliss, the tears I’ve been keeping at bay for so long running down my cheeks like rivers.
***
“Babe? Layla?” Hawk knocks on the bathroom door again. “Are you okay? Can you please open the door?”
“Just a minute.” I wipe at my eyes again. God, I’m a wreck. Maybe I should go see a shrink. Get some Prozac. Something. “I’ll be right out.”
He’s leaning on the door frame when I emerge, and his expression darkens when he sees me.
“What the fuck’s wrong?” He grabs my arms, not letting me escape from him. “What happened while I was asleep?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t. That doesn’t fly with me, babe. Tell me what’s wrong so that I can fix it.” He drags me closer and wraps his arms securely around me.
It shouldn’t feel so good.
“Nothing, I promise. I’m just still tired.”
He nuzzles the top of my head. “Okay. You weren’t sick again, were you?”
“No.” It’s the truth. Though bile keeps rising in my throat, and my stomach won’t settle, but I haven’t thrown up again. I guess that’s a win.
“Good. You got me worried. Have you eaten something?”
“Yes. With Raylin.”
“She’s a nice girl.” I hear a smile in his voice, and I tense. “Storm is fucking head over heels in love with her.”
Lucky girl. In so many ways. “Right.”
“Okay, something’s wrong.” He pushes me off just enough to look into my face, and he frowns more. “Layla. You’re crying.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Why?” His frown is still in place, but there’s concern in his eyes. “Did anyone hurt you? Did I hurt you?”
You have.
No.
I don’t know.
Everything hurts these days.
Someone knocks on the bedroom door, and Hawk doesn’t even turn around. “Not now.”
“Hawk, we should talk,” Storm says. I can see his vague shape at the opening, his dark hair, and I remember the way he held Raylin and touched her belly, and God, will I ever stop crying today?
“Not. Now.” He puts his hands on either side of me, bracketing me against the wall. “Talk to me.”
