Because of You

The conversation with June slips away as I hear the click of the bedroom door handle being turned. I hold my breath as I watch the door slowly open revealing Layla, her long, wavy hair wild around her face and shoulders, her body barely covered in a short, white satin nightie. She steps into the room, and I can’t take my eyes away from her full breasts spilling out of the black lace edging of the top. The nightie stops a few inches below her hips, and I lick my lips as my eyes trail down the front of her body and the smooth skin of her legs as I watch them walk towards the bed.

She hesitates shyly at the edge of the bed, and I can see that she’s not sure if she’s doing the right thing. I don’t want her to leave, but I can’t find my voice to tell her that, so I reach over and pull the covers back, holding them up above the bed for her.

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 f*ck 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 p-ssy 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 f*cking 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 f*ck 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 * 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 *. 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 f*cking 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.





“What the hell were you thinking throwing a brick through her f*cking 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 a*shole 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-f*cking 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 f*ck 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.

“Right, right. That’s a good idea. Maybe I can throw him off the trail if I just kill him with kindness,” the voice replies.

“Or I could just kill him.”

Ray barks out a laugh when he hears the gasp of shock through the phone line at his suggestion.

“What?! No! Absolutely not. We’re not talking about killing anyone. I told you that in the beginning. No one needs to die. We just need to pull back a little. No more threats, no more going off on your own. This needs to be finished so he packs up and leaves. Layla will go back to doing what she’s supposed to, and no one will ever know I had anything to do with this.”

Ray sighs as the person rambles on and on, trying to tell him what to do and what not to do. He doesn’t like it when people think they can boss him around. He was hired to do a job, and he doesn’t care what the f*ck this person wants. He’s going to finish it how he wants to, and if someone has to die, well then so be it.

He cuts the person off mid-sentence and hangs up the phone without a goodbye, tossing the cell phone into the passenger seat and studying the photo in his hands for a few minutes.

He looks up from the picture when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. Layla and the idiot joined at her hip are finally done stretching at the entrance of the trail. They take off into the woods running side by side.

Ray smiles to himself as he tosses the butt of his cigarette out the window, opens the car door, and makes his way over to the F150 parked close to the trail. Luckily, with the nice weather lately, the park is packed early in the morning, and his beat-up Honda doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. He’d found the last available parking space in the crowded lot, crouched down low in his seat, and sat waiting until the coast was clear.

He ambles over to the truck, bends down to tie his shoe next to the front tire, and glances around for any signs of anyone looking his way or paying any attention to him. When he sees no one, he stands up and quickly shoves the photo facedown underneath the windshield wiper blade on the passenger side, right where Layla will see it when she gets back into the truck.

Ray smiles to himself and whistles softly as he makes his way back to his car.

He can feel his dick swell in his pants when he thinks about the look that will be on Layla’s face when she sees that picture. Her full lips will part in surprise, and maybe a lone tear will fall from her eye and down her cheek. Soon enough, he’ll be so close to her that he’ll be able to lick her tears right off of her cheek. He wishes he could stick around for the show, but he’ll be with her soon enough. Right now, he’s got supplies to purchase and a kidnapping to map out.





When I woke up this morning, still wrapped in Brady’s arms after the best night of sleep I’d had in forever, I decided a morning run was needed to get my adrenaline pumping in some way other than rolling over to face him and pulling him into my body.

When I tried to slide out of his arms, he pulled me back against him, ran his hands down my side, and hitched my leg back over his thigh and slowly entered me from behind. Thirty minutes later, and after I was too worn out to move, he was the one who suggested the run.

Being with Brady is so easy that it scares me. I’m growing attached to him quickly, and for someone like me, that isn’t good. I can’t get attached to him. He doesn’t understand why I do the things I do, and even though he apologized last night for questioning me repeatedly about my choices, I know it still bothers him. If he sticks around after this case is over, it will always bother him. He might try to hide it so as not to upset me, but it would eat away at him. He’s not the type of man to sit back and watch someone suffer.

