Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) (7 page)

“You smell so good in my clothes,” he moans before kissing my neck, and my skin explodes in goosebumps at his touch. He expertly unfastens the hooks of my bra until they spring free, the garment falling loose around my chest. His mouth moves to my throat and lingers, tasting of my skin, then he is at my mouth again. His hands slide down from beneath the shirt and up through the arms, grabbing at the bra straps until they are out and over my arms. I lean back and let the garment fall to the ground at our feet.

My breasts are tender, and Nick looks down at them appreciatively as they harden against the sheer white cotton. When his eyes reach mine the smile has faded, and he’s looking at me like he has countless times before when we’ve been in this very position.

“God you’re beautiful.”

He kisses me again, tongue tasting of my mouth, and his hands are at my waist, lifting me up off the ground. My legs wrap around him instinctively and I deepen our kiss as he walks me to the bed. There is a heady sensation of friction from his chest between my legs, and my need for him magnifies. My hips flex autonomously, begging for more touch, more friction against my most delicate and sensitive parts.

He leans forward until my back meets the bed, and I keep my legs around him as he stands and swiftly removes his shirt.

Merciful Christ
. His skin is beautiful. Unblemished and toned against a rippling of muscles in his shoulders, arms, chest and abdomen. He looks like a marble statue come to life. I reach my fingers out to him and let them run across his flat stomach until they touch the tips of his hip bones peaking out from the waistband. I hook both of my index fingers in and yank him forward until he’s on top of me again unwrapping my legs and using my arms to scoot backward as he climbs on top of me.

“I think you should let me take care of the rest,” I say, and twist him and myself around until it’s his back against the bed and me on top, legs straddling him at the waist. A deliciously deep laugh escapes from his throat and his Adam’s apple moves up and down beneath the skin of his throat. It’s fucking sexy.

Back arched I pivot my hips against him until he’s expelling another throaty groan. His hands move to my hips and he guides them between his thumb and forefingers, rocking me against him back and forth, creating a sublime friction.

“How did you manage to go from handsome to gorgeous?” I ask, smiling as my pelvis moves against his constrained arousal.

“You think I’m gorgeous, do you?” He bites his lower lip suggestively and his eyebrows raise. He’s clearly enjoying the attention.

“Stupidly, mind-numbingly gorgeous. So damn fucking gorgeous.”

His thumbs move over the very insides of my hips just a breath above the pubic bone and gently sweep across in circular motions.

“Just lucky I guess. What’s your excuse?”

“Oh, baby if I was as good looking as you I’d spend all day making love to myself,” I smile down at him, biting down my lip to mirror his own movements.

“Come on, Layla. You’re the woman every man fantasizes about when he touches himself.”

My heartbeat quickens and I stop moving against him. For one intense moment I am totally, incomprehensibly consumed in the implication of his words, and everywhere my body is tingling in glorious anticipation.

“Yourself included?” I ask with bated breath. He says nothing, but continues the assault of my lower body with his thumbs. I don’t know if it’s the champagne or his words that have affected me so, but suddenly I want to do things to this man between my legs, things to make him moan my name into my ear.

“Do you fantasize about me when you touch yourself, Nick?” I shift my hips again and I see the silent moan slip past his lips.

“Is it still considered a fantasy when it comes from memory?” His eyes close and another soft moan escapes his mouth.

“Maybe you fantasize about things we’ve never done before.”

“There’s little we’ve never done, baby.”

“Oh?” I put my hands over his on my waist and slide my palms across, fingertips grazing along the line separating his jeans from his naked torso. “What about things you want to do to me? Or maybe you fantasize about the things you want me to do to you?”

“I love to think of you on top of me like this, Layla. Only I’m usually not constrained by my own fucking pants.”

I push his hands off and away from my hips, unfasten the button of his pants and gently coax down the zipper, careful not to hurt him. He tugs the waistline down with this fingers and as they go his boxers underneath shift down too, giving me a close up look at the structural beauty of his hip bones. I smile appreciatively and climb off the bed, taking his pants with me and discarding them on the floor with the rest of our clothes. When I look up at him again he’s raised himself up on his elbows and his abdominal muscles are like expertly chiseled marble beneath his skin.

“So let’s have it. Name your fantasy.”

Nick merely has to look at me, knowing full well I’m already a foregone conclusion as far as he’s concerned tonight.

