I set the waters down and curl up on the sofa next to him, tucking my feet under me. We’re both silent for a minute. Without meaning to, my mind flashes back to Donny. I remember the familiar sneer on his face as he leered at my chest.
If you didn’t want people to look at you, you sure as Hell wouldn’t be wearing a shirt like that.
Old, half-buried memories flicker through the back of my brain, making me feel sick.
“You can tell me,” Josh says suddenly. I glance across at him. He’s not looking at me, staring out of the window at the city lights. “You’re upset. You can tell me what’s hurting you.”
I tug at the hem of my shorts. “I’m not hurt. Nothing is upsetting me.”
“Is it the podcast?” He asks. “Is it upsetting you? Because you can drop out whenever you want. Things have gotten pretty crazy.”
I frown. “I don’t want to drop out. Even if I did, I wouldn’t do it. You guys would lose a ton of followers. And the whole point of this segment was to boost your popularity.”
He frowns. “I don’t care about that.”
I snort. “Yeah, you do. The podcast is your life. You love it.”
“Not to the detriment of other people,” he snaps. “I wouldn’t hurt someone for business, for God’s sake.”
His voice is uncharacteristically sharp. I’m taken aback. “Never said you would.”
Josh closes his eyes, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry. Touchy subject, I guess. I was just on the phone to my brother before Luke called me.” His lips press together. “Rob wants to invite our dad to his wedding.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Years ago. I was hoping to keep it that way.” He looks out of the window at the city lights outside. “He was like that. Cold. Harsh. A workaholic that cared more about his bank accounts than other people. People say that I’m like him a lot, so…” he shrugs. “Yeah. Sore subject.”
I don’t know what to say to that. A few seconds of silence pass as I watch him. His face is dipped in shadow. I can see his pulse thrumming in his throat. He looks sad and tired, and it’s unfurling something inside of me.
“Can I try something?” I ask.
He nods wordlessly. Slowly, I lean forward, curling my hand in his hair. His lips part, but he doesn’t move as I shuffle closer and touch my mouth to his.
Just like the last time we kissed, need immediately flushes through me. I melt against him, my body softening against his hardness. God, it feels so good. It feels right. He makes a low noise and kisses me back hard, licking into me. The dark room around me smudges like an oil painting. I can feel tension building deep in my stomach, like a spring winding tighter and tighter. We keep touching each other, stroking our hands over each other like neither of us can quite convince ourselves to stop. The ache between my legs gets worse and worse, until I’m squirming on his lap, rocking slightly against his thigh. I feel half-desperate.
I need more.
Yanking up my tight shorts, I climb onto Josh’s lap, straddling his thick thighs. He groans as I shuffle forwards, wrapping my arms around his neck. We kiss again, long and hard, until the blood is thudding in my head and I have to pull back and gasp for breath.
“Layla,” he rumbles, gripping my hips like he’s scared I’ll pull away. “What is this?”
Ignoring the question, I dip in for another kiss. He meets my lips stroke for stroke. Our chests rub against each other, and the buttons on his shirt press through the fabric of my thin silky top, rubbing against my overheated skin. I shiver. I had no idea that buttons could feel so good.
“Layla…” he starts again.
I nibble at his throat, and he groans, his hips bucking under mine. “God, I love your weak spot.”
“D-don’t use it against me,” he manages, as I lick over his pulse.
I shake my head, nipping at the hot skin until his hands clutch at me. “I’m just being a good student.”
His big palms slide up the sides of my waist. His eyes meet mine. “Can I…?”
I gulp. My skin is blazing. My breasts feel achy and full. I want them in his hands more than anything.
I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it off, tossing it in a crumpled ball to the floor. Josh swallows visibly. His eyes rove over my lilac balconette. It’s one of my favourite sets, simple and pretty, embroidered with fine, shimmery thread.
Slowly, he reaches out and touches the tiny bow between the cups, his jaw tight. “Shit,” he says succinctly.
I smile. He runs his finger lightly over the lace, tracing the line of the cup, then looks up at me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Let me show you how okay I am,” I practically purr.
He groans as I push him back and tug at his shirt. Buttons pop as I yank the panels apart, baring his hard chest. I run my fingers down between his abs, and they crunch under my touch. I smile like a shark.
Yes. This is better. Meeting Donny made me feel weak and sad, but now I’m back in control. Josh grabs my hips, twisting like he wants to flip me over. I push his hands away.
“No,” I order. “I’m on top.” I soothe the sting of the order by ducking and pressing a kiss to his pec. He sinks back against the couch cushions as I kiss down the side of his throat.
“You’re incredible,” he murmurs. “Amazing.”
Emotion ripples through me, and I quickly tamp it back down. No. I don’t want to feel right now, I want to shag. “Shh,” I order. “No talking.”
“No?” He sounds amused.
“No.” I pull back for a second, rubbing my sternum. “Don’t want to talk.” I go back to necking him.
“Hey,” Josh says.
“Mm?” I suck on his Adam’s Apple, breathing hard. My heart is hammering painfully. My lungs squeeze as I slide my hands down the front of his muscled chest, reaching for his belt.
“Layla.”
I tug at the belt, pulling it loose from the buckle. “Yeah?” My voice is breathy. My fingers are trembling.
“Layla, look at me.”
I don’t. My sweaty hands slip on his belt. I swear under my breath, my fingers fumbling with the buckle. My head is swimming.
“Layla.” Josh’s voice hardens. He reaches down and grabs my wrists, pulling them gently away from him. “Layla, stop.”
THIRTY-FOUR
LAYLA
I freeze, blinking up at him. “What?”
He cups my face and tilts it up. His thumb strokes across my cheek as he studies me. He looks so concerned that it makes something in my stomach tremble. “You still don’t look right.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like… you think I’m about to fall apart.” I squirm as my throat tightens. I’m uncomfortable, and sweating, and there’s a pit in my stomach that’s hurting so much I feel sick. I guess it must show on my face, because Josh just looks even more alarmed, dropping his hands.
“Layla,” he says softly. “What is it? You want to talk about it?”
“I’m not upset,” I sputter. “At least—I don’t think I am.”
Josh doesn’t say anything. I can’t handle his eyes on me anymore. Embarrassed, I slide off the sofa and grab my empty water glass from the coffee table, skittering towards the kitchen. Refilling it at the sink, I lean against the counter and gulp it down. The cold liquid slides through me, cooling my insides, and I take a deep breath as my heartbeat steadies. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.
Setting the glass on the drying rack, I turn back to the sofa, but Josh is gone. The door to my bedroom is open, light spilling into the hallway, so I follow him inside. He’s standing shirtless and barefoot by my bed, plumping up my pillows.
“Better now,” I announce, crossing the room and putting my hands on his shoulders to shove him onto the bed. He falls onto the mattress, and I slide into his lap, but immediately, that scared, panicked feeling starts back up again. I could growl with frustration. What the Hell is wrong with me? Why am I freaking out about this? It’s just Josh, for God’s sake.
Deciding to just ignore it, I try to catch his mouth in another kiss.
He turns his face away, letting my mouth skitter over his jaw. “Not tonight, L.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Really.”