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Sighing, he removes the keys from the ignition. “If you’ll come inside with me, I’ll tell you what I know.”
I stare down at his weapons in my lap. What do I have to lose? There’s nowhere else for me to go.
“There’s just one more thing I have to ask you.”
He hesitates. “Okay.”
“That guy at the hotel … the one who … Well, you know, tried to … rape me. What happened to him?”
His gaze darkens. “Do you really want me to answer that? He tried to rape you, Lola. That should tell you enough.” He reaches across the car and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not going to apologize for what I did.”
I could ask him to tell me exactly what he did to Tenner, but honestly, I’d rather not know the details. I can see in his eyes that Tenner won’t be attacking any more women anytime soon, if ever. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t feel bad about it.
Without saying another word, I climb out of the car with his weapons, hoping I’m not making a big mistake.
Layton doesn’t say a word as he gets out and walks around to the popped open trunk. He starts digging around as I round the back of the car, half-expecting to see a dead body inside, perhaps Tenner’s. There are just a few duffel bags. He picks one up and swings it over his shoulder before moving around the side of the motel with me trailing behind.
As we approach one of the rooms, he withdraws a key, and then unlocks the door. When he enters, he drops the bag on the floor then motions me inside without turning on the lights.
I enter with reluctance, glancing around at the unmade bed, the clothes on the floor, the wrappers and soda cans on the table, and the single lamp turned on.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, turning toward him as he closes and locks the door behind us.
He shrugs as he pulls the curtains shut. “Since I came to Glendale about two to three weeks ago.” He looks around, as if searching for something. Then he hurries past me and over to the nightstand.
I stand near the door, waiting for him to explain why he’s been around for that long and not made it aware to me until now, but all he does is start digging around in the drawer.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me something—anything—that will explain what the hell’s going on.” I set his weapons down on the bed and make my way across the room toward him. “Layton, you have to give me something.” When he still doesn’t respond, I put a hand on his shoulder. His entire body jolts, surprising me. I’m not sure what’s going on or how to handle this. “Layton, I don’t—”
My voice is silenced as he spins around and crashes his lips against mine.
My initial reaction is to jerk back. No kissing, no lip contact. Then I remember how much I’ve wished I could have kissed him properly. I don’t ever want that to happen again—regret something like that. So, I let him kiss me, my pulse throbbing at kissing him back.
There’s so much passion and desperation behind the kiss, and something snaps inside of me. Maybe it’s because he’s alive and not dead. Maybe I’m giving in to my own emotions. I don’t care. I kiss him back fiercely, grabbing him.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since the last night I saw you. I’ve been dreaming about it for almost two years,” he whispers against my lips. Then the metal of his tongue ring grazes against my teeth as he kisses me deeply, fiercely, as if trying to steal my oxygen.
He tangles his hands through my hair before drifting them down my back, pulling me closer. I moan, biting his lip as I slip my hands up the back of his shirt and drag my nails against his flesh.
I feel every part of the moment. Every single damn emotion pours through my body, ones I’ve been suppressing for almost two years. Passion. Anguish. Guilt. Pain. Sadness. Anger. Anger. Anger. For making me think he was dead.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I pull away from him and slap him across the face.
“Oh, my God.” I throw my hand over my mouth. “I don’t even know why I did that … I was just so … so upset over thinking you were dead.”
He places his hand over his cheek. “It’s okay.” He winces. “I probably deserve that. I should have known what to expect. You are my feisty Lolita.” His lips quirk.
I want to smile back, but I feel so terrible.
“No, you didn’t.” I lower my hand from my mouth and step toward him. Lifting his hand from his cheek, I look at the damage I’ve done. A bright red handprint marks his cheek. “I’m so sorry … I just … I was feeling too much … It’s been a long time.”
His gaze bores into me. “I know it has.” He caresses my cheek. “God, I’ve missed you.”
I don’t even know what to do with what’s going on inside of me. Even before everything happened, I wasn’t the best with my emotions. Now, after two years of separation from them, it’s overwhelming to the point where I find something as simple as breathing complicated.
“Layton …” I say, my voice shaking with nerves. “I really need to know what’s going on.” I look at him. The intensity in his eyes almost makes me buckle. “Before we do this … I need you to tell me what’s going on.” Despite my words, I start to lean in again, magnetized to him.
He takes a deep breath, his lips parting, but I start kissing him again. I’ve never instigated a kiss before and this one’s packed with heat, need, and a lot of things I’ve never felt before.
The kiss starts off slow, our tongues tangling together. Then the slow pace quickly heats up. Suddenly, I’m yanking his shirt off, and he’s tearing off mine and unclasping my bra. Then his hand find my breast, and every time his finger grazes my nipple, I moan.
“Harder,” I hear myself moan, not sounding like myself.
Layton briefly smiles against my lips then pinches my nipple harder. God, it’s been so long since I’ve felt this. So long since I wasn’t just going through the motions, completely detached.
Suddenly, thoughts of what I have done creep into my mind. How many men I’ve touched like this, the things I’ve done. I again feel a flicker of shame. However, I do what I’m good at and shove the emotions down.
I fumble with the button on his jeans, our lips still fused, our bodies welded together. We start to back toward the bed, stumbling over each other’s feet.
Right as we reach the edge of the bed, he flips us around, and I fall onto my back. Seconds later, he’s yanking off my jeans and panties.
As I sit up to reach for him, he takes me off guard by dipping his head between my legs.
I feel the flick of his tongue ring first … Good God, that tongue ring. It drives me mad. Everything he does drives me mad. The way his tongue pushes me toward the edge, the way he grips my thighs, the way his nearness makes my heart slam against my chest, the way my body responds to him, writhing, moving on its own freewill, in the best way possible.
I need more.
Now.
“Layton … please …” I pant out as I reach down for him.
His tongue ring flicks my flesh again before he moves away from me, slipping off his jeans and putting on a condom. Then his body is covering mine, and he’s kissing me again. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.
“This time will be better,” he promises me as he kisses me slowly but deliberately.
“The last time was fine,” I murmur then drag my teeth along the bottom of his lip.
“Fine isn’t what I’m aiming for.” He thrusts his hips and sinks deep inside me.
Oh, my God! The pain mixed with ecstasy is almost too much. And the feeling only grows as he rocks inside of me.
The way he moves, the way our bodies meet, the feel of his tongue and hands, the way our chests brush together, the way my nipples harden … I haven’t had an orgasm in forever, but I can feel myself getting there fast, falling into blindness, my fingers clawing into the flesh of his shoulders, desperate to hold on to something, afraid to fall all the way.
And then I’m gone. Lost inside everything that is Layton.
> For the briefest, most wonderful moment, I am free. Then I return to reality, and it all hits me at once.
Before I can stop myself, I start to cry.
