CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Layla
We wander around the museum for a few hours, taking our time with the paintings and the tapestries and all of the other medieval art that’s there. It’s three o’clock on a Tuesday, so we’re basically the only ones at The Cloisters. Nico’s never more than a few inches away from me, his hands always touching somewhere: my hand, my waist, the back of my neck. We say little, just enjoying each other’s company. Every time we stop in front of another piece, he slips his arms around my waist and knots his fists there so he can rest his chin on my shoulder. I have no idea what the last five pieces are that we’ve looked at, because every time he does it, I just close my eyes, relishing the feel of his cheek, warm and slightly scratchy against mine, or his unique scent, soap and some sort of musk that’s only Nico.
I try not to think about the fact that this is the last day I’ll ever do this. I try not to count down the times I’ll get to feel his warmth around me.
I fail miserably.
We wander past the unicorn tapestries, and I find that I can’t even look at them. In some way, I had known even on our first day that I wasn’t going to be able to keep this beautiful man. The caged animal reminds me of the fact that Nico is going to be free. It makes me feel a little better. Only a little.
“You hungry?” he murmurs as one hand drifts down my arm and grasps my fingers.
I nod. “A little.”
My stomach is actually in knots––I doubt I could eat anything today. But Nico doesn’t like it when I don’t take care of myself. Since I ended up in the hospital, he started bringing me snacks and water every time he saw me. Karen actually got mad at how much food I had stashed behind the receptionist desk.
“There’s a cafe downstairs,” Nico says, and leads me to the basement level of the museum.
He buys us a bottle of water to share and a chocolate chip cookie, and we carry them outside into the small cloister garden. We sit down on the wide stone wall that overlooks the Westside Highway, the Hudson River, and New Jersey beyond that. West. Where we’re both going, but not together.
“Here,” Nico says as he pulls the cookie out of the bag and breaks it in half. I nibble on my piece, but it tastes like sawdust. I hate that we’re here. I hate that this day is here.
“Come on, baby,” Nico cajoles. “You gotta be hungry since you skipped lunch.”
I just look out toward the river. It’s a much different scene from the last time we were here. It’s spring now, and the park that the museum looks over is covered by trees in full bloom. All shades of green line the river bank on either side, muffling the sounds of cars. A warm breeze sweeps through the courtyard every so often. It’s a beautiful spring day, but the sound of the wind rustling the leaves sounds like crying. It sounds like how I feel.
The wind causes my hair to fly around and into my face; I’m glad, because it hides the tears that are threatening to fall again. Don’t go. The words sit on my tongue, waiting to be said. It’s selfish, but a part of me wishes he had brushed off my order. A part of my heart is breaking because I’m not enough for him to stay.
Nico reaches over and brushes the hair out of my face, but the wind just tosses it back into my eyes. He pulls off his cap and sets it backwards on my head with a smirk. But his lopsided smile disappears when he catches my unguarded face. The regret I see there, the concern, the––dare I say it?––love, breaks my heart all over again. And finally, my tears begin to fall.
“Aw, baby,” he murmurs as his thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping one tear away, then another.
The sweet gesture doesn’t do anything but make them come even more. I don’t move, don’t even try to make them stop. Just like the first time we met, I’m frozen––by his touch, by the depth in his eyes, by everything about him.
Nothing else in my life seems as real as this man. Washington feels a million miles away––am I really going back there tonight? California––what’s that? School, my friends, all of the vibrant things I’ve seen and done since living in this city...everything pales next to him.
What am I going to do without you?
Nico leans in, his hand still cupping my cheek, and presses an impossibly soft kiss on my lips. He starts to move away, but I pull him back, and the kiss slowly morphs into something so much deeper. We savor each other, tongues twisting, lips drinking, hands grasping, but slowly, slowly. This is a kiss that’s saying everything our voices can’t. I feel it, and I think Nico does too.
When I pull away, his eyes are wet and shining, and his breath is haggard. I lean in and kiss him once more, echoing the soft touch of his first one. Full circle, over and over again.
“I think,” he starts when I pull back. His voice is choked. “I think we should go. Layla...Jesus. I need you so fucking bad right now.”
My chest expands. I nod.
“Let’s go,” I whisper.
~
We say little as Nico drives us back to Lafayette, even less as I sign him into the nearly-empty building and escort him up to my room. The apartment is bare––nothing in the kitchen, no sheets on the plastic-covered mattresses. All my things are boxed up, ready to be taken into storage or in the duffel bags I’m bringing home with me.
As soon as the door closes behind us, Nico pulls me into him, wrapping me into a kiss so painfully deep that I can’t think of anything else. Our hands are everywhere, pulling off each other’s clothes like butterflies shedding their chrysalises. Nico walks me backward to the couch and gently pushes me down. But then he stops when I lie back, naked. His gaze drifts over me, like he’s trying to memorize the curves of my body. Then his dark eyes blacken as he kneels in front of me and lays his head on my stomach.
