CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Nico
I knew it was going to be a gamble taking her into that room. K.C. is an animal, and for all his goofy looks, the guy gets more play than anyone I know. Helps when you have extra cash and a place like this to take the girls.
But I’m actually thrilled that Layla wasn’t feeling it. That the tension running through her body wasn’t the good kind––she’s been nervous around me before, but not in the way that makes her shrivel up like a raisin. She looked worried. She looked scared.
Now I’m even starting to wonder if I should have just taken her to my place. The more time I spend with this girl, the more I’m finding that I want her to see all sides of me. Maybe she wouldn’t care that I live in a crappy railroad apartment in Harlem. Maybe she would actually be all right with just plain Nico.
The longer we’re away from K.C.’s porn-set bedroom, the more relaxed Layla becomes. We go back to the kitchen and eat dinner, sitting across from each other on the kitchen counters, grinning over the takeout boxes that she suggests we use instead of K.C.’s fancy dishes. Then she sets up her books at the dining table and studies while I park myself on the sofa and watch TV. It’s weird––we’re not doing anything but just being together. But it’s nice. I feel calmer, lighter just knowing she’s there, doing her thing in the next room. I feel happy just being around her.
It’s fully dark outside when I wake up about two hours later with the TV still blaring with some sports trivia. I’m laid out on K.C.’s massive sofa, and Layla is bent over me, looking cute and uncertain as she taps my shoulder.
I blink lazily, then my eyes widen as I become aware of the situation going on underneath my jeans. Morning wood is a real thing, but I’m telling you, it doesn’t just happen in the morning. Especially not around a girl like this.
Layla doesn’t seem to notice as she sits next to me on the couch. Naturally, I slide my arm around her waist and nuzzle my head in her lap. Her hands thread into my hair, and we both sigh, content. Her coconut scent surrounds me, and it doesn’t take me long to move from content to something else. She seems to feel the same, as I feel her fingers drift down my neck and start playing with the collar of my shirt.
I turn in her lap to look up at her.
“Hey beautiful,” I say in a voice still scratchy from sleep. Her hand falls on my chest, and I take it, eager for her touch. “You all done?”
She nods, her eyes wide, like she’s mute. I smile. She shivers.
Ah. So it’s like that, huh?
“Come here.” I pull her down until she collapses along the length of the couch, spooned comfortably toward the television with her back fitted to my front.
I grab the remote control from the coffee table and flip around, trying to find something that’s not a total mood killer. Eventually, I land on a channel that’s broadcasting a live concert by Sade. Fuck, yes. I could not have asked for anything better. The velvety texture of her voice fills the room, and I’m humming along with her as I skim my hand up and down the length of Layla’s thigh. She wiggles her heart-shaped ass in reaction and hums lightly. It’s torture, but I love it just the same.
“Mmmm.”
She makes that sound when she likes what I’m doing. She did it a lot last night too. So, I keep doing the same thing, running my hand up and down her curves, light and flirtatious, just enough to drive her as crazy as she’s driving me.
Then she turns in my arms and burrows further into my warm chest as she slips her hand under my shirt. The effect is instantaneous––I’m hard as a rock in seconds. But I don’t hurry anything. It feels really good just to touch her like this, to have her touch me too.
“This okay, baby?” I ask, pulling up the edge of her shirt so I can mirror her actions and brush the delicate skin over her ribs. Her skin is butter-soft.
“Mmmm, yes. Yes, it’s...ah...just fine.”
I lean into her neck, feather a few kisses down the side, where whatever scent she wears is the strongest. She arches against me, rubbing her hips against the serious hardship in my pants. This is a dangerous game we’re playing, one I’m not sure I’ll win. But I don’t kiss her––not yet. I know the second I do that, it’s over. There will be no more gentle flirtation, no more teasing. Just pure, all-consuming lust.
Slowly, I graze my fingers over her oblique muscles, testing to see just how far she’s going to let me go. Layla works out––not crazily, like some of the girls I see at the gym every now and then, but just enough that her body is taut and soft at the same time. My fingertips tease farther and farther up her shirt while I nip at her ear, and then I finally brush my knuckles under the soft curves of her breasts and caress the incredibly soft skin between them. She squirms into me, her breath hot against my ear. So I do it again and again, trailing my hand back down her ribs and stomach and then up again.
I want to leave no part of her untouched. I want her to feel it tingle from head to toe, long after I’m gone.
I continue worshipping her like that for what seems like hours, occasionally pressing kisses on her collarbone, her neck, her ear, her cheek. But aside from the fact that I could do this forever and be a happy man, I’m not going to make a move here beyond a little petting on the couch. I need her to give me the green light. I can give her at least that much.
Then, just as I skim back down again to play with her navel, Layla seizes up.
“Stop,” she breathes into my neck. “Stop!”