“Maybe this is it right here, Layla. Just you as you already are. Though the shirt is definitely an added bonus.”

I playfully scoff at him and play with the edge of the fabric at my stomach. “You’re so obsessed with me wearing this shirt, Nick,” I tease. “Maybe I shouldn’t take it off?”

“Oh I didn’t say that,” he grins seductively at me.

“You’re right. You’re probably just going to ask for it back anyway.” I swivel around so my back is to him, legs crossed like an X and my hips at an exaggerated curve to the right. I pick up the hem and start to bring it up, slowing as it skims up my body, revealing my naked back to him an inch at a time. Before the cloth is even falling to the ground I hear him get up walk across to me. His chest is radiating wanting heat against my bare skin. He takes me in his arms and splays his fingers across my stomach, caressing them up and under my breasts before taking them into his hands completely, and kisses the delicate space of skin just beneath my ear. He trails kisses down my neck and across my shoulder while he worships my breasts.

“This is better than any fantasy,” he whispers into my ear before kissing it, his tongue grazing in and around my earlobe. I turn my head to face him and his mouth is on mine again, kissing like he’s making love to my mouth. I swivel back around in his arms, mouths still entwined, and wrap myself around his neck until my breasts are pressed into his chest. His hands are at are my hips tugging down at the nude satin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says between kisses. “I’ve missed this so goddamn much.”

I’m panting as his mouth takes possession of my neck and trails kisses down to my chest. I run my fingers through his soft hair as he takes one breast into his mouth, suckling down gently with hot breath and warm tongue, a hand taking hold of my free breast to fondle. I can feel the pressure and rhythm of my heartbeat between my legs, the sensitive muscles contracting in minute pulses.

His mouth moves down and when his tongue laps into my belly button my head draws back involuntarily and I swoon, the sound reverberating through the muscles in my neck.

“I want you inside me,” I whisper into the air like a praise to heaven. His teeth nip at my stomach and I laugh, deep and bellowing at the sensation.

Suddenly I’m in the air, legs pinned in his arms and then falling backwards onto the bed, landing with a bounce. His fingers hook beneath the nude satin at my hips and I arch up from the bed, watching as he removes the last bit of fabric from body. He skims off the last of his apparel - I’ve never once failed to appreciate the sight of him hard and erect and beautiful - and climbs on the bed, his arousal brushing up between my legs as my knees open wider to accommodate his body on top of mine. He pins me by my elbows on either side of my face and I arch my back up to him in response, pushing my wanting breasts up to his lips, and he kisses them lovingly, longingly.

“Inside,” I reiterate, moaning at the exquisite torture of his body so close to being within me.

His back arches, hips flex, and so slowly as if to torture purposely he enters me, filling and stretching me around him as he descends further and further inside. The long absence of any lovemaking has made my muscles tight and they expand around him in pleasurable pain.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and it reminds me of the first time we ever made love and my body expanded to take him in. I don’t answer, and instead put my hands on his backside and dig my fingers in to bring him deep inside me. The pain is momentarily worsened but quickly fades as he thrusts, gently and slowly.

And
oh
is it splendid, the serenity of our bodies completing one another. His hands move up and under my back, palms and fingers taking hold of my shoulders and pulling my body down into his as he thrusts and kisses at the underside of my breasts. I arch my back and stretch my arms out above my head, grabbing at the other end of the mattress and holding tight as our bodies join in a familiar rhythm.

Every moan he makes undoes me, and I find myself opening up wider, wanting so desperately to feel him deeper and deeper. He lifts me from my waist and like a ragdoll I am pulled up and onto him, finally taking in his entire length from tip to hip as we sit facing each other.

“Look at me,” he commands. I do and it’s like fire, the staggering intensity of love and desire in his eyes. He thrusts up into me and I feel a cry stifle in my throat. It’s not enough, the feel of him, and I move backwards and forwards as he thrusts up and in.

“Oh god,
oh god
,” I close my eyes and force my lungs to breathe.

“Look at me,” he demands again, and I can barely withstand the rapture of every part of him dominating my senses. It’s all too much - the vigor of his thrusting, his hands on my back pulling me into him as if to absorb my body into his - and for a moment I consider the possibility that my imminent release will be too much for my body or for my mind to handle, let alone comprehend.

