From the Ruins

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “Dodging the question, Pipe,” she taunts, bending her head so she’s eye level with the head of my cock. Peering at me through her lashes, she licks her lips seductively. “Tell me and I’ll show you how I smoke a pipe.”

  The idea of her wrapping her lips around me and taking my cock until it hits the back of her throat gets me riled up, but not enough to tell her I’m a fucking idiot who crafts explosives. Some things are better left unsaid. Better for me and safer for her.

  “Take it in your mouth,” I growl.

  “Give me another truth and maybe I will.”

  “Ask another question. I’ll answer anything else,” I grind out.

  “You get a rewrite in life, a chance to change one thing in your life what would you choose?”

  That’s not a question you ask on the spot. It’s calculated and Layla has used the Pipe thing to get more out of me. She’s got me at a disadvantage considering her mouth is an inch away from my dick and I’m drunk on thoughts of her deep throating me. At least that’s the excuse I tell myself when the answer comes quick and without hesitation.

  “You, twenty years ago.”

  “Don’t blow smoke at me, Lee,” she warns, rubbing my cock against her lips.

  “Truth,” I rasp, clearing my throat.

  “It’s a good answer,” she says softly. “I would’ve liked to have known you twenty years ago too.”

  “You would’ve kicked me to the curb,” I tell her, dragging my hands back to my front. My head falls back against the pillow as I push my fingers through her hair and pull her head down on my cock. Her mouth opens wide and I thrust into that wicked bliss.

  She keeps her eyes open and on me as she closes her mouth around me. Her tongue presses against my shaft as my head touches the back of her throat. Gagging on me, her eyes water and I pull her hair as I slide out.

  “More,” she chokes.

  Never one to begrudge a woman, I slam into her hot mouth again. Over and over, never peeling my eyes away from her. I watch her lick and suck me, devouring every inch of me. Every fucking inch. She squeezes my thighs, digs her nails into my skin and when she can’t take anymore, when she can’t fucking breathe because she’s filled with cock, she pulls back. Catching her breath, she jerks me off with one hand and squeezes her tit with the other.

  That’s my cue.

  Grabbing her hips, I lift her off me and flip her onto her back. Pushing her thighs as wide as they’ll go, I position myself between her legs.

  “What’re you doing?” she pants.

  “I’m dancing. What does it look like I’m doing?” I growl, pinning her hands above her head.

  “I wasn’t finished.”

  “Neither am I,” I grunt, taking her nipple between my teeth. I’m not gentle but that’s okay.

  She can take it.

  Layla likes it rough.

  She likes it dirty.

  And it’s about to get dirty.

  Real fucking dirty.

  Grabbing my cock, I guide it to her pussy. I run the crown down her seam and tease her clit. When she starts to rub herself against me, I pull away.

  I push into her with such force her head slams against the headboard. She cries out and I pause to make sure she’s good. Grabbing my ass, she lifts her back off the bed and takes my mouth as she grinds with me. Sweating, we fuck like two savages and I resolve that I’ve never had it this good. All the women, every last one, never gave it to me like Layla gives it to me.

  My balls grow heavy as she clenches around me and drops her head onto my shoulder. Crying out my name, she comes as I pump into her.

  One…two…three, fuck that, no way am I living up to the three-pump and done thing.

  Four…five…I go off, filling her with enough come that when I pull out and roll off her it drips down her leg.

  On our backs, we both stare up at the ceiling panting like two out of shape marathon runners.

  “I think you broke my vagina,” she mutters.

  “Want me to check?”

  “No,” she laughs, turning to face me. “You’re insatiable.”

  “You started it,” I counter, throwing my arm around her shoulders. “Come here.”

  Inching closer, she lays her head in the crook of my arm.

  “We should get out of bed,” she suggests but doesn’t move.

  “Yeah,” I agree, closing my eyes.

  “You have to fix the towel rack before the kids come home.”

  “Okay,” I mutter.

