by Jo Raven
Oh God, he’s looking at me like I mean something to him, like he cares. I can’t take it.
Also, I don’t want to talk about it.
“Told you, it’s nothing,” I lie, duck under one muscular arm and head toward the bedroom door. “We should go.”
Chapter Seventeen
Hawk
Something’s off, and how the hell can I fix it if she won’t tell me? If she won’t trust me with it. I thought we were past that, past the barriers and the façades. I mean, she saw me at my fucking lowest. Saw me beaten and damn nearly incoherent, saw me violent and half-mad with thirst and despair.
And I hurt her. Hurt her trying to drive her away.
Fuck!
“Layla.” She’s out of the room already, and I limp after her, only to remember I’m stark naked, and this isn’t my house. More people live in it, and they don’t need to see my dick or my bruises. Plus, Storm will kill me if his girlfriend sees my dick, because she’ll inevitably start comparing us, and he’ll hate me for being so much bigger.
A glance around the room shows me a stack of clothes, pants and a T-shirt, so I grab them and throw them on before hurrying out.
“Layla.” I make my way down a long corridor, the tiles cool under my bare feet. “Can you just wait for a sec? Hell.”
She’s nowhere to be seen, so I continue down the passage. Never been here before. Storm bought it like two months ago and was all mysterious about it. I get that he wanted a safe place for Raylin, but he’s been really secretive lately, and I dunno what the hell’s going on with him.
We never kept secrets from each other before, damn him. All our childhood, all up to now, we told each other everything, just like brothers.
And then you grew up, I remind myself, and became separate entities, instead of a three-headed monster. Storm has every right not to tell you everything that’s going on in his mind, even less between him and his girl.
I go through a small hall with my photos hanging on the walls. I blink at that, because Storm didn’t say he bought any of my photos—I’d have damn well given them to him—and come on, that’s something he could’ve told me, right?
Jeez, the pain in my ribs makes me cranky. That must be it.
And the fact that my girl won’t talk to me, won’t open up, and the fact I’m not even sure she wants to be my girl.
Fuck.
I pass by a kitchen with two plates on the table, and then a patio with a Jacuzzi—which gives me lots of ideas involving Layla and my dick, and yeah, not now, dammit—as I search for her.
I enter a living room with a dining room on one side. There are Storm and Raylin and Rook—and Layla.
Relief surges through me. I stride toward her—well, a sort of limping stride, I guess—and sink beside her on the sofa.
“Hey.” All eyes are on me as I reach for her hand, but she clenches it in her lap. “Lay?”
“So what’s the plan?” she asks brightly, too brightly, a sharp edge to her expression that looks like desperation.
Hell, why? She didn’t seem upset with me last night.
“The plan,” Rook says, scratching at the bristles on his chin, “is to sit tight for a while, until the police arrest Sandivar and as many of the other people Hawk reported to them as possible. Until we are told that it’s safe to come out of hiding. Hawk did the hard work. Well, Hawk and Layla. Now we keep out of sight.”
“For how long?” Layla asks, paling.
I don’t like that she’s pale.
“As long as it takes,” Storm says, linking his hand with Raylin’s. “This place is well stocked, from food to movies, video games and books, a gym and a pool, a tennis court and a track. Anything you need I can have flown in quickly.”
“Oh God,” Layla whispers. “I’m stranded here?”
“You have free run of the whole property,” Storm says. “My employees will help you with whatever you need. I told them that when my guests request something, they won’t question it, but do it.”
She doesn’t look reassured.
“What have you done to her, dude?” Rook asks me with a smirk. “She barely arrived and already she wants to leave.”
Jesus fuck. “Screw you, dude. Stay out of this.”
“And this?” She lifts a cell phone. “Can I call my friends? My mom?”
“It’s a prepaid cell phone,” Rook says. “For emergencies. Don’t call anyone unless strictly necessary.”
“What Rook means by that is he’s giving you a phone, which you’re never allowed to use, unless you’re being kidnapped,” Storm quips, “in which case, kindly ask your kidnapper for your phone call to your lawyer.”
