Chapter 20
TWENTY
LAYA
SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY
T he party is booming, and I survey over the crowd once again. Jealousy courses through me when I see one of the senior girls from my high school flirting with Owen. He throws his head back on a laugh, and I want nothing more than to cover his open mouth with mine. Instead, I’m stuck staring at them, drilling holes into the back of her perfect head. As if sensing me, his gaze darts over toward me and his eyes narrow. He peruses my body and slowly licks his lips, then he jolts and sits up before moving to his feet. With one last glance over his shoulder toward me, he walks inside the house, and I know exactly where he’s going. The games room.
His eyes tell me to follow him. My heart hammers painfully, knowing I’m about to be rejected, yet I don’t listen. I never do. Because I want Owen more than anything else in the world. More than school, more than my friends, more than the design scholarship I’m working so hard to gain. He’s my air, and if I don’t have him, then I simply can’t breathe.
I swallow the fruity punch in my hand, and without another thought, I push past a group of drunken high schoolers and make my way toward the games room.
My heart hammers in my chest as I saunter through the empty house. When I reach the door, I take a deep breath to steel myself. Then I adjust the little red dress, pull my shoulders back, and slip into the room.
“You shouldn’t be in here, Laya.” His gravelly voice sends a tremor through me as he pushes off the wall from behind me. He downs the scotch in his hand, then walks toward the lone armchair, places the empty cup on the table, and throws himself down.
“It’s a games room, Owen. Maybe I want to play games.”
His loud chuckle fills me with happiness only he can achieve, yet it’s mocking. His head tips back as he faces the ceiling. “You sure know how to play games, Laya.” He drops his head to face me, the seriousness of his tone now written all over his handsome face.
I roll my eyes.
“You’re one to talk.” I cross my arms over my chest, and it pushes my tits up. His gaze quickly darts away from the action, and I smile inside at how uncomfortable my body makes him. Owen wants me. He just doesn’t want to want me.
“I’m an adult.” He speaks so low I almost don’t hear him, almost like he’s speaking to himself, reminding himself.
My feet move in his direction, like a magnet drawing me in until I’m standing in front of him. When his tattooed hand touches the hem of my dress, I wiggle from side to side as my panties dampen from the heat radiating from him.
“You’ve no idea how tempting you are, do you?” His eyes search mine. “You make me want to be a bad man, Laya, and that outcome is deadly for the both of us.”
I tilt my head, trying to figure out what he’s saying. “How so?”
“Because men like me shouldn’t play with girls like you.”
“I told you I like to play.”
“Some games are dangerous, Laya.”
I roll my eyes. Not quite sure what he’s talking about, only that he’s trying to warn me away. But there’s no way I’m leaving here without getting something from him. It’s my birthday, after all.
“I want a birthday gift from you.”
A deep chuckle leaves his lips, then I know exactly what I want for my birthday, what I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember.
“I don’t do gifts.”
He stands, but I don’t step back; the heat radiating from him only adding to the heightened atmosphere between us. It’s electric and full of an intoxicating need. When his hand finds my hip, I fall against him as if his simple touch can melt me, mold me to be him. The power he wields over me should be terrifying, yet I find myself willing, desperate, even.
“What is it you want for your birthday?”
“You.”
He bites into his cheek and shakes his head, unwilling to look at me, and the defeat in his shoulders is evident.
“Your lips,” I whisper. “My first kiss,” I plead, feeling like I’m losing him already.
His eyes bounce back to mine, and he searches my face as if looking for sincerity. His nostrils flare. “First?”
“I saved it for you.”
His grip on me tightens, and his shoulders become tense. “Jesus, Laya.”
“I only want a kiss. You’ve done it a thousand times,” I protest with a hint of jealousy and anger.
His jaw tics, but I see the moment he gives in. His resolve buckles and lust is written all over his perfectly chiseled face as he slowly lowers his head, and not giving him a chance to back out, I raise up on my tiptoes to meet him.
I coax open his mouth with my tongue as I hold his jaw in place, and he allows it. He lets me take the lead, take what I want. I’m stealing my kiss, my birthday present, and I’m keeping it.
His soft tongue swipes at my mouth, and my body comes alive. Every cell inside of me screams to become his, to give myself over to him. Our kiss quickens, and my pulse races as he invades my mouth gently. He’s holding back. I know this, and I love him even more for it.