  “And I should probably clean the bathroom,” she rambles on.

  “Yeah.”

  “In an hour?”

  “Or three,” I mumble.

  Seeming to agree with me, she leaves it at that and we both start to drift off until the doorbell rings not a minute later. She jolts upright, forcing my eyes open.

  “Oh my God,” she groans, climbing out of bed.

  “What?”

  “The kids! They’re home,” she shrieks, searching for her robe. Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she peeks through the vinyl blinds.

  “I thought you said they weren’t coming home until tonight.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she whisper yells, pushing her hair away from her face. “Okay, okay…so there isn’t time to sterilize the bathroom or fix the towel rack.”

  Spinning around, she glances at herself in the mirror.

  “Oh my God, look at me.”

  She looks great.

  Thoroughly fucked and sexy as hell.

  “Killer, calm down,” I soothe, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. “Go wash up and brush your hair,” I instruct as I hunt for my pants.

  The bell rings again.

  “This is so bad,” she groans, tripping into the bathroom.

  “Where the fuck are my pants?”

  “Oh God, you can’t find your pants?”

  “Relax,” I call over my shoulder. “They’re here somewhere.”

  Hearing her turn on the water, I lift the comforter from the floor and find my jeans. My shirt is a lost cause. The last time I remember having it was when we walked into the house last night. Shoving my legs into my jeans, I make my way into the bathroom as Layla tries to shower and brush her teeth at the same time.

  “You’re taking a shower? They’re at the door.”

  “I’m not answering the door to my kids smelling like sex,” she says, spitting a mouthful of toothpaste down the drain. I think she might be having a breakdown or something.

  “Do you want me to answer the door?”

  “Oh yeah, why don’t you do that? Let me know how it goes with my ex-husband. Are you crazy?”

  She turns the water off and doesn’t bother with a towel. Prancing naked into her bedroom, she pulls open her drawers and starts grabbing clothes.

  Deciding now isn’t the time to tell her I find this whole performance sexy as fuck, I cross my arms against my chest and lean against the door.

  “Instead of telling me what not to do, why don’t you tell me what I can do?”

  “I don’t know,” she says, hopping on one foot, struggling to put her pants on. “I’m sorry. I’m freaking out, aren’t I?”

  “A little bit.”

  “I don’t know what to do. What do I tell them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s your answer for everything, isn’t it?” she counters with a smirk, finally getting both legs in her pants. The humor fades as quickly as it appears and she goes back to stressing the moment the bell rings again. Sensing this has more to do with me being here than her being unprepared to welcome her kids home, I close the distance between us and take her face in my hands.

  “I’ll go out the back door,” I tell her, giving her lips a quick peck. “They’ll never know their mother got nailed for forty-eight hours,” I tease.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers as she frowns at me. “I just…it’s new.”

  “No need to apologize,” I assure her, dropping my hands from her face. “I�
��ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay,” she sighs.

  The bell rings once more and I shake my head before turning and disappearing out of her bedroom. Hurrying down the stairs, I grab my boots from the floor and shove my feet inside of them. I have no fucking idea where the shirt is and if that bell rings once more, I might just open the damn door. Finding my way into the kitchen, I sneak out the back door and cross the yard. Of course my fucking back door is locked, forcing me to walk around the front shirtless.

  My eyes dart around the yard, landing on a shovel. I grab it to make it look like I was working and start for the front of the house.

  The first thing I spot is the shiny Cadillac blocking Layla’s driveway, the next is the man standing at the curb checking his watch. I’ve seen the car a few times but never took notice of the dickhead it belonged to. He’s nothing like I pictured who Layla would be married to.

  Wearing a pair of slacks and a polo shirt, he portrays himself as pansy. He’s probably never dirtied his hands a day in his life. He’s everything I’m not.

  “Where the fuck is she?” he hollers.

  “Maybe the bell broke,” Tommy offers. “Leave if you’re in such a hurry. We’ll be fine.”

