Staring up at the ceiling, I thread my fingers through Layla’s hair and fight the urge to wake her. I’m surprised at myself because I’m not looking to wake her for the usual reasons.
I don’t want to leave. I’m not looking to run. I want to wake her because I can’t get enough of her. It’s not a sexual thing either. Sure, I wouldn’t mind going another round in her bed, but I also enjoy her when she’s not lying on her back with her legs spread begging to come. As annoying as she can be with her questions, I like the attention. I like knowing she can pull the things I bury to the surface. It makes me believe I’m human and not as fucked as I thought I was.
There’s hope for a bastard like me.
Either that or I’ve completely lost my mind. That’s more than likely what’s happening here. Something I realized when we ran into Blackie and Lacey. For all the truths we’ve been telling one another, I’ve allowed myself to believe the biggest lie of all. With Layla at my side and them in front of me, my two worlds collided. The words I told Cobra rang in my ear, reminding me a man can’t have both his heart and his club.
Knowing she doesn’t belong in Pipe’s world, in Satan’s kingdom, I pulled Layla away. I fled the city like the devil was on my tail and took us back home where there is only one choice—her. Home; where I can keep pretending a little while longer.
She threw me for a loop when she let our run in with Lacey and Blackie go. She didn’t press me with questions. Instead, we did all our communicating with our bodies and fucked until the sun came up.
I chalked it up to her not wanting the ugly truth, but now I’m thinking it’s not so much avoidance that changed the game. Layla gets me. She knows my limits on things. In the short while we’ve known one another, she’s learned when to push and when to back off. She knows when a man is coiled with tension he needs to lose himself in a woman. It all goes back to her being a giver. Another time and place, Layla would have made the perfect old lady.
There’s no use thinking about what might have been though.
“I’ve got a question,” she murmurs, pulling me away from my head.
“Of course you do,” I tease, kissing the top of her head. “How did you know I was up?”
“Your breathing changes when you sleep,” she replies, turning in my arms. Her sleepy eyes lift to mine as her warm body curls into me. “Stop avoiding my questions.”
“What do you want to know now?”
“They call you Pipe.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Okay, well, why do they call you that?” she questions, bending an elbow and propping up her head. Giving me her undivided attention, she stares at me expectantly.
“It’s my road name,” I tell her.
“Yeah, you told me that already. I know it’s like your nickname and all that but what is the significance? I mean of all things, why Pipe?” She rambles on, letting her hand glide down my stomach. Her fingertips tease me, grazing the trimmed hair leading to my cock. “Not that it doesn’t suit you,” she continues, wrapping her hand around my shaft. “You definitely pack a smokin’ pipe,” she adds with a sly smile.
“I assure you I didn’t get my road name based on my cock.”
“Is it because you’re handy?” she goes on, stroking me from root to tip. My cock starts to swell, jerking with every salacious touch. “You did fix my pipes,” she teases.
“You’re spunky this morning,” I observe, folding my hands behind my head. Lifting herself onto her knees, she pulls the sheet away and throws one leg over me. Straddling my thighs, she begins to massage my balls.
“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.