I don’t know why I’m even entertaining the idea of him being here after my stalker is caught. We’ve had sex a few times. That’s it. Mind-blowing, brain-numbing sex, but still…only sex. We’re not in love and he hasn’t promised me anything beyond today. He’s here because he has a job to do, and I’m probably an easy way to pass the time. I shouldn’t be worried about disappointing him down the road. It probably won’t be long now until the police figure out who is behind all of the threats, he’ll go to jail, and Brady will go back to his own life.

“So, tell me about your sister. Is she younger or older than you?” I ask, trying to banish thoughts of Brady and I having a future together as we jog past the first mile marker on the trail.

“She’s younger by two years,” he replies with a smile on his face as he thinks about her. “She’s had a rough time of it lately. Married an abusive a*shole that my parents loved, and after he busted her face and broke some bones about six months ago, she finally got up the nerve to leave his sorry ass and showed up on my doorstep with her daughter.”

I shake my head in both sympathy and anger for this woman and her daughter. Hearing something like this always makes me regret the complaints I have about my own life.

“I’m glad she was able to get away and that she has you to lean on.”

Brady lets out a mocking snort.

“Yeah, well, I was an a*shole myself for a long time. She didn’t deserve that shit from him or me. I have a lot of making up to do with her. Keeping an eye on her and Emma and helping them out is the least I can do.”

I wonder what he means about him being an a*shole to his sister, but I don’t want to push him to tell me something he doesn’t want to so I move on to another subject.

We run three more miles, talking easily about both of our childhoods. I tell him about some of the better memories I have of just my dad and me, and he tells me about his three best friends, all Navy SEALS scattered throughout the world. Men he keeps in contact with all of the time and knows he can trust or turn to for help whenever he needs it.

I’m glad he has people like that in his life. I can count on one hand the friends I have who I can rely on like that. Actually, I can count on one finger, but even after what he did for me at June’s bar, I’m still not sure if our friendship will ever be the same.

“So, you and Finn. Just friends, right?” Brady asks nonchalantly, staring straight ahead.

I smile to myself when I hear the wariness in his voice.

Could he possibly be jealous of Finn?

“Yes, just friends. We met in elementary school. He was a loner because he lived in the town’s only orphanage, and I was pretty much in the same boat because my family had a lot of money and when you come from money it can make people petty and resentful. So we stuck together and defended each other when kids were nasty on the playground,” I explain, thinking back to that time and smiling when I picture a ten-year-old Finn shoving some boy who had just called me a rich bitch. “Finn went into the Marines right out of high school, and when he came back injured, he couldn’t get hired anywhere. Surprisingly, it was really easy to get my mother to agree to hire him as my bodyguard. It’s the one time I didn’t have to fight with her.”

We round the bend that takes us to the end of the trail and slow down our running until we’re walking slowly, stretching our arms as we cool down.

“So, you guys never hooked up? I mean, friends hook up all the time. Sometimes you need to scratch an itch and no one else is around. And he’s a good looking guy. And always around you. Chicks like Marines and all that ‘ooh-rah’ shit…” Brady trails off, once again not making eye contact at all, and that makes me smile even wider.

“Brady, are you jealous of Finn?” I ask, turning to face him as he holds onto his foot and pulls one of his legs behind him to stretch out the muscles in his thigh.

“What? Jealous?” he asks with a nervous laugh. “Why would I be jealous? I mean, you’ve known him all your life. It would make sense if you guys were together. The media already assumes you are. Every time they spot the two of you in public they take a close-up shot of your left hand looking for an engagement ring.”

He’s rambling now and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard or witnessed. I can never tell Brady that though. Something tells me he wouldn’t take too kindly to being called cute.

“You read tabloid articles about me and Finn?” I ask as I move closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist as he drops his foot and rests his hands on my shoulders, gently kneading the muscles there.

He rolls his eyes and lets out another awkward laugh before leaning down and kissing my lips quickly before moving back.

“It was just for research. You know, trying to figure you out before I got here.”

We break apart and Brady holds onto my hand as we head across the parking lot towards his truck.

“Mmhmm, research, right,” I mumble with a laugh.