I pull my hand away, confused. She obviously likes what I’m doing––her nipples are visibly hardened through her shirt, and her breath is harsh and staggered. If she doesn’t want to do more, I’ll be disappointed, but it will be okay. I just like touching her. Maybe she doesn’t realize that no matter what, it’s okay. I just want to be with her.
I open my mouth to say just that, but I can’t. So instead, I just ask, “What’s wrong, baby?”
Layla bites her lip and shakes her head. Okay, now I’m worried. Is it just me, or is she about to cry?
“N-nothing,” she says, even as she twists away from me and swings her feet to the floor.
I stand up with her and take her hands.
“Hey,” I say. “You okay?”
Her gaze is hungry as she stares at me, the bottom of her t-shirt caught up a little on her hip, the top button of her jeans already undone. The thought of what’s below it makes my cock stand to attention. Seriously––does she have any idea? Does she have any fucking clue what she does to me?
~
Layla
“T-take––take off your shirt,” I blurt out before my nerves get the best of me.
The concern on Nico’s face is adorable. He’s not sure if I like what’s happening, or maybe he’s not sure if I’m going to stop him again. Truth be told, I probably like it too much. If I’m being honest with myself, there is a chance that Quinn is right, and I’m right on the precipice of falling in love with this man, even after such a short time. It’s scary, and I doubt he feels the same way, but I can’t say no to him either.
My mother would toy with her big diamond solitaire and tell me to wait—even until marriage—to let a boy do the things I want Nico to do to me. Especially because I might be falling for him. “Nobody respects easy women, Layla,” she’d intone every time I’d want a skirt that was too short for her tastes or wear a little too much eyeliner. If she could have had it tattooed above my vagina, I think she would have.
But in this moment, it’s easy to push her warnings aside in the face of my visceral, all-consuming desire for this man. I can’t remember ever wanting something as badly as I do in this moment. Not the high school soccer state championship. Not visiting my dad’s country and meeting my family there. Not my admittance to NYU. Nothing even comes close to how badly I want Nico. Right here. Right now.
And it must be all over my face, because the confusion disappears from his features, and a sly, panty-melting smile spreads across instead. Suddenly, I feel like prey, and he’s the predator that just sighted me. But instead of running, I want nothing more than to be hunted. Consumed.
“Your wish is my command.”
Nico sits up and yanks the t-shirt over his head, revealing that broad, muscular chest I spent the last night cuddled into. I take a moment to ogle him openly, studying the way his tattoos emphasize the taut lines of his deltoids and biceps, the way his skin stretches over his pecs and the ridges of his abs. In contrast to the thick black hair on his head and the five o’clock shadow he’s currently sporting, his chest is bare, impossibly smooth, almost glossy, like petrified wood. Seriously, no one has any right to look that good.
“Your turn, baby. Fair’s fair.”
I remove my t-shirt and toss it to the floor, then reach down and tug off my jeans too, even though he’s still in his. I’m vulnerable, standing before him like this in nothing but a black lace bra and matching panties, one of the few nice sets of lingerie I own. This isn’t my darkened bedroom at midnight or the dim light of the morning. The lights are on, and I’m on display. Will he like what he sees?
Nico’s eyes are hungry. I can feel the heat of them as they pass over the shape of my shoulders, breasts, stomach, legs, lingering for a moment at the lace-covered shadow between my thighs. I’m thankful I had everything groomed just a few days ago. He’s incredibly good-looking, but I’m no slouch, either. I need to remind myself that sometimes.
Without breaking his searing gaze, Nico unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans drop to the floor, where he kicks them away. Oh, and he looks good too, even though it was only this morning that I saw him just like this. The hard muscles of his thighs and V-shaped abs disappear under the tight silhouette of his boxer briefs, which don’t leave much to the imagination. I haven’t yet seen what’s under there, but it’s obvious he’s got more than enough to satisfy any woman. I bite my lip. He wants me. I don’t need to doubt that.
“Jesus, Layla,” Nico whispers, breaking my trance, though he still seems to be lost in one too.
He reaches out a tentative hand and strokes my arm, then catches my hand and pulls me against his solid body. I can feel him ready against my thigh, hard as steel. It only makes me want him more.
“You are so goddamn beautiful, it hurts,” he mutters against my lips, and then tilts my chin, just like he did last night, kisses me––finally––for the first time all evening.
That’s it. I’m done for.
“Shut up,” I mumble and open my lips to welcome his tongue, so eager to twist and tangle deliciously with mine.
I moan when his hands slide down to knead rhythmically at my ass, something that quickly makes him fall short of breath. Hmmm. Six flights of stairs? Next to nothing. A couple handfuls of my backside, and Nico can’t exhale properly. It’s hard not to feel smug.
“You’re thinking too much,” he says as he bends a little and lifts me easily so I wind my legs around his waist.