“Shut up, Storm.” Rook is gazing levelly at Layla who seems to be barely holding back a major freak out. “Is everything okay?”
Layla gives a jerky nod, but she’s still pale, and I don’t fucking like it.
“Then let’s go back to our room.” I reach again for her hand and she lets me hold it. Small victories, right? “We can rest a bit more.”
I meant that innocently, okay? But I can’t help the way I’m drawn to her, so of course my eyes dip to her tits, and it’s hard not to when it’s obvious she’s wearing no bra and her nipples are poking through the thin fabric of her tee.
I doubt she noticed, but hey, I’m a guy. I’m the guy who wants her in every way, so I noticed, and my dick noticed, too, pushing against the seam of my draw-string pants.
She says nothing, a flush spreading over her cheeks, and the need to kiss her is overwhelming. I dip my head, breathing hard like I was running and brush my mouth over her soft lips.
A gasp escapes her, and it’s so damn sexy my dick twitches. We definitely need to go back to our room. Right the hell now.
“Wait up,” Storm says before I can drag Layla up and carry her, caveman-style, back to the room, my vision gone tunnel-like and my mind hazy as all my blood’s heading south to my dick, “there’s something I wanted to tell you before you go.”
Layla’s hand tenses in mine, and she starts pulling it away. The fuck? I’m having none of that and give her what I hope is a reassuring squeeze.
Why would she need reassurance for whatever Storm’s about to tell us?
Raylin smiles at Storm. She’s a pretty girl, and being with Storm seems to sit well with her. She was more of a ragamuffin when I first met her, and fear always lurked in her dark eyes, but now she looks relaxed and happy, despite the mess we’re in.
Storm also looks happy.
I glance at Layla, wanting to tell her she makes me fucking happy, too, but she’s not paying attention to me. She’s staring at Storm as if expecting him to draw a gun or a knife, and what the hell’s up with that, huh?
“So Raylin and I have some news.” Storm is serious again. “We’re getting married, and decided to expand our family just—”
Layla wrenches her hand from mine, shoots to her feet and runs out of the room.
I gape after her, then frown. Then scowl. What’s this about?
Turning to Storm, I jab a finger at her. “What did you do to her?”
“Do to her?” He blinks, jaw firming. “What the hell are you talking about? If she’s upset about something, man, then it’s on you. I barely said one word to her since we arrived last night.”
I get up, swaying just a little. “Gonna go find her.”
“Wait, goddammit.” Storm lifts a hand. “I wanted to say Raylin and I are getting hitched, and you’re all invited. A small wedding.”
“Only a few thousand people, then?” Rook pushes his dark hair out of his face. Need to ask him if he’s trying to imitate my look.
“Small wedding I said, dumbass. Also, we adopted. A Pomeranian named Vicky. As practice, for some day in the future when we decide to expand our family.”
“So no bun in the oven yet?”
“Not yet. But maybe after all this mess is resolved.” Storm puts an arm around Raylin’s shoulders.
I look from one to the other, in a daz
e. Dammit, this is all freaking nice and domestic and damn romantic, so I still don’t get why Layla ran. Does she have something against weddings? Did she know about this?
Does she hate dogs?
Fuck, I’m so lost. Nobody ever told me loving someone, wanting someone so much would be like wandering in a desert without a compass.
“Well, I guess congrats are in order,” Rook says, grinning.
“Yeah, congrats,” I say, unable to muster enough enthusiasm through the worry. “I’ll just… I’ll go talk to Layla, see what’s wrong. Catch you guys later.”
***
I open the bedroom door but don’t see her. Damn, I’ve looked along the way. She could be anywhere. I thought she’d come here, the one familiar place in the house.
My hunch is confirmed when I hear water running in the bathroom. I push the bathroom door and there she is, her back to me, splashing water on her face.
“Hey,” I say, and she squeals, whirling about to face me. “Lay…”
“Sorry.” She’s panting. “You scared me.”