I’m pushed beyond all measure of what I can handle, and finally my body tightens, muscles contracting as I come apart around him, my body assaulted with wave after wave of exploding desire and pleasure. Nick wraps my arms around his neck as I start to crumble and he holds me like he’s scaffolding my body in support as he comes inside, the secondary vibrations rendering my body into total and thorough exhaustion.

“Layla. Baby, wake up,” he’s urging me.

I feel almost as if I’m suspended in the air and I realize it’s because he’s holding me, elbows at my sides and arms extended out to support the length of my back. I’m still straddled at his waist and my legs are alight in pins and needles.

“Can you move?” he asks.

“No. And it feels so good.” I have never been so relaxed, so released of everything.

“You passed out,” he informs me, and I think he sounds like he’s either smirking or is genuinely concerned. Maybe a bit of both.

“Literally or figuratively?”

“In every possible sense of the word.

“Good,” I sigh, and let my body sink into Nick’s arms as deep as I can go. He lays me out on the bed, stretching out my dead extremities across the welcome coolness of the mattress. I’m at the precipice of consciousness again, and as I slip dreamily from it I think I hear him softly say that he loves me.

I am reinvigorated, dispossessed of the darkness I’d been living in like some extremophile in the unexplored depths of the earth. There is nothing left but golden lightness and I feel like kissing Morning on her cheeks and basking in her offering. I am wrapped around Nick’s body, cheek on shoulder, arms entwined in naked flesh, and there exists nothing more contented than the comfort of his warmth and safety.

“Good morning,” he whispers in my ear, eyes closed.

“How do you know if you’re still half asleep?” I trace my fingers along his sternum, lilting across a soft patch of hair.

“I can feel it in my bones,” he replies.

“I don’t think I have any bones left. You turned them all to jelly.”

He laughs and rolls me over until I’m on my back and snuggled up beneath him. He’s finally opened his eyes and they are bright and blue and very sexy.

“I think I can help you with that,” he smiles suggestively, kissing at the corners of my mouth until I am smiling. It’s oh so easy to smile.

“That’s not a bone, it’s a muscle,” I tease, kissing him back. “Besides, I have other things in mind.”

“Oh?” he raises and eyebrow and smiles suggestively down at me. His hips pressed into mine tell me that he already knows what he’d like to do this morning. And I don’t blame him.

“I was thinking I should find something in the way of living arrangements. At least until I have some idea of what I’m going to do with my life. I mean I can’t live in this hotel room forever.”

Nick rests down on his arms at my sides and looks contemplatively at me. “I think I can help you out with that.”

“How’s that?” I ask, squirming underneath him so I’m sinking further into the feathered mattress top.

“I know of a house that’s available. A beautiful one at that.”

“How do
you
know about available real estate in Santa Barbara?” I ask incredulously.

“I don’t. This house is in Camarillo. Big piece of land, modest size house, has a view of the Pacific from the second floor veranda and a garden full of citrus trees and jasmine.”

“And how exactly is it you came into this information, Mr. Hudson?”

A smile spreads across his face, perfectly straight white teeth gleaming down at me. “I know a guy. You interested?”

“Sounds expensive,” I say skeptically.

“Don’t worry about the money. Do you want to see it?”

“I don’t know. Do you think I’ll like it?”

“Pretty sure you will.” His finger picks up a loose tendril of hair from my face and gently folds it behind my ear.

“Okay. Let’s go see the house.
After
.”

“After?”

I close my eyes and nod assuredly at him. When he kisses me it feels fresh, like something new we’ve discovered together despite our long history. It’s uncomplicated and easy. And sexy. I’m sore from last night but happily so, and when he enters me it is painless and my body is more than accommodating. He kisses me as our bodies move together, passionately and slowly, a manageable concentration of the intensity from before. This time when I come I don’t pass away into unconsciousness, but cry out into his mouth, his name muffled between our lips. He follows a moment later, fingers squeezing tightly into my skin as he comes undone inside me.

“You’re even gorgeous when you come,” I wink at him.

He looks genuinely surprised by the compliment, but quickly recovers and smiles slyly at me. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll let you watch me come again.”

“I’m sure we’ll have time for that again.” I nuzzle up into his neck and crane my head to gently kiss at his earlobe. “And again after that if you want.”

“Oh, I want,” he promises and then kisses my neck. “I’ll come back for you in half an hour, ‘kay?”

