Because of You

She looks at my face and smiles before climbing under the covers and sliding over to me, pressing the front of her body flush against my side, draping her arm over my bare stomach, and pressing her cheek to my chest. I tuck the sheet and blanket over the top of her and wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head before finally speaking.



“Can’t sleep?”



She shakes her head no against my chest, and I reach my hand up to press my fingers under her chin and turn her face up to me.



“Your mother is a crabby bitch. Don’t let her get to you.”



She laughs softly at my words, and it makes me smile.



“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said about her,” she says with another easy smile. “I should be used to it by now. Everything I do pisses her off. I’m just thankful she wasn’t calling to tell me she saw what we did in your truck. That would have been awkward.”



Her dry humor is something I’m quickly growing to love about her, and it frustrates me that I don’t hear enough of it.



I heard most of the conversation she had with Eve earlier. Layla was sitting close enough and her mother was screaming loud enough for me to make out the gist of it. Eve found out from God knows who that Layla went off on her own and sang a few songs and played music on a guitar at a hole-in-the-wall bar. Songs that weren’t “Layla Carlysle” songs and a bar that wasn’t “Layla Carlysle” appropriate. Eve criticized and shouted all sorts of venom at Layla about how she was going to ruin her reputation and that she should be ashamed of herself for her behavior.



When Eve said that, Layla looked up at me with the phone pressed to her ear, and we shared a secret smile knowing that out of all of the things that happened that night, her behavior in the bar wasn’t even close to being as shameful as what we did in the truck.



I wanted to grab the phone from Layla’s hand and tell Eve to fuck off before she made Layla feel worse and took away the spark that was still in her eyes, but Layla beat me to the punch.



“I’m sorry, you’re breaking up. Must be a bad connection. We’ll talk soon.”



Layla hung up the phone mid-shout from her mother and tossed it onto the dashboard with a bubbling laugh. I started up the truck and headed towards her house, thankful she hadn’t let Eve’s words get to her.



Unfortunately, the twenty-minute drive gave her too much time to think, and by the time we pulled into the driveway, her mood had dropped considerably. She jumped down out of the truck without a word, and after I cleared the house and made sure it was safe, she excused herself to take a shower, never coming back out of her room.



“You should tell your mother off more often. I think she needs a healthy dose of reality,” I tell Layla softly in the dark, quiet of the bedroom.



“I shouldn’t have done that. She’s going to make me regret it, just like she always does.”



The admission from Layla shocks me, and I don’t speak for a minute. Just like June said, Layla isn’t very forthcoming when it comes to her life. I found a book of songs she wrote that have never seen the light of day, and I had hoped she would tell me all about them when I discovered it. She’s best friends with a man who at times seems like he resents her more than supports her, and she lets a woman who obviously hates her control her life. She sings like an angel and plays the guitar like a rock goddess in bar where no one knows who she is. I want her to trust me, and I want her to tell me why she’s made the choices she has.



“You don’t have to put up with her bullshit. You know that, right? You’re an adult. A very successful and talented adult. You’re not a teenage girl who just lost her father and got into something she maybe wasn’t ready for. You can quit anytime,” I tell her with conviction.



“Did you see all of those people out there today who came to see me?” Layla asks quietly, and I wonder if she’s changing the subject or just ignoring what I’ve said to her. “Forget about the insane stalker I have for just a minute. Did you read any of the other letters I get on a daily basis when you were going through all of my fan mail? Little girls who look up to me, brokenhearted women who say I’ve put a smile on their face for the first time in ages, kids who’ve had horrible childhoods that say I give them hope that they can make their dreams come true.”



Layla slides her hand up my stomach and perches her chin on top of it so she can continue looking at me while she explains.



“Did you know I volunteer at a children’s hospital once a month? I go from room to room and sing to the children who are in there for a few days with pneumonia or the ones who are dying from cancer and know they will never get to go outside and swing on a swing set or play tag with their friends. Those are my fans, Brady. They’re real people and they’re the reason I continue doing what I do. There are so many musicians out there who let their fans down because they just don’t care about them. They don’t realize there are people out there all over the world that depend on them, that need them to help forget about their own troubles for just a little while. If getting up on that stage night after night puts a smile on the face of a little girl or encourages her to get up and dance around the room in unadulterated joy, who am I to complain about my life?”



I have to swallow back the lump in my throat at her words. I feel like a pussy for getting choked up, but I can’t help it. I’m an ass and I never once thought about any of this from her point of view. It’s easy for me to tell her to just stop doing something that makes her miserable because I’m not in her shoes. My parents made me miserable, so I joined the Navy and left. I eliminated the thing in my life that was ruining me, and the only person I let down was Gwen. Just disappointing that one person was enough to gut me. The idea that Layla feels like she would let billions of people down is a heavy pill to swallow and one I obviously know nothing about.



“I’m sorry. You probably think I’m a dick for always telling you to just quit,” I tell her honestly.



She smiles at me sadly and moves her hand from my chest to cup the side of my face, her thumb sliding back and forth over my cheek bone.



“It would be a hell of a lot easier if I did think you were a dick, believe me. This is my life. This is how it has to be; Eve’s made sure of that. It’s legal and it’s binding, and if I go against her, I will let all of those people down. You come in here and you’re strong and confident, and I suddenly want to be a different person because I want to make you proud. I want you to look at me like you did tonight at the edge of that stage. You’re making me question every single thing I’ve ever done. Making me want things I never…”



She pauses, stopping herself before she gives away too much, and I just want to tell her to give me everything. I don’t care about the consequences. Just give me everything you have.



“What the hell are you doing to me, Brady?” she asks brokenly, her voice choked with tears that she tries her hardest to hold back.