Obediently, I wrap my arms around his neck and bring his mouth back to mine. Between that and the fact that he’s got a death grip on my ass, he barely manages to stumble down the hall to the recording studio, where the futon now lays open. Sometime while I was studying, he must have come back here to make the bed, since now it’s dressed with some very soft-looking sheets and a fluffy blue comforter.
With a groan of frustration as he breaks the kiss, Nico kneels down and sets me gently on the mattress. Then he crawls up the length of my body, covering me completely with his broad, solid warmth while I lie back. Balanced with his forearms on either side of my head, he shelters me as our eyes meet.
He plants a gentle kiss on my lips. “You don’t…I mean…” He chews on his lower lip as he figures out what to say. It’s a habit we share.
I do my best to wait patiently.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is, we can stop whenever you want.” He kisses me again, then chews for a moment on his lower lip. “I don’t want you to feel like just because I brought you all the way here, I’m expecting something.”
I have to quirk an eyebrow at that one. “Not even a little?”
A pair of dimples emerges in full force with a sheepish smile. If he wasn’t so tan, I’d probably be able to see him blushing. As it is, his expression is completely endearing.
“Well, I’m not going to say I don’t want anything more to happen,” he admits. “But want’s not the same thing as expect.”
“So if I told you to get this—” I gyrate against the long length currently nestled between my legs, blocked only by two thin pieces of fabric—“off of me, you’d be just fine with it?”
I roll my hips again, earning a long, low growl from the bottom of his significantly deep voice.
“I might be a little disappointed,” he says as he leans down to nip lightly at the soft skin under my jaw. Then he pushes himself back up slightly to look at me, his features turning serious again. “Is that what you want, Layla? You just have to say the word. I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to pressure you. You deserve…well, you deserve the best any guy can give you. A fuck lot better than me.”
We stare at each other for a moment, all remnants of the joking mood gone. My heart is beating so loud and fast against his chest I wonder if he can feel it. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my feelings at bay here, getting harder to convince myself I’m just another girl to him, that he couldn’t possibly feel what I have been feeling. The way he’s looking at me, the way he’s tried so hard to respect me and impress me, the fact that he’s initiated this entire day’s worth of second and third date material...could it be possible that he feels the same kind of connection I do? Could he be...falling...too?
“Layla,” he whispers hoarsely. “Give a guy a break here.”
I blink, then take a deep breath as I trace a finger across the strong line of his cheekbone, down the square jaw that’s dusted with stubble. And then I kiss him, gently. He stays perfectly still as I nibble my way around the contours of his lips and beg entry with my tongue, slipping it in for a second to touch his. Just a touch, just a touch. When I lay my head back on the pillow, he’s a statue, his eyes closed, but mouth still half open.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
Nico’s eyes pop open, dazed, as if he’s not sure I said what I said.
“Please,” I add for good measure.
“Thank fucking God,” he exhales deeply.
And then he collapses forward with another kiss as deep and penetrating as mine was light and tentative. Keeping his mouth firmly fused to mine, he rolls to his side in order to have better access to the rest of my body. My hands tug at his hair, leaving the rest of me open for his exploring fingers. And explore they do. His free hand travels down the front of my body, tracing its former path between my breasts and ribs, dipping into my belly button and then finally slipping under the fabric of my panties.
“I like these,” he says, low and fierce as his lips feather down my neck.
I just whimper as his fingers continue their quest, my breathing turned haggard with need. He’s gentle, mapping the terrain by touch, investigating the soft skin and hair in order to locate the most sensitive spot on my body. When I quiver, he lingers; when I shake, he looks elsewhere. His finger toys with my damp entrance as he hums low with anticipation.
“What do you feel like here?” he wonders, his voice vibrating against my earlobe.
I can’t answer, but it doesn’t matter. He bites the edge of my ear as his finger slides in, a delicate intrusion that has me gasping almost immediately.
“You like that, baby?” he rumbles before seizing my ear and biting a little harder this time.
The slight pain sends a direct bolt of pleasure to where his finger slips in and out of me a few more times. He adds a second finger and pushes them both in deeper. Inside me, they curl upward, finding contact with a cluster of nerves I didn’t even know existed. As he moves them again, finding a more consistent rhythm, I moan, loud and long.
“Yesssss,” I hiss as my hips start to move in time with his hand, thrusting down to create even more of that delicious friction. It feels so good, almost more than I can take. If this is what he can do with just his hand, I’m almost scared to see what he can do with the rest of his body.
His kisses flutter to my neck, over the tops of my breasts before he buries his face between them. The light scrape of his rough cheeks against the sensitive skin is almost enough to send me over alone—almost anything could push me over the edge with the way he’s fucking me with his hand. My moans have disappeared now, replaced by pants and squeaks as I grind harder. It’s coming, that familiar precipice I’m hurtling toward faster than ever before.