“
Come back
?”

“Yes. Come back. From the room I’m paying for but have barely stepped inside of. Remember?”

To be honest I completely forgot. For a moment I think to offer him my room to stay in with me, but I don’t say anything. He gets up from the bed to quickly dress and I grab for the borrowed white tee to cover myself in.

“Your phone is ringing.” He looks at the screen as he passes it to me, a puzzled look on his face. “Why is Eric Clapton calling you?”

“Oh.” Shit. I take the phone and tap the
ignore
button, tossing the phone onto the bed carelessly. “It’s an inside joke. Kind of.”

Nick slips on his abandoned shirt and reaches for his own phone and wallet. “See you in thirty?”

“Yep!” I answer brightly. He leans over and places a kiss on my mouth before eyeing me suspiciously. “I think you should keep the shirt.” He smiles wickedly and disappears from the room, letting the door come to a locked close behind him.

I slip the pleated maxi dress over my shoulders and lift damp hair from my shoulders up as the fabric falls into a mint colored cloud. With a quick twist my hair is secured in a messy chignon at the base of my neck and I am nearly ready. My phone vibrates, and when I pick it up I see a new text notification.

Wasn’t sure of the protocol for post-spur-of-the-moment blind date callbacks. I took a chance. Happy (belated) birthday, btw.

Eric (not Clapton) Jacobson. Before the earlier call which was nearly intercepted by Nick I’d almost forgotten what he looked like. I vaguely recall kind brown eyes, and a multitude of smiling.

Happy (belated) birthday to you, too! I think your callback (textback?) falls within the parameters of post-spur-of-the-moment blind date protocol. Does such a thing really exist?

I hit
send
and pick out a pair of new gold sandals, slipping them on my feet. Just as I’m fastening Nick’s rose gold heart locket around my neck I hear the
bzzz
of the phone again.

We may have just invented it. Surely there is paperwork to fill out to make it officially a “thing.” Do anything special for your big day yesterday?

My cheeks flush with crimson as I recall last night’s incredible lovemaking. Hmm,
incredible
seems too understated.
Life affirming
is more apropos.

I did. You?

There’s a knock at the door, and the blush returns, knowing the man responsible for said life affirming sex is on the other side of it. Wonder how bright my post-coital glow is exactly. I open it and he’s smiling at me, eyes reverently skimming down and up my body.

“Yes, I would love to go back to bed with you,” he says with a satisfied smile, grabbing my hand and leading me further into the room.

“No! Driving to Camarillo first, remember?”

He looks mock hurt. “I’m sorry. I just saw you in that dress and assumed you were inviting me to take it off you.” He sweeps me dramatically into his arms and plants a kiss on my mouth, taking a nip at my bottom lip before kissing my hand in his. “You look beautiful.”

As does he in a plain fitted tee under a blazer and dark rinse jeans, but I keep that to myself.

“Ready to go?”

“Give me one sec,” I ask, heading to the bathroom to grab a tube of lipgloss to stuff in my purse and grab my phone. There’s a new message lit up on the screen.

Had some drinks with friends and told them I met a woman with the prettiest smile I have ever seen.

Aww.

You’re sweet.

I type it quickly and hit send. When I look up Nick is eyeing me curiously and smiling.

“All set?”

“Take me to Camarillo, Mr. Hudson.”

Traffic on the 101 is light for a mid-Saturday morning, and as we make our way down I keep my eyes out on the Pacific. Once in a while we’ll drive past a crop of surfers bobbing up and down like buoys in the water, waiting for waves and taking in the beautiful surroundings.

“Bet you wish you had views like this in New York,” I say casually.

“Bet you wish you didn’t have to jump on the freeway to go to the grocery store,” he counters, and when I look up he offers me a teasing smile.

“You should move back, Nick. California suits you.”

“We’ll see,” he acknowledges. “You never know how things will turn out.”

Boy is that the truth, especially when it comes to the two of us. We’ve done a 180 so many times I never know which way we’re pointed anymore. What I do know is that this lightness in me is a refreshing change, and I hope it lasts.

I absentmindedly pick up my phone and check my messages.

Does ‘sweet’ earn me the honor of a second first-and-on-purpose date? Drinks? Harry’s? 6pm?

I can feel Nick eyeing me from the driver’s seat. I quickly type back.

