Because of You (Playing with Fire 2)

“You need me to stick around in here?” he asks softly.

I stare at his handsome face, and I wonder why I feel absolutely nothing when I look at him. My heart doesn’t speed up from his gorgeous brown eyes, and my stomach doesn’t flutter with butterflies when I watch him lick his lips as he waits for me to answer him. He’s never come right out and said that he wants me, but sometimes a woman just knows. Sometimes, all it takes is a look, and right now he’s giving me that look. It would be so easy to just close my eyes, lean forward, and let him help me forget. Let him kiss me and touch me and help me fill in the gaping hole in my heart with new memories. I feel myself leaning towards him as I stare at his lips, willing myself to feel something, anything. I pause, an inch away from his mouth and pull back quickly with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, that was stupid,” I mutter as I stare down at my hands in my lap.

I see him rub his hands over his face out of the corner of my eye and I’m filled with guilt. Dylan is a good man, an honest man, and he’s slowly becoming my friend, and here I sit, thinking about using him just to help me stop remembering someone else. It’s not fair to him.

“It wasn’t stupid. This was a big night for you, and you’ve got a lot of shit going on in your head right now. I’m not going anywhere,” he explains as he stands up. “When you finally get that jerk out of your system, I’ll be here. In the meantime, I’m going back out to the tour bus to make sure the band hasn’t mooned anyone or snuck any groupies on.”

We share a laugh and I watch as hops down off of the stage and turns to look at me one last time. As I sit here staring at him, thinking about the huge mistake I almost made, I hear the buttons of the jukebox being pushed and the click and slide of a record falling into place. Within seconds, the soft sounds of piano music fill the empty room.

My heart stutters in my chest, and I hold my breath, not really believing that this is happening, that this song is playing right now. It’s a song that will always be synonymous to him. It’s a melody that will always remind me of dancing close to him, our bodies pressed up against each other as we swayed to the erotic beats in the club what seems like a lifetime ago.

“I have a confession to make,” Dylan says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “There’s no way I would have taken advantage of you like that. Not when I know your heart belongs to someone else. I just wanted to make sure HE WASN’T GOING TO PUSSY OUT ON THIS WHOLE THING TONIGHT,” he explains, shouting the last part of that statement so his voice would carry through the bar.

Dylan winks at me and I watch him in bewilderment as he walks to the side door and pushes it open, disappearing into the parking lot.

After the door slams closed, I slowly slide down off of the stage and stand still right in front of it, barely breathing, feeling every emotion this song brings out of me as the beat of the drums and the soulful voice belts out the hypnotic words. As the man sings about words being like knives and cutting you open, Brady walks out of the shadows with his hands in the front pocket of his jeans like something out of a dream. His hair has gotten a little longer, and his face looks tired and sad, but otherwise, he’s exactly as I remember him: tall and commanding as he strolls towards me, the long-sleeved T-shirt he wears molded to his sculpted chest and arms. I can’t believe it’s only been a few months since I last touched him. As he closes the distance between us and the subtle, masculine scent of him surrounds me, my mouth waters and it suddenly feels like years since I was this close to him.

The music continues to play and the words flow through me as he stops directly in front of me. He doesn’t smile, he just stares. He searches every inch of my face like he forgot what it looks like and he’s busy memorizing every feature. His eyes pause when they get to my lips and I nervously wet them with my tongue. He lets out a shuddering breath and pulls his hands out of his front pockets, holding one out in front of me, palm up.

“Dance with me.”

It’s a statement, not a question, and I don’t even hesitate before sliding my hand into his and letting him pull me against him. His body is just as I remember it: rock hard in certain spots and soft and warm in others. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer and within in seconds of being enveloped in his arms, I feel like I’m safe. I feel like I’m home.

My nose and lips are right against the skin of his neck, and I can’t help but breathe him in. I’ve missed this so much. I’ve missed the clean smell of his skin and the strength of his arms. We aren’t really dancing, more like gently rocking to the music, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but the fact that he’s here with me right now. It’s easy to forget about all of the bad memories when the one shining light in your life is back and brighter than ever. It’s easy to forgive the hurts and disappointments when the only thing you’ve ached for is standing right there in front of you.