Then, mimicking the painting in the bedroom next door, Nico’s teeth close over one lace-covered nipple. His thumb presses down on my clit while his fingers continue their onslaught. And I come with a long, loud shout. My entire body clenches and shakes around his fingers while they continue to thrust to some silent beat. He sucks at my breast, hard and unforgiving, helping me ride out my orgasm until it finishes its flight from my head to my toes.
Just as the shaking starts to abate (but not completely), Nico pulls his hand out quickly, leaving me panting as he sits up and pulls off my panties with renewed urgency. His hand trails a thin, damp line down my thigh as he does; the sensation only turns me on again, even in my post-orgasmic haze. That’s me. That’s what he makes me do.
“Now I want to feel you do that,” Nico growls, reaching into the small side table next to the futon where apparently he (or K.C.?) keeps a small stash of condoms. The foil rips, and I watch, practically salivating as he tugs down his briefs and rolls the condom over himself. He’s perfect, just like I knew he would be—not too big, not too small, the perfect extension of his already gorgeous body.
Before I know it, he’s back on top of me, covering me again with that body, his cock teasing just where his hand was before. He sits up and pulls my legs around his hips. Then he grabs my ass with a satisfied grunt and angles me to receive him better.
“Do you want this too?” he asks, teasing me a little more, forcing me to open to him like the petals of a flower.
We both look down, transfixed by the sight of him rubbing up and down the sensitive juncture. I rock my hips, trying to sneak him inside, but he keeps teasing me. I whimper.
“Tell me.” His deep voice is rough with want, and our bodies are slick where they meet. It’s cold outside, but very hot in this room. “Tell me what you want, Layla.”
Again, my hips rock toward him, and again he evades my attempt to coerce him inside.
“Tell me,” he orders again.
“I-I want you,” I say in words that stutter, completely undone with frustration and desire. I still can’t think straight; anything my body is doing is out of instinct. “P-p-please.”
“Yessssss,” Nico groans, and then slams into me so hard I yelp at the impact, grasping desperately at the sheets over my head for anything to help me bear it.
He starts to move, slowly at first but eventually gaining a steady rhythm that reignites that familiar rising heat at my core. I raise my hips and start meeting him pound for pound. He’s starting to lose it too. The concentration on his face gradually gives way to raw, animal instinct as he closes his eyes and leans back, embracing the feeling of me, the feeling of us.
“That’s it, baby,” he groans as he thrusts deeper, his hold on the backs of my thighs so tight it will probably leave bruises. I couldn’t care less. “Squeeze me tight. God, you feel so fucking good!”
One of his hands finds my clit again, pinching it lightly between his thumb and forefinger as he continues with his merciless pace. My body starts to spasm all over again, and I pray he’s not going to stop this time before I’m completely done.
“Please, Nico,” I whimper, totally helpless as I climb higher and higher.
“That’s right, baby,” he growls. “Go ahead. Let me feel it!”
Tremors shoot up and down every limb, every bone, every nerve in my body. Nico stills as I clench around him, crying out my second orgasm of the night in moans that must penetrate the soundproofed walls around us. How could they not? Everything he’s doing has me in pieces. Then he moves again, and I open my eyes just in time to see him shut his eyes tightly as he falls apart, collapsing over me as his control shatters, right along with mine.
~
We lie here for some uncountable time after, crumpled atop the mangled sheets as we catch our breath and find our senses again. Eventually, Nico staggers away to dispose of the condom in the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth that he presses gently between my legs. In some ways, it’s a more intimate gesture than being inside me; I stay perfectly still until he’s finished. It never would have occurred to Teddy, despite his wealthy Connecticut upbringing and pretentions, to take care of me this way. It’s yet another barrier that Nico dismantles with every kind, thoughtful gesture.
I sigh as he slides us both under the covers and gathers me against him.
“Thank you for that,” he whispers against my ear. “You really are incredible, you know that?”
Another kind of heat glows in my chest, but this one has nothing to do with sex. I sigh again, blissfully content. His breath is warm against my neck, and his body is strong and solid wrapped around mine. I feel precious and protected. Like nothing bad could ever happen to me here with him.
“Did you want me too?” I wonder sleepily, the post-sex haze hitting me hard as my eyelids involuntarily flutter closed.
Nico hugs me closer, draping one heavy leg over mine and slipping a lean, muscled arm around my waist so he is curved completely around the back of my body. He fits there. We fit, like two crooked pieces of the crazy jigsaw puzzle of this city, with its eight million other parts.
He yawns and drops butterfly kisses over the edge of my ear and the spot on my neck just behind it.
“Layla, I wanted you the second I saw you sitting behind that desk.” He burrows his head into my neck. “I knew you’d taste sweet, baby, and I was right.”
I sigh one last time with utter and complete satiety as the room falls dark, and we both succumb to sleep.
~