Friend visiting from out of town. Raincheck? I like Harry’s.

Wait, what am I doing? Have I just committed myself to a future date? Nick was in my bed - and in me - an hour ago and I’m fielding outside offers? I should have put more thought into my reply before hitting send.

“You okay there, Lay?”

“Yes, just…” I trail off. I click the screen off the phone and toss it back into my purse. “A new friend asking me about plans to get together for drinks tonight. I told him I couldn’t.”

“New
guy
friend?” he asks, stressing the word in what I think is meant to be a noncommittal tone, but I have my doubts.

“We were sitting next to each other at CPK the other night, struck up a conversation and we ended up eating together. We have the same birthday,” I add as an afterthought, as if it was a necessary part of the story. I look up at Nick and find him pensive, brow furrowed visibly above the rim of his Ray Bans.

This is awkward. Eric Jacobson was the first man to so much as bat an eyelash at me in four years, and I couldn’t possibly have known that the very next morning I’d be running into Nick at LAX. And then fighting him. And then blacking out after mind blowing sex. It’s been a strange few days.

“Are you mad?” The question sounds lame when it leaves my mouth and I feel like an errant teenager.

“No, baby, I’m not mad. Of course men are going to ask you out on dates. In fact, I recently met someone, too.”

Wait, what? “I thought you said,” I cut off, remembering his words clearly.
“You
said you’ve been alone for four years.”

“I have. I only met Kirsten a few months ago. We’ve gone on a few dates but it’s nothing serious. She’s a -
what do you call it?
- one of the psych doctors. The kind that doesn’t prescribe medication.”

“You’re seeing a
psychologist
?!” Wow, talk about unexpected. “You’re not her patient, are you?” Oh, god, please say no.

“No, I’m not
seeing
a psychologist,” he laughs. “I met her at the other kind of psych doctor’s office.”

“Let me get this straight.” I turn in my seat to face him and swipe my sunglasses off my face and into my hair like a headband. “While seeing a psychiatrist you met a fellow patient who just so happens to be a psychologist?”

“It’s a private practice so there are multiple doctors; we see different ones. I met her in the waiting room. It’s kind of a funny story, actually. I had tickets that night to see this amazing band at Madison Square Garden and she just happened to be wearing one of their old tour shirts from like, eight years ago. She couldn’t get tickets and I had an extra one so … one thing lead to another and we had a date.”

“Did she know who you are? Or, I mean, recognize you?”

“No. My music isn’t really her style. I think she thinks I’m just some random guy.”

I’m trying to picture a doctorate-holding psychologist named
Keer-sten
wearing some grody old band shirt and oh-so-felicitously attending the band’s concert with a man who has sold out Madison Square Garden multiple times. And without having a clue to the fact!

“So you and
Kirsten
the psychologist who love the same band have gone on a few dates together? And it’s just casual?”

“Yeah, just casual. Why do you say her name like that?”

Because it sounds ridiculous. I lean back in my seat and slip the sunglasses back over my eyes.

“Have you slept with her?” My voice sounds much smaller than it did a second ago and I want to kick myself for it. This morning we were making love and now we’re talking about the other people we’ve met.

He glances sideways at me, brow furrowed over glasses. “No.”

“Kissed her?”

He clears his throat. “Yes.”

Oh
. Okay then.

The Pacific is still stretched out to my right. A few cars have pulled over to take in the view. We’re a good fifteen minutes away now.

Is this how things are going to be from now on? I had been living in the dark for so long that it never really occurred me to think of these questions. Not that I gave any thought to Nick at all. We’re both in the light now, reasonably recovered enough from the death of our child to not fall to pieces - at least, I hope so in my case - and life is resuming on. The world keeps on spinning. He’s dating a psychologist while living in New York and I’m fielding fresh offers for drink dates.

And then there’s
us
. Since dinner last night we’ve been incredibly open and honest with each other. In fact, I think we got along better in that small amount of time than we ever did while we were married. And then there was last night’s life affirming activities, not to mention this morning’s outstanding follow-up.

The post-coital glow is faded now, and in the pursuit of starting some kind of life for myself I have to question what Nick’s place is in it. What my place is in his life. Who are we to each other now? Are we friends? Friends who have mind blowing sex? Will we swap stories about dates we got on and people we meet from across the country?