Part 25 (1/2)

”Shut up, Nick.”

”What am I doing to you, right now? What is this, Layla?”

”G.o.dd.a.m.n it.” I knew what he was doing, and I didn't dare say it.

He lifted a palm and did his thing, cupping my cheek, brus.h.i.+ng a thumb over my lips. Bent, kissed my chest, between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The slope of one breast. Licked a nipple, crossed to the other side and kissed the slope of that one, the wide dark areola and the thick, nearly black nipple.

”What am I doing, Layla?” he demanded.

I clawed my fingers down his back in equal parts ecstasy and anger. Bit his shoulder until I knew it had to hurt like a motherf.u.c.ker, but he didn't even flinch, just let me bite him.

”What is this thing happening between us, Layla?” He kissed my cheekbone. My forehead. My temple. Always moving, slowly, smoothly, rhythmically, beautifully, and perfectly. ”Say it, babe. I want to hear it.”

I shook my head.

”No?” he said.

I shook my head again, refusing to betray myself by speaking. If I did, my voice would break. I'd be forced to admit...s.h.i.+t, a lot of things I didn't want to admit.

The motherf.u.c.ker pulled out and got off the bed, breathing hard, eyes blazing, green orbs fiery and angry, chest heaving, sweat sheening his skin.

I threw a tantrum, kicking my feet and flailing my hands, screaming in anger. ”G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Nicholas! Don't do this to me!”

”Why not?”

”Why can't it just be s.e.x?”

He was so hard it had to be painful, his erection flat against his belly, leaking from the tip, my essence smeared and glistening on the beautiful shaft of his G.o.dd.a.m.ned perfect p.e.n.i.s. I wanted it. I wanted it back in me. I wanted to feel him finish, feel him let go, wanted his breath on my skin, his weight on my body. I wanted his seed dripping out of me and sliding down my thighs. I wanted his arms around me. I wanted to wake up with him and share the intimacy of not having s.e.x, of just talking, sharing, touching, having coffee and being together. I'd never wanted that before. I hadn't thought I ever would.

I was f.u.c.king terrified of how badly I wanted all that.

And Nicholas motherf.u.c.king Harris, the man I wanted and needed more than I'd ever wanted or needed anything in my entire stupid life-he wanted to know why I was so scared.

”Why can't it be more?” he pushed. ”What the h.e.l.l are you so scared of?”

”EVERYTHING!” I shouted. ”I'm scared of how much I need you, how suddenly it happened. I don't believe in insta-love. I don't even believe in love at all! I don't believe in anything except my own ability to take care of myself. I don't need anyone. I've never needed anyone. I don't want to need anyone. But I-I f.u.c.king need you, and I hate it. I hate it. And I hate you for making me need you. For being so f.u.c.king amazing that I don't just need you, I want you. I crave you. And I hate that too.”

”Why? Why is it so bad to need someone?” He wasn't sitting down, and his ma.s.sive erection wasn't fading.

”Because.”

”What are you, three? Give me a real answer.”

”Or what?”

”Or nothing. Or I'll take you back to Detroit and post a guard you'll never see on you. You'll never see me again. You can have your lonely, workaholic, pathetic life, if that's what you want. I'm not going to force this out of you.”

”But you are.” Even in the midst of having my feelings ripped out and put on display, I couldn't take my eyes off his c.o.c.k. Harris's p.e.n.i.s was just right, thick enough to stretch me, long enough to fill me. Almost as if...

f.u.c.k it. I knew I had to finish the thought: Almost as if it had been custom-made specifically for me, to fit me like a puzzle, to complete me, to pleasure me and me alone.

I choked on my own emotions.

Finally, I sat up, put my feet on the floor and folded my hands on my lap, wringing them together, squeezing until my knuckles protested. Kept my eyes off his, on the floor.

What did I want? Him? This?

Or my life back in Detroit?

”Say something, Layla.”

I tried. I couldn't. It was all too much, too hard too fast and all at once. I just shook my head.

”Fine.” He managed to say the word with both a sigh and a snap. ”Have it your way.”

I watched him through lowered eyelids; he s.n.a.t.c.hed his pants off the floor, sat on the edge of the bed and shoved both feet into the legs at the same time. He b.u.t.toned them over his erection, which was finally starting to subside. Made quick work of his s.h.i.+rt, b.u.t.toning it up with lightning speed. Socks, boots. Dug something out of the black bag, a strap of some kind. A holster, which he buckled onto his torso, shoving a pistol into it at shoulder level.

And just like that, within thirty seconds, he was no longer Nick, my lover-he was Harris, the security expert. The killer. Hard, cold, calculating.

He strode across the room and unlocked the door, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

”Where are you going?” Suddenly I was afraid of being left here alone.

”Gotta call Thresh, see if the ride out of here is ready.”

”Will you be back?” G.o.ddammit, I sounded needy, weak.

He glanced at me. ”You think I'd leave you here?”

I shrugged. ”I don't know. Why wouldn't you?”

He went into the bathroom and I heard him wash his hands. He returned, staring at me. When I said nothing, he shook his head. ”You're an idiot. For such an intelligent woman, you're a f.u.c.king moron.”

That hurt. f.u.c.k, it hurt.

He watched me for a second, but I couldn't look at him.

Then, with a sigh, he walked out the door.

Truly alone, everything hit me.

Like hitting the ground from ten thousand feet without a parachute, the wall of emotions and memories all hit me, and I just...broke.

Shattered.

Crumbled.