He ignores my comment, opens the passenger door for me, and helps me climb into my seat. When he gets in on his side and starts up the truck, I stare at his profile.

He finally looks over at me, and I raise my eyebrow questioningly, waiting for him to just admit it. My silence and the way I’m looking at him finally gets to him, and he lets out a huge sigh of defeat.

“Okay, fine! I’m jealous as f*ck. God dammit, I can’t believe I just said that,” he complains.

I laugh and shake my head in wonder at the fact that he’s actually had these thoughts in his head.

“I swear to you there has never been nor will there ever be something between Finn and me. He’s just a friend. You have nothing to worry about.”

Brady seems satisfied with my answer, and I lean over the center console to kiss his cheek. He quickly turns his face though and my lips press against his. I bring my hand up and place it against the day old stubble on his face, liking the way it feels against the palm of my hand. He nibbles teasingly at my lips before gently sliding his tongue past them and tangling it with my own.

I could kiss this man forever and never grow tired of it. His lips are soft but firm, and his tongue sweeps through my mouth slowly and gently as if he’s trying to taste every single inch of it. He sucks lightly on my tongue and a whimper escapes my lips. Brady slows down the kiss and gives me one last chaste peck before pulling away and shifting the truck into gear.

“You know, now that I think about it, Finn and I did go on a few dates back in high school to test the waters,” I tell him teasingly, trying to pay him back for getting me worked up with that kiss and then pulling away before I was ready.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Brady asks with a laugh.

I snicker to myself as I look away from his sparkling green eyes, the laughter dying on my lips as I see something stuck to the front of the windshield right in front of me.

“Stop the truck,” I tell Brady softly as he begins backing out of the parking space.

“Stop the truck!” I shout in a panic as he slams on the breaks and looks over at me in confusion at my outburst.

I fumble with the handle and fling open the door, standing up on the running board of the truck to lean out and around the windshield to pull what I saw out from under the wiper.

Getting back into the truck and slamming the door closed, I stare in horror at the photo I hold in my hand. It’s a picture of Brady and me in this very truck from the night we were at June’s. My heart thumps wildly in my chest as I take my eyes off of the intimate moment someone caught on camera to read the words penned in black marker right at the top.

I read them four times before Brady finally snatches the photo out of my hand and growls in anger when he sees what someone has done—what they’ve said and what it means.

“All that beautiful, blonde hair will be spilling over my thighs soon. I can’t wait to wrap my hands around all those silky strands and force your mouth where I want it to go,” Brady reads aloud, practically spitting each word from his mouth with the force of his fury.

My stomach clenches in revulsion and fear. My chin quivers as I watch Brady’s fists clutch tightly to the photo until he’s crumpled it so hard that it’s unreadable and his knuckles are stark white.

He reaches across my body and pops open the glove box, shoving the ruined photo inside and slamming it closed before putting the truck back into reverse and peeling out of the parking lot. He doesn’t say a word to me as we drive through town. I have my arms wrapped protectively around my body as I hunch against the door of the truck, staring out at the passing landscape and swiping angrily at the tears that have now started to fall.

This disgusting human being took something amazing between Brady and me and turned it dirty; a moment in time where I felt free and alive is now tainted by some faceless person. All this time I’ve been fooling myself thinking that I wouldn’t let this person get to me. Even after he attacked me outside that bar, I thought I could put on a brave face and it would all blow over quickly without ruining a piece of myself in the process.

The rearview mirror on the passenger side of the truck is angled in such a way that I can see myself in it as I rest my head against the window. I stare angrily at all of my blonde, beautiful hair that I took down from its high ponytail after the run. It’s wild and untamed and even though my mother has always been the one to insist it remain long, I usually don’t mind it. I love my hair and the confidence it gives me. I love being able to hide behind it when I need to pretend to be someone else. Now all I see when I look in the mirror is a dirty pair of hands wrapping a handful of it around his fists and forcing me to do something I don’t want.

I tear my gaze away from my reflection when I realize Brady just drove right by the road that would take us to my cabin.

“Where are we going?” I ask, breaking the silence in the cab of the truck.

“Someplace safe,” he replies rigidly.