Brady pulls his head back and looks down at me, giving me that half smile that I love so much, and I stare at the dimple on his cheek as we continue to rock back and forth together. I force myself out of the daze I’ve been in since I heard the first notes of this song echo through the room and finally find my voice.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper softly.

“I can’t believe you sang your own songs tonight,” he replies back, the smooth timbre of his voice forcing shivers down my spine. “They were amazing. You’re amazing.”

I look away from him for a second in embarrassment, not because he heard all of those songs, but because he heard the song. The last song. As much as I dreamed about him hearing it, it’s an overwhelming feeling to know that it actually happened.

“It was about you,” I admit softly to him when I look back into his eyes, not specifying which song I’m referring to but seeing from the look on his face that he knows.

“Oh thank God,” he says with a sigh. “I really didn’t want to have to kick someone’s ass tonight. Especially Dylan. That asshole promised me he would never dream about touching you. I was only going to give him one more second before I came out here and fucked up his pretty face.”

I laugh and shake my head at him, not even caring that he just admitted he was behind Dylan being hired. My elation at his words quickly sobers.

Once again, I find myself putting my heart out there on the line for him. But right now, staring up at his handsome face, I don’t care if it’s been trampled on or if he threw it away once before. I will give it to him time and time again because it’s his. It’s been his since the first moment I saw him, but I still need more from him.

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“You need me to stick around in here?” he asks softly.

I stare at his handsome face, and I wonder why I feel absolutely nothing when I look at him. My heart doesn’t speed up from his gorgeous brown eyes, and my stomach doesn’t flutter with butterflies when I watch him lick his lips as he waits for me to answer him. He’s never come right out and said that he wants me, but sometimes a woman just knows. Sometimes, all it takes is a look, and right now he’s giving me that look. It would be so easy to just close my eyes, lean forward, and let him help me forget. Let him kiss me and touch me and help me fill in the gaping hole in my heart with new memories. I feel myself leaning towards him as I stare at his lips, willing myself to feel something, anything. I pause, an inch away from his mouth and pull back quickly with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, that was stupid,” I mutter as I stare down at my hands in my lap.

I see him rub his hands over his face out of the corner of my eye and I’m filled with guilt. Dylan is a good man, an honest man, and he’s slowly becoming my friend, and here I sit, thinking about using him just to help me stop remembering someone else. It’s not fair to him.

“It wasn’t stupid. This was a big night for you, and you’ve got a lot of shit going on in your head right now. I’m not going anywhere,” he explains as he stands up. “When you finally get that jerk out of your system, I’ll be here. In the meantime, I’m going back out to the tour bus to make sure the band hasn’t mooned anyone or snuck any groupies on.”

We share a laugh and I watch as hops down off of the stage and turns to look at me one last time. As I sit here staring at him, thinking about the huge mistake I almost made, I hear the buttons of the jukebox being pushed and the click and slide of a record falling into place. Within seconds, the soft sounds of piano music fill the empty room.

My heart stutters in my chest, and I hold my breath, not really believing that this is happening, that this song is playing right now. It’s a song that will always be synonymous to him. It’s a melody that will always remind me of dancing close to him, our bodies pressed up against each other as we swayed to the erotic beats in the club what seems like a lifetime ago.

“I have a confession to make,” Dylan says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “There’s no way I would have taken advantage of you like that. Not when I know your heart belongs to someone else. I just wanted to make sure HE WASN’T GOING TO PUSSY OUT ON THIS WHOLE THING TONIGHT,” he explains, shouting the last part of that statement so his voice would carry through the bar.

Dylan winks at me and I watch him in bewilderment as he walks to the side door and pushes it open, disappearing into the parking lot.

After the door slams closed, I slowly slide down off of the stage and stand still right in front of it, barely breathing, feeling every emotion this song brings out of me as the beat of the drums and the soulful voice belts out the hypnotic words. As the man sings about words being like knives and cutting you open, Brady walks out of the shadows with his hands in the front pocket of his jeans like something out of a dream. His hair has gotten a little longer, and his face looks tired and sad, but otherwise, he’s exactly as I remember him: tall and commanding as he strolls towards me, the long-sleeved T-shirt he wears molded to his sculpted chest and arms. I can’t believe it’s only been a few months since I last touched him. As he closes the distance between us and the subtle, masculine scent of him surrounds me, my mouth waters and it suddenly feels like years since I was this close to him.