There are so many things I want to say to her now, but I know everything will come out wrong. I’m not good with words. I’m not good with the hearts and flowers bullshit. The only thing I know to do is show her what she means to me.



With a roll of my body, I push her onto her back and settle myself between her thighs as she quickly opens them for me. Smoothing her hair off of her face, I study her and silently tell her with my eyes everything I don’t have the guts to speak out loud.



I’ve never wanted anyone as much as you.



I’m falling fast for you, and it scares the fucking shit out of me.



I will do whatever it takes to change this life for you, to make it into something you can enjoy and not have to feel guilty about.



“I need you,” she whispers softly against my lips, and I shift my hips slightly against her, letting her know that the feeling is mutual and that if I get any harder from wanting her, I’m going to explode.



“I’m right here, baby,” I tell her before leaning down and pressing my lips to hers, pushing my tongue past her lips so I can taste her.



Just like the past two times I’ve kissed her, the hunger quickly ignites, and there’s no possibility of us going slow.



I reluctantly pull my lips away from hers, and she lets out a soft moan of protest. I know if I continue kissing her, things will escalate quickly, just like they did in the truck. That was hot as fuck and something we’re definitely going to need to repeat soon, but right now, I want more. I need more.



I reach back and fling the covers off of me as I slide down the length of her body until my chin is resting on one of her opened thighs, staring at the black patch of lace that covers her sex. I slowly slide my finger down the center, and my eyes shift up to Layla’s face as she whimpers and throws her head back.



Running my finger along the edge of her panties, I slide them to the side and inch forward until my lips are almost touching her and my breath floats over her skin. Holding the black lace to the side, I want to shift my hips into the mattress to ease some of the ache just looking at her has caused.



“Brady, please,” she groans from the head of the bed.



I don’t hesitate to plunge forward, wrapping my lips around her clit and sucking it into my mouth, overwhelmed with the feel and taste of her on my tongue. She’s sweet and musky, and I want to devour her.



Layla’s hands smack down on the bed, and she clutches the sheets tightly in her fists as I work her over with my tongue, moving my other hand between her legs so I can use my fingers as well.



Her hips jerk against my mouth, and her cries get louder and louder as I plunge two fingers inside of her and slide my flattened tongue back and forth quickly over her clit. Her climax surges through her so suddenly that a shocked cry flies from her lips, and she grasps the back of my head tightly, holding me in place while she rides it out against my mouth.



I want to keep going, continue sucking her and tasting her until the sun comes up, but she’s panting and muttering how much she needs me, clutching onto my shoulders and dragging me forcefully back up her body.



I almost had an orgasm just from feeling her come on my tongue, so there’s no way I can even think about trying to slow this down again. In the blink of an eye, my boxer briefs are pushed down around my knees with both of our hands, her black lace thong is ripped from her body, and I’m slamming inside of her, silencing our mutual groans with a kiss.



Her hands smack down to clutch my ass and pull me in deeper, her tongue swirling through my mouth, tasting herself on me, and I can’t help but moan.



The sound of pleasure and skin slapping together fills the room as I take her roughly, pushing us both up the bed with the force of my movements. She chants “harder” over and over against my lips, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to take it slow with this woman.



Her legs and arms wrap tightly around my body, and she shouts my name as a second release washes through her, pulsing around my cock and forcing my own orgasm to rush through me like a fucking freight train.



I collapse on top of her, my brain only functioning enough to make sure I don’t put all of my weight on top of her and crush her small frame.



In the aftermath, as we both lay there breathing heavily, wrapped up in each other, I think back to the song Layla sang tonight and hope to God I’m strong enough for this woman and can get her out of this impossible situation.



Chapter 17



“What the hell were you thinking throwing a brick through her fucking window?”



Ray rolls his eyes as he puts his car in park, lights up a cigarette, and scans through the pictures he just picked up from the one hour photo place.



“I feel like we’ve had this discussion before. I do what I want, when I want, and I wanted to have a little fun with that hot piece of ass,” Ray replies with a chuckle as he runs his finger over a particularly good profile shot of Layla sitting on top of that asshole PI in his truck. Her head is thrown back, her mouth is open, and all of that glorious hair is spilling down her back. It makes him wish he would have walked up to the truck, thrown open the door, and dragged her out by her hair so she could have finished her little impromptu truck-fucking with him.



“This has gone too far. I just wanted her a little scared and some easy publicity,” the voice whines in irritation through the phone line.



Ray ignores it and continues flipping through the photos. He’s made it a habit of following Layla around everywhere she goes, and it’s been a little boring. Imagine his surprise when he woke up from a nap in his car to see her walk right by him, hop into the truck parked across from his car, and fuck that lowlife for all she's worth. He almost regrets spending a big chunk of his payment on a good camera with a telephoto lens, but these pictures prove that the expense is well worth it. Too bad he didn’t buy a video camera. He would have enjoyed being able to watch her bounce up and down on that guy’s cock again and again, imagining it was him.



“You should be more concerned with the fact that her new bodyguard follows her around everywhere she goes. I don’t think that guy is as dumb as he looks. You better watch your step or he’s going to find out what a bad, bad person you are,” Ray says with a laugh.



“He hates me. I know he already suspects something. Why the hell isn’t he doing what he usually does: sucking back booze and screwing random women? He’s not the loser I thought he was. He needs to be out of the picture immediately or this is going to blow up in our faces.”



Ray takes his favorite photo out of the pile and grabs a black Sharpie marker from the center console. It’s regrettable that he’s going to give this photo away, but he can always make another copy.



“This isn’t going to blow up in MY face,” his voice raises in disbelief. “It’s going to blow up in YOUR face. You better make nice with the big bad PI, and you better do it fast before he really starts digging into things,” Ray states distractedly as he pens a personalized message on the photo, reads it over, and smiles at his creativity.