My hands drift over the smooth skin of his shoulders, tracing the tattoos that cover one side.
“Don’t forget about me, okay?” he says in a voice so low I almost can’t hear it. But that baritone rumbles against my skin.
Before I can answer, he presses kisses over my navel, drifting down over my hip bones, over the soft skin of my inner thighs. The light stubble scratches the sensitive skin, and my hips jerk a little at the feel of it. His tongue and lips drift to my center, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves that makes my thoughts stop completely.
My fingers weave into his thick hair while he licks softly. His eyes are closed, and I watch him work in a trance, as if he’s committing this most intimate taste to memory too.
My body starts to shake, and I can’t keep my gaze straight anymore. I fall back into the couch cushions as Nico picks up his pace, humming a little as he goes, like someone tasting exotic chocolate or their favorite foods.
“Please,” I whimper, although for what, I’m not sure. Please let me come? Please stay? Please...
“Let go,” Nico says, his breath warm and his voice low. “Let me feel you let go, Layla.”
The sound of my name, when usually I’m “sweetie,” “baby,” or “NYU,” is my undoing. My body seizes, and suddenly I’m no longer preparing to lose the first person I’ve ever really loved in my short life. Right now, I’m flying.
“Nico!” I cry, my hands grasping at the pillows, at his hair, at anything to keep me anchored as one orgasm flies through me, and then, almost as suddenly, another in quick, body-wrenching spasms.
And it’s only when the last gut-wrenching tremor has rippled through every cell in my body that Nico presses his nose into that most intimate part of me, inhales deeply, and then lifts himself up to kiss me gently. I can taste myself on his lips, on his tongue. The knowledge of it makes me shiver.
“I...” I say in between long, languid kisses. “I...”
But the words won’t come. Not the ones I want to say. The ones my heart is too scared to admit anymore.
“I know,” Nico says softly in between kisses. “I know, baby.”
Then he reaches down and grabs a condom from his pants. I shouldn’t do this––I know I shouldn’t––but I stop him, pull the condom away, and toss it to the floor.
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “I’m on the pill.”
Nico’s brow furrows adorably. “I––you don’t have to––”
“I’m safe,” I tell him. “I was tested last month at the hospital.”
Nico gulps. “I was, too, just after we met.”
I pull him into me. I close my eyes as he nudges at my entrance. It’s stupid, but just once, I’d like to know there’s nothing between us.
“You sure?” he asks, even as he pushes in slightly. There’s pain in his voice––he wants this as badly as I do.
I raise my eyes to meet his, and neither of us can look away.
“I’m sure,” I whisper.
Slowly, he fills me, one solid inch at a time. The muscles in his arms––the cut lines of his biceps, forearms, triceps, even in his chest––tremble with the effort to go slow.
“Jesus,” he whispers as he seats himself completely. “You feel so fucking good, Layla.”
I slide my arms up his shoulders and clasp them around his neck.
“Kiss me,” I ask. “Please.”
So he does, with the same long, languorous licks that just tore me apart only minutes before, the pace of his hips matching every delicious movement he makes with his tongue. This isn’t sex––it’s making love, the culmination of the entire, bittersweet afternoon. I can’t imagine a better way to say goodbye to him, even though at the same time, it’s going to make it that much harder when I actually have to do it. It’s for the best that we waited until now to do it like this. If sex had been like this for the entire three months, there’s no way I could have said goodbye. There’s no way I could have ever let him go.
“Layla,” he says after he sucks on my bottom lip hard enough to bite a little. He’s starting to lose that careful control. “Baby––I––I’ll––”
I cup his face between my hands and kiss him again, shuttering the words that are failing. He thrusts again, then again, but his forehead wrinkles. He’s stuck on something––something that’s keeping him from letting go.
“I––” he starts again, but stumbles once more.
I trace my thumbs over his sharp cheekbones, trying to memorize every dip and valley in this beautiful face.
“What is it?” I ask. “What do you need?”
“I––” He jerks again as he thrusts even deeper. “God, Layla. I just...” His eyes scrunch closed, then pop open, black and fathomless. “I need to hear you...say it...”
My mouth drops open. “Say what?”
He pushes even farther, making my body writhe like a wave against the movement.
“Say,” Nico says, beads of sweat gathering over his forehead with the effort of his control. “Say that you’ll never forget me,” he whispers as his eyes shut tightly. “That you’ll never forget us.”
The memories of the past few months hit me like an avalanche. The lightning connection of our first touch. The kiss in the snow. Every afternoon. Every lazy morning. Every look, every touch, every tear, every kiss. Every single moment is imprinted into the threads of my being. If my life is a tapestry, this man has forever altered its weave.
“I promise,” I whisper. “I’ll never forget us. Never.”
And it’s then, with a pained howl that cuts through the air, that Nico finally lets go. We both let go, together.
~