The music continues to play and the words flow through me as he stops directly in front of me. He doesn’t smile, he just stares. He searches every inch of my face like he forgot what it looks like and he’s busy memorizing every feature. His eyes pause when they get to my lips and I nervously wet them with my tongue. He lets out a shuddering breath and pulls his hands out of his front pockets, holding one out in front of me, palm up.

“Dance with me.”

It’s a statement, not a question, and I don’t even hesitate before sliding my hand into his and letting him pull me against him. His body is just as I remember it: rock hard in certain spots and soft and warm in others. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer and within in seconds of being enveloped in his arms, I feel like I’m safe. I feel like I’m home.

My nose and lips are right against the skin of his neck, and I can’t help but breathe him in. I’ve missed this so much. I’ve missed the clean smell of his skin and the strength of his arms. We aren’t really dancing, more like gently rocking to the music, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but the fact that he’s here with me right now. It’s easy to forget about all of the bad memories when the one shining light in your life is back and brighter than ever. It’s easy to forgive the hurts and disappointments when the only thing you’ve ached for is standing right there in front of you.

Brady pulls his head back and looks down at me, giving me that half smile that I love so much, and I stare at the dimple on his cheek as we continue to rock back and forth together. I force myself out of the daze I’ve been in since I heard the first notes of this song echo through the room and finally find my voice.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper softly.

“I can’t believe you sang your own songs tonight,” he replies back, the smooth timbre of his voice forcing shivers down my spine. “They were amazing. You’re amazing.”

I look away from him for a second in embarrassment, not because he heard all of those songs, but because he heard the song. The last song. As much as I dreamed about him hearing it, it’s an overwhelming feeling to know that it actually happened.

“It was about you,” I admit softly to him when I look back into his eyes, not specifying which song I’m referring to but seeing from the look on his face that he knows.

“Oh thank God,” he says with a sigh. “I really didn’t want to have to kick someone’s ass tonight. Especially Dylan. That asshole promised me he would never dream about touching you. I was only going to give him one more second before I came out here and fucked up his pretty face.”

I laugh and shake my head at him, not even caring that he just admitted he was behind Dylan being hired. My elation at his words quickly sobers.

Once again, I find myself putting my heart out there on the line for him. But right now, staring up at his handsome face, I don’t care if it’s been trampled on or if he threw it away once before. I will give it to him time and time again because it’s his. It’s been his since the first moment I saw him, but I still need more from him.

“Why are you here?” I ask him softly as our rocking stops and we just stand together, his arms tight around my waist and my hands resting on his chest.

“Well, Gwen said I needed to do something huge to get you to listen to me once I got my head out of my ass. She actually suggested I get up on stage and sing a song for you. I thought something a little more low key was more my style. Did it work?” he asks uncertainly.

“I’m listening, aren’t I?” I tell him with an encouraging smile.

He tentatively reaches his hand up and brushes my bangs that are now almost the same length as the rest of my hair off of my forehead. I close my eyes and lean into his touch, starving for it after all this time.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me quietly as I move my cheek back and forth against the palm of his hand.

I can see the sadness in his eyes as he searches my face for a sign of forgiveness, but I can’t give it to him. Not just yet. I stay quiet and let him go on as the song ends and begins softly playing again from the beginning like a soundtrack to a movie.

“What we had wasn’t just a thing. What we had was everything. I lied to you, Layla. If I could take back everything I said to you that day, I would. I would take it all back and tell you that I love you more than my own life. I would tell you that I was stupid and scared and trying to keep the people in my life safe by pushing away the one person who meant the world to me,” he admits, leaning his body closer to mine so I can feel every inch of him. “Running down into the basement that day and seeing you on the floor, tied to that pole, bleeding and struggling to breathe, almost broke me in two. I could barely do what I’d been trained for because all I could think about was how much you were hurting and how I could have prevented it if I’d just been honest. But walking out of that hospital and leaving you behind, thinking that I couldn’t have you and keep my family safe, almost killed me. I can’t live without you. I don’t want to live without you.”

With his hand softly framing my face, he leans forward until his forehead is resting against mine.