  Tossing the shovel onto the grass, I find myself walking straight for the kids.

  “Call her,” Lexi urges, tugging Tommy’s arm. That’s when I notice his other arm is draped around his middle sister’s shoulders. My eyes zero in on Jenna’s blotchy face and I turn back to Layla’s ex-husband. The guy must be a real winner to be able to ignore her tears.

  “Lee!” Lexi shouts, dropping her brother’s hand.

  Keeping my eyes on Layla’s ex, I hear the door open.

  “I’m sorry! I was in the shower and just heard the bell. Were you waiting long?”

  “Mommy,” Lexi cries as she forgets about me and runs to her mother. The husband doesn’t acknowledge me and he doesn’t say goodbye to his kids as he gets into his fancy fucking car. The engine purrs and before Layla can kiss all three of them hello, he’s gone.

  I glance back at them, watching as Layla tries to wrap them all up in her arms. She noisily kisses Tommy and Jenna’s cheeks as Lexi runs into the house first. Their reunion does something to me. Like everything else associated with these people, it makes me yearn for the rewrite I’ll never get.

  Truth.

  If I had one shot at changing something I’d change this.

  Instead of standing on the front lawn, I’d be standing inside with them.

  All of them.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  So I had a panic attack. Big deal. I’m sure I’m not the first woman reclaiming her life, and let’s be honest her sex drive too, that has freaked out. There are probably divorced women all over the place throwing men out their back door the second their kids come home from a visit with their dad.

  As true as that might be, it didn’t stop me from feeling guilty. How crazy is that? Logically, I know I didn’t do anything wrong. My kids were safe and with their father, the only other person in this world who loves them as much as I do. I was free to do whatever I wanted. Free to be me Layla Milano, the woman and not the mother with crazy hair that wears her clothes inside out most of the time. I forgot how it felt to be desired. How to let go and just be.

  I also forgot how to share myself with my kids and a man. Instantly, I hurried to turn off the Layla Pipe drew out of her shell and switched back into Layla the mother. I listened to my babies recap their weekend, giving me all the highs and lows. We spent the entire day together and every time Lee was mentioned, I changed the subject. It wasn’t until we were having dessert on the back deck that I remembered the ices he insisted we bring back for the kids and I felt guilty all over again.

  He was nice enough to think of my kids and I was reaping the benefits of his good heart. I thought telling them Lee bought the ices would ease my guilt but all it did was open the floodgate. As my kids fired question after question, I realized they were not only fond of Lee, but that they missed having him around. It made me wonder how they might receive him as the man in my life.

  I was jumping ahead.

  One weekend together and here I was planning the future.

  Crazy I know, but I can’t seem to help myself.

  I’m not wired like a lot of the women today. I didn’t get divorced because I wanted to sew my oats. Jumping from one bed to another isn’t my thing.

  I want one man.

  One good man.

  He doesn’t have to be perfect; he just needs to be patient and respectful of the fact that my kids and I are a package deal.

  Is it ridiculous to think Lee might be the guy?

  The one good guy who accepts me and all that comes with me.

  Maybe, but I won’t know if I don’t give it a chance.

  Certain my kids are sleeping for the night, I sneak out the front door and trek across both lawns. Reaching Lee’s front door, I ring the bell and wait for him to answer. It takes a while and I find myself glancing at the watch I don’t have wondering what time it is. Figuring he’s asleep, I go to turn around as the door opens.

  My smile appears instantly and I don’t hesitate as I close the distance between us. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I push him inside and press my lips to his. He’s slow in returning my kiss and after a little probing he parts his lips and welcomes my tongue. The taste I’ve come to know, come to crave, is tainted by aged whiskey. It reminds me, aside from a beer here and there, Lee hasn’t been drinking much. I start to pull away as he pushes his fingers through my hair and kisses me harder. Placing my hands on his chest, I push him off me and take a step back, quietly assessing him.