I shake my head. “You need to tell me what’s going on, babe. Something’s eating at you. What is it?”
“I’m just tired.”
She does look tired. She has dark circles under her pretty eyes, and she’s still too pale.
So I make a strategic decision.
Stepping closer, ignoring my busted ribs, I grab her and swing her up in my arms. Hey, there’s something to be said about cavemen… They get the job done.
She wraps her arms around my neck, her eyes wide, and holds on as I carry her and lay her down on the bed, stretching out beside her.
“Now talk to me,” I say. “It’s just you and me. Tell me what’s bothering you.” I stroke a stray lock from her face, my hand lingering on her smooth cheek. “Tell me, Lay.”
She’s curled up against me. Face pressed to my chest, she’s silent for a while, for so long in fact I think that maybe she’s falling asleep, but at some point she whispers, “Raylin is pregnant.”
“No,” I tell her. “She’s not. What made you think that?”
She draws back, brows arched. “She’s not?”
“She and Storm adopted a dog.” I shake my head. Storm is such a big kid. “And they want to get married. That’s all.”
She bites her lip. “I thought… Never mind.”
But her eyes are red-rimmed. She was crying when I found her. “You really want a baby, huh?”
She shrugs, hurt flashing over her fine features. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re my girl. I want to know why. What the doctors said.”
“Your girl?” Her eyes are so wide it’s funny. “I’m not… You said I’m a hot body, remember? To your friends, and that’s all, and—”
“That’s not all. You’re hot, that’s true, but I need you, Lay.” I brush my thumb over her mouth, and her lips part. Her tongue darts out, licks the tip of my thumb, and I groan. “Don’t try to distract me. I mean this. We’re having a serious conversation.”
She pulls back. “You’re serious.” It’s a statement, but she says it like a question, studying my face.
“I’m one hundred percent serious.”
“If you’re trying to prove something to your friends, or to yourself, or—”
“I’m not. I swear I’m not.” I inch closer to her, until our bodies are perfectly aligned on the bed and I’m looking down at her pretty face. “I was drawn to you from the start, I just didn’t… Didn’t understand how I felt for a long time, and then I was scared of putting you in danger. Don’t you see? I want you, and I like you, and…” I falter.
“And?”
“And I’m so sorry for what I did when you first found me at the basement,” I whisper, the words pouring out of me of their own volition, and ah fuck, she’s drawing away again, her expression shuttering. “I tried to drive you away, to keep you safe. Fuck, I’m so fucking sorry about that.”
She bites her lip again, and I stroke it, forcing her to release it. “I knew why you did it,” she says. “But you hurt me.”
Hell. “I’ll do all it takes to make it up to you.”
“You hurt me here.” She taps at her chest. “I thought you didn’t care.”
“I care.” There. “I do care, and I’m sorry.”
She tilts her face up and kisses me. It’s sweet and warm, and I sigh against her lips. Does this mean she forgives me, that she will give me a chance to make it up to her?
She curls her hand in my T-shirt and kisses me harder, nipping at my lower lip, and my brain goes blank.
Maybe we’re taking a breather from this conversation. I’m totally on board with that.
Even more so when she pushes my T-shirt up and scoots lower, licking a trail from my navel to the waistband of my pants.
“Lay…” I struggle to form the words. “Let me pleasure you. I’m so—”
So sorry, but fucking hell, she’s mouthing my cock over the fabric of my pants, and my mind explodes. Groaning, I lower my hand to her head, grab a fistful of hair and tug lightly.
Her eyes roll back a little, and I tug harder. My cock is leaking inside my pants and my balls are drawn up tight, my usual state around her. We should be talking, and she still hasn’t said she wants to be my girl, but then she pulls down my pants and takes my cock into her hot mouth, and all my thoughts fizzle out.
Always. Always with this girl. This is chemistry, baby. Our bodies were made to fit together.
I roll on my back on the pillows, and she climbs between my legs, never once letting me go. She curls her hand around the base of my cock and licks the underside like a lollipop, making my back arch.
