Read Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) for Free Online Page A

His hand goes to his cheek and I can already see the crimson imprint of my hand on it. “About fucking time, Layla.”
    Of course . It was his game, the one thing he knew would get my undivided attention and force me to break the four year silence. Fine .
    I let the bags and my purse fall gracelessly to the ground. “Is this what you want?” My hands grab and unceremoniously tug the jacket off my shoulders until it’s a pile of fabric on the ground. “You’ve called, you’ve texted,” I undo my hair until it’s falling in unruly waves down my shoulders and breasts. “You broke into my bedroom and put your hands on me against my will,” I spit at him, kicking off my shoes and untucking the blouse from the front of my jeans. “And now you’re in my hotel room kissing me. How much further do you want to violate me, Nick?”
    I’m crazed. I can feel myself spinning further and further out of control. But I’m possessed and cannot stop. My fingers are ripping at my shirt and it falls behind me, landing somewhere on the ground and I can see his face vacillating between two equal yet distinct reactions. He’s both horrified and strangely, I think, turned on.
    “Will my body be enough for you?” I yell murderously at him, throwing his own unresolved feelings back at him. My hand is whipping up to his face and before he can react to stop me I’ve grabbed his chin and am holding it tight within my hand. “How much more do you want to take from me, Nick?”
    “Baby, you need to calm down,” he hoarsely whispers, as if he can barely refrain himself from yelling back at me.
    “ I am not your baby! My baby is dead!” I scream, finally letting the dark place take full possession of my heart, my mind, and body.
    “So is mine!” he yells back in my face, and he grabs the hand I’ve had on his chin and yanks it away forcefully. The movement catches me off guard and I lose my footing, falling backwards into the room. His reflexes are quick and I land somewhat gracefully on the ground, my bottom barely hitting the carpet with much force. He’s caught me. His right arm is snaked around my waist and he’s fallen with me, catching himself on his knees with minimal effort.
    I move to get away from him but he straddles me, legs on either side of my hips so that I am pinned, and the hand around my waist gone to immobilize both my arms above my head. His torso is stretched out on top of me and I can feel his breath on my skin.
    “Get the fuck off of me,” I growl at him, trying and failing to buck him off of me with my hips. He’s too heavy for me to even move an inch.
    “No. You’re going to hurt yourself, Layla. And I’m not going to just sit back and watch you do it. Not this time.”
    “The only person who has ever hurt me is you,” I spit at him, trying once more to wriggle out from underneath his hold.
    “Stop moving,” he demands, his voice loud and booming just inches from my face. His hands press tighter on my arms until I cannot move them, and I’m breathing so hard my chest is grazing against his at the top of every breath. There’s a slight friction from his tee shirt against the skin of my breasts, barely constrained in a bra, heaving up and down as my lungs gasp desperately for fresh oxygen. I barely remember taking my shirt off, and I wish to god I hadn’t. I can almost feel the mass of his chest beneath the fitted white tee.
    “I can’t breathe with you on top of me,” I whisper, my voice not totally absent of vehemence.
    He relents and moves my arms down to my side so that my elbows are at my waist, hands splayed palms-up against his at my shoulders. I can feel the weighted friction of his hips adjusting on top of me.
    “You’re going to wear out your heart if you keep doing this, Layla,” he says to me finally, his voice much calmer but still ringing with alarm. “And 30 is too young to die.”
    It’s as if I’ve been slapped again, only it’s my heart stinging with pain. I can feel