  “What’s the problem?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I mutter, cocking my head to the side. “Have you been drinking all night?”

  His beady eyes narrow before he disregards my question and steps inside the living room. Following him, I watch him sink into the worn couch and pour himself another drink.

  “Want one?” he offers.

  “No, Lee,” I say, walking around the couch. I take a seat on the coffee table next to the half empty bottle of booze and watch him knock back another shot. Reaching out, I take the glass out of his hand and meet his glare. “I want the truth.”

  “Careful what you wish for, killer. The truth ain’t always pretty.”

  “What happened?”

  “You, you happened,” he growls, leaning back against the cushions. “This isn’t going to work, Layla,” he continues, pointing to the space between us. “You and me, we don’t fit.”

  Shock wears on my features as his words punch me in the gut and I stare at him blankly. I tell myself it’s the alcohol talking, but drunken words are sober thoughts.

  “We don’t fit,” I repeat, numbly.

  “It was good, killer,” he says, reaching forward to pat my knee.

  He pats my fucking knee.

  Like I’m a fucking dog that performed a new trick.

  Like I should be rewarded with a treat for my efforts and sent on my merry fucking way.

  “You bastard,” I growl, rising to my feet.

  “Layla,” he starts, extending his hand.

  “Don’t,” I shout, pulling my hand back. My eyes widen as I begin to make sense of it all. The timing, the drinking, it all makes sense. While I was trying to place him in my life, he was already running from mine. The carefree weekend we shared was fine, but the moment my kids returned home, I wasn’t enough. Or maybe I was too much.

  “It’s because of my kids, isn’t it? They came home and you realized I’m not like every other woman you’ve stuck your dick in. I’m not half your age and just looking for a good time. I’ve got real responsibilities, people that rely on me. Children that need me.”

  “It’s not that, Layla,” he barks.

  “Oh no? Then what the fuck is it? Why the sudden change?”

  “Look, I’m not the man for you. I can’t be what you and those kids ne
ed.”

  “How would you know what I need if you never asked?”

  “You need someone who can take care of you, who can take care of them. Someone who is going to love you like you deserve to be loved. A man who will look at those kids and not wish they’re his, because in his heart they already are,” he argues, leaning his arms on his knees. “You need a family man and that ain’t me.”

  “So that’s it? It was fun while it lasted but you’re done,” I shriek.

  What about me?

  What if I’m not done?

  Shouldn’t I have a say in what I want?

  “You’re a special breed, Layla. They don’t make them like you anymore. You’re not looking for fun, you’re looking for someone to share your life with. Someone who will stick. It doesn’t matter how much I may want to be that guy, I’ll never be him. I won’t attach myself to you and those kids. I won’t fucking do it.”

  What he says with words doesn’t match what he conveys with his eyes and I try to understand what’s happening between us. I’ve been at the end of a dying relationship and it doesn’t feel like this. There’s too much here, too many unexplored feelings begging to be free. When a relationship is over it’s because it’s been tried and tested. The people involved have fought the good fight and failed. That’s not what this is. This is fear. This is doubt. This is knowing you’re on the brink of experiencing something extraordinary. Something that will change your future and rewrite your past.

  This is Lee being a fucking coward.

  “For fuck’s sake, Layla, don’t look at me like that,” he hollers, rising to his feet. Brushing past me, he walks toward the window. Standing in front of it, he points to the box perched on a chair. I spot the red shoes that he normally keeps at the door and watch as he turns back to me.

  “I attach myself to things, to people. Even when I don’t mean to and then I fucking lose them. One way or another whether they’re ripped from me or discarded like a piece of trash—I lose them. It’s something that’s happened to me since I was sixteen years old and something that will continue until I’m in the dirt, but this weekend…this weekend forgot all that. I forgot the biggest truth of all. You, you’re kids, it’s all fucking with my head. This…” He says, sweeping a hand down the length of his body, “…this is who I am. Not the guy who spent all weekend pretending.”