“I don’t care if we come from two different worlds or two different planets. I love you, Layla. If you let me, I will spend the rest of my life showing you just how much, every single day. Please tell me it’s not too late. Tell me I didn’t fuck everything up with you,” he begs.

Reaching both of my hands up to cup his face, I pull it up so I can look into his eyes.

“Because of you, I am stronger than I’ve ever been. Because of you, I can finally live my own life and make my own choices. You sent me that note and you gave my father back to me. You gave my life back to me. Because of you being here right now, coming here tonight, even though it took you long enough,” I tease him with a smile, “I know that I never want to be without you again.”

Brady lets out the breath he was holding and quickly closes the distance between us, his lips finally against mine after so long. I breathe him in and I savor the taste of his mouth and tongue, and in an instant, it’s like we were never apart. All of the hurt and pain and sadness is gone, and there’s only Brady loving me and holding onto me, never letting me go.

Just like always, our kisses never remain innocent; they never stay gentle. We’ve been apart too long and our hearts are too wide open right now to do anything other than devour each other. Brady lifts me up and sets me on the stage as I wrap my thighs around his hips and pull him closer, instantly feeling how much he needs me when he pushes himself between my legs. The song starts over for a third time, and now the words affect me differently. I’m burning with need for Brady, and I can’t get close enough, touch fast enough. We break the kiss long enough for me to quickly slide my hands up his stomach and chest, taking his shirt off as I toss it to the side, then our mouths immediately fuse back together. Brady’s hands slide around my ass and pull me closer to the edge of the stage and closer to him.

“Fuck, I need you so much, but I don’t want to hurt you,” he speaks against my lips, glancing down at my shoulder and my arm and all of the places where I was hurt. I run my hands down to the button of his jeans and unsnap it.

“I’m fine, you won’t hurt me. Please,” I beg him as I get his pants unbuttoned and slide my hand inside and wrap it around his hard length.

Brady buries his face against the side of my neck and groans as I slide my hand up and down him, loving the feel of how smooth he is against my palm. After a few seconds, he curses and moves away from my hand before quickly sinking down to his knees between my legs. He pushes my skirt up to my hips and slides my panties to the side, and before I can even blink, he places his mouth on me. I let out a cry of pleasure as his tongue slides back and forth, over and inside me, bringing me so much pleasure that I want to cry at how much I’ve missed this, how much I’ve missed him. His fingers join his mouth and they glide through me and inside me as his tongue flicks against me in rapid circles. He quickly brings me to the edge with his skilled mouth and fingers. I clutch onto the back of his head and hold him in place as he tastes me and pushes me and soon has me spiraling out of control as I come against his mouth and shout his name from my lips.

While my orgasm is still pulsing through me, he stands up and in one swift, hard movement buries himself inside of me and we both gasp and clutch onto one another.

“Jesus, you feel so good. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve missed your taste and I’ve missed how good you feel wrapped around me,” he tells me softly against my ear as he slowly slides in and out of me.

“I love you, I love you,” I repeat over and over, in the same rhythm of his thrusts, as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him close. He rocks his hips against me and echoes my words until we’re both chanting them together, not willing to stop letting the other know what we feel.

It doesn’t take long for Brady to ignite the fire in me, and once again, I’m hurdling through another orgasm and taking him with me. He pulses inside of me as we pant and mumble more words of love through our release until we finally stop moving and sink against one another, holding each other up as best as our exhausted bodies will allow.

My legs are still firmly wrapped around his hips, and my fingers lazily slide through his hair as he pulls back slightly and looks into my eyes.

“You’re wrong you know. About what you said before. I’m not the one who made you stronger. You always had it inside of you. It was always because of you.”

Epilogue

“No! Absolutely not. You are NOT using the bathroom of our bus to have sex with one of your groupies,” Layla argues with one of her band mates as she puts her hands on her hips and stomps her foot.

I laugh from my spot on the couch of the Luxury Marathon Coach that Layla ordered specifically for the two of us so we wouldn’t have to travel the next few months with her band. She wanted us to have privacy and who was I to argue? I wasn’t about to leave her side for one minute, even while she finished out her farewell tour, so living a few months on a bus that is bigger than my house is fine by me, especially when I get to go to sleep every night with the feel of Layla’s body pressed up against mine.