I bring both hands to her head, holding on as she mouths my dick and sucks on it, getting into it like I’m her favorite candy.
She’s great at it every time, but this time… it’s different. Everything feels fucking different. More intense. More real. More than the physical touch.
Like we’re connected in more ways than one.
I glance up from her head between my legs, my vision blurry from the pleasure—and I see us reflected in the mirrors around the room walls. The graceful line of her back, even dressed, her auburn hair fanning over her shoulders, my legs apart, encasing her. My hands in her hair, holding her in place.
Owning her.
It’s so hot—even if I know she’s the one who owns me.
She sucks me deeper, hollowing her cheeks, and my whole body tenses. My hips jerk. This won’t last long, I think, as she tightens her grip on the base of my cock and tugs, as she hums around my length, as her silky hair brushes my bare thighs and tickles my balls.
Goddamn. That’s it.
I grunt out her name as I come in her mouth, and she swallows it all down, still humming. Wrenching more pleasure than I thought possible from me.
“Fuck…” I release her hair and flop back against the pillows, spent and still hard.
Have I mentioned she does crazy things to my body? To my mind, too.
Her eyes hooded, she moves her hand up and down my dick, and I shiver. I could go again, I realize. But I need a push.
“Take off your clothes,” I rasp, trying to regain my breath. “Slowly. I wanna see you.”
She sits back on her heels and grabs the hem of her T-shirt, lifting it in one slow, smooth movement. Her tits lift, then settle down again after she’s thrown the shirt on the bed, and I raise my hands to touch them.
“You have the sexiest tits,” I tell her, mapping their fullness, the hardness of her big nipples. “I love them.”
She gives a strangled moan when I start playing with her nipples. She’s always loved nipple play, but these past few days it has been more intense.
I want to ask her about it, if her tits are always so sensitive on certain days of the month because I don’t remember that, and it’s really cool.
I wanna please her. I wanna plan things like that with her—what kind of sex to give her when it’s bes
t for her. When to take her from the front, when from behind, when to give it to her rough, when gentle.
And more things. I want to plan trips with her. I want her to pick the furniture for our bedroom. Our living room. I want to argue with her about the best TV set and the color of the carpet.
Together.
She pulls back—again, dammit—but my complaint dies on my lips when she shoves down her soft pants and straddles my lap, naked.
Gorgeous.
“Lay…” Need to ask her again, if she’s mine, if she will be mine, and—
She puts one hand on my arm, grips my cock with the other, and sinks on it, taking me inside her.
Oh yeah. I grip her hips, controlling her pace. “Touch yourself, babe. Slide those pretty fingers of yours between your legs, between your folds. Rub yourself. Stroke your clit.”
Her hand is clenched around my biceps, and she’s breathing hard, riding my cock slowly, still adjusting to its size. She reaches down with her other hand, rubbing herself, and immediately tightens around my cock.
Fuck, so good.
“Yeah, that’s it.” I trail my hands down to her tits and cup them, lift them, pinch her nipples, groaning as she starts riding me faster, her hand moving between her legs. “Fuck, yeah.”
We’re moving together, in sync, stroking and sliding and rocking, faster and faster, until I let go of her tits to grab her hips and she plants both hands on my chest for balance.
She shudders, rippling around me, moaning my name—and I fall after her, coming so hard I black out for a long moment.
When my vision clears, though, things aren’t any fucking clearer.
She’s not there.
Chapter Eighteen
Layla
I wipe my mouth and then the tears from my eyes. I need to tell Hawk about this. I’m sick. A stomach bug or something. This is exhausting. My brain is fuzzy, the room spinning.
But I don’t want to talk to him. I was told not to call my mom, not to call anybody, but I need to talk to Dorothy. I don’t feel so hot, and I need my best friend.
Need to tell her about what happened, about Hawk, about everything. I feel like I’m caught in a surreal dream.
No knock comes from the door, so I take my time to get up, wash my face and rinse the sourness from my mouth.