He’s allowing me to experience my first kiss the way any girl would want—with a loving tenderness only someone meaningful can bring.
In this moment, I know deep in my soul that Owen is mine. He just needs to realize it too.
He pulls back too soon, and my shoulders sag, but a thrill shoots through me when I realize his hard length presses between us. Then he jerks back, as if burned, and I try not to take his action to heart. I shocked him, the feelings between us something immense, and I know he felt it too.
“Fuck!” He drags a hand over his head, then threads his fingers behind his neck.
“Fuck, Laya.” His eyes flit to mine, and I want nothing more than to make him feel better, to bring him the relief he brings me.
So I tell him what he wants to hear. “It was just a kiss. No worries.” I shrug, as if it meant nothing, and his mouth falls open.
“Just a kiss?”
I nod, hoping above all hope I’m faking my feelings, because we both know that was more than just a kiss.
It was something profound, life changing.
He licks his traitorous lips as if savoring my taste, and when I whimper involuntarily, his gaze flares with a fire burning so bright, my heart stills for a moment.
“Leave!” he barks, his voice thick and commanding, and I know the moment between us has broken. His morals are back firmly in place, and as much as I want to beg, plead, and cry at his rejection, I step away from him, giving him the space he seeks, the control he demands.
Hurt swirls in my stomach as I open the door, and before I’m about to slip through, his voice stops me in my tracks. “Laya?” I look over my shoulder to face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what hit me. But you’ll be all right.” My shoulders deflate. “Happy Birthday, baby girl.”
A smile graces my lips. Those few words give me hope as I replay the sound of him saying baby girl on my own lips while I walk away with a smile.
Because those words, they’re a promise of my future.
Our future.
“ I need you,” I whisper against his ear, and delight in the shudder that racks through him. The effect I still have on him as strong as his on me.
He rolls his lips, as if contemplating my words. “I want us to be married first.”
I stumble back in shock, but he shoots his hands out and grips my arms to steady me.
“Married?” My mouth falls open. Even the taste of the word on my tongue feels like acid.
His jaw sharpens, and the vein on his neck pulsates, giving away he’s pissed. “Yes, fucking married, Laya. I want to do shit right this time.”
“I-I lost my husband a few days ago, Owen.”
His nostrils flare. “You shouldn’t have married him in the first fucking place!”
This time, it’s me who gets angry because how fucking dare he. “You fucked me and got engaged on the same night. You took my virginity and stomped all over it like it was nothing. Don’t try making me feel bad for picking up the pieces of what you broke because you were an ass. I moved on with my life just like you did, just not as soon!”
He swallows hard, his body practically vibrating on the spot. I want nothing more than to strip him of his T-shirt and expose them.
“It meant every. Fucking. Thing. Laya.” He drops his head and shakes it, and when he raises his eyes to meet mine again, I’m stunned by the longing swimming in them. “Everything.” Emotion clogs in his throat on the word, and I see it all for the first time. A tear slips down my face.
“You got engaged,” I whisper brokenly.
“I explained that shit. I was trying to do what would give you the better future,” he snipes out. “Stop fucking bringing it up. I’m here now. I’m standing before you as the man who loves you with his everything, with so many regrets when it comes to you that they make me feel like I’m drowning.”
His words hit me like a sledgehammer, and I startle. Regrets?
“Regrets?”
He sucks in a sharp breath. “Yes. Fucking regrets, Laya. I should have stepped up, been the man you deserved. I should have told Tate how I feel about you.” He shakes his head. “The thought of losing him, my family, it crippled me, Laya. I felt like I was betraying him. Then your mom asked me to let you go so you could have a fucking life, one without me in it. It’s like she could see the darkness within me, and she was pleading with me to not drag you into it, to keep you pure.
“I wish I’d never left your room that night, Laya. My biggest regret has been walking away from you when what I should have done was scoop you into my fucking arms and walk down those stairs, telling the world we’re together, that we’re spending the rest of our lives together. I’ve never wanted to marry anyone but you, Laya. Nobody ever came close. It’s always been you. Always.” He licks his lips. “And I did all that shit, I did it all, for everyone else. But right now, I’m doing this for me.” His lips slam against mine and our tongues thrash as he fights for control over me, and as always, I melt into him, happy to oblige, to give him the control he craves. Then he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. “I’m doing this for both of us.”
“For both of us,” I agree.