Layers (23 page)

I hold his handsome face with both hands making sure his eyes are aligned with mine. “Can you please set aside your feelings? For me? Just this once? Please?” Pressing my lips against his again, I envelope him, caressing his lower back. “Please,” I repeat in a pleading tone.

“Seriously, what’s up with you today, Hales? What the hell are you talking about? You’re acting weirder than usual.” He watches me with a frown. “What’s going on, for fuck’s sake?” His body stiffens.

“Look past what you see, for me. That’s all I ask,” I whisper as I take his hand and lead him inside to where Ian, Tasha and Rob are. My heartbeat quickens as I wait, dreading the unavoidable encounter. I silently pray to the gods of mental sanity to for once help with this cureless case.
D, please don’t lose it.
I bite my lip, fidgeting, in anticipation of Daniel’s reaction.

“Hey,” he salutes everyone in the room. His lips are pressed to a very thin line, his look nothing but readable. Glancing my way, his eyes dart daggers. I notice the vein in his tanned neck begin to pulse.
Don’t lose it, sweet psycho.
I try to smile.

Rob, realizing who just arrived, yanks his hands from Tasha’s shoulders as if he just found out she was infected with an incurable, highly contagious plague.

“Hmm, Dan … Mr. hmm, Stark.” He nods in sheer discomfort.

Daniel reciprocates with a blank face and a hint of a nod, his expression speaks volumes.
This doesn’t look even remotely fine
.

Jumping from his position on the floor, Ian takes Daniel’s palm in both hands. “Well,
hello
Daniel. Great to finally meet you. I’ve heard so many bad things about you.”

As Daniel takes in Ian, many expressions run through his face; none seem even relatively close to positive. Then without any prior notice, Ian turns to me and plants a rich kiss on my mouth. I notice Daniel’s knuckles turning white in his fisted palms as he gapes at us. I shoot Ian a warning gaze.

Elegantly ignoring my threatening look, Ian says to me, as though Daniel isn’t standing inches from us, ticking. “He’s just as hot as you said, gorgeous.”

Oh no, it’s only minutes before volcano D will erupt, I can already see it, everybody duck, shit’s about to hit the fan
. Blood is frantically pulsing in my veins and I can literally feel my face losing its vital shade.

“Daniel,” I try, gliding an uncertain hand to his chest, drawing his attention to me. “This is
the
Ian, I told you all about.” I send him a reassuring look, willing him to remember the gay factor. Daniel smiles at Ian, though there isn’t evidence of the smile in his eyes. He looks exasperated as only he can under smile.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, leaving my hand on him, sliding it to his waist as I position myself closer to face him; he looks at me impassively and murmurs, “I could eat.”

“Great,” I smile my most adorable, sweeter-than-Nutella smile. “We’re expecting the food any minute now.” Right as the words leave my mouth the doorbell rings. “Be back in a sec.” I stretch to kiss his cheek and gladly leave to get the food.

Returning with two large brown bags I check on the gathering from the protective shelter of the kitchen counter. Ian is sitting next to Daniel chatting. Daniel appears to be cooperative, splitting his attention between the phone in his hands and Ian.

Tasha is taken with Rob. I know that look and body language of hers. She’s working on distracting him from his tenseness, rubbing his hand and engaging him in conversation; the quiet ceasefire brings a smile to my face.
So far so good, no casualties yet. But hey, the night is still young.

Setting the clear food containers on the counter, I place five plates next to each other and a matching number of silverware and glasses. Doing that, I hear a beep of an incoming message from the phone tucked in the back pocket of my jeans. I stop what I’m doing to check who it’s from. The message reads:

Daniel: Looking past. The things I do for you, H …

I turn to where he is sitting and meet his glinting eyes above his heart-melting askew smile, which swells my insides with pure adoration. I stop messing around with the food and walk toward where he is seated, my stare not straying from his. As I reach his side I bend to press a lengthy, chaste kiss to his lips. Brushing my fingers through his honeyed hair, I whisper in his ear, “You are so going to be rewarded for this.”

He smirks at me, winks, and murmurs, “Looking forward to it.”

Content, I turn back to setting up dinner.

“Kids, food is ready!” I call out moments later.

We’re all settled around the tiny spring-green kitchen counter digging into our plates of “poor” while Ian entertains us with hilarious anecdotes from his work at the travel agency, seasoning it Ian-style with drama and comic spikes.

I can hardly get my food down; there’s a knot in my stomach from excessive laughter. “Shut up for two seconds, Ian, let us chew some food without the risk of choking to death, for fuck’s sake,” I beg.

“That would be my line,” Daniel mumbles my way, making me giggle. Ian flashes me his boyish I-am-so-the-center-of-attention smile to which I respond with an air-kiss.

“Stop that,” Daniel scolds me quietly and I chuckle.
Is he serious?

“You guys should hear some of Ian’s legendary runway show adventures,” Tasha says. Ian smiles at her approvingly, eager to continue his entertainment of the audience. Daniel tilts his head and raises a curious eyebrow at me.

“Ian sometimes participates in modeling gigs,” I inform him. He shrugs, indifferent to the information. He resumes picking at his plate with one hand, nonchalantly resting the other on my inner thigh, making my blood surge toward the center of my body. And this is only with a casual touch;
D, can’t wait to get you in my room.

Being an offspring of a Japanese father and a Scandinavian mother, Ian has such a unique, exotic look that gets him constant offers to participate in random fashion events. I run my eyes over him as he tells the story of the time one of the models got her long curly hair caught in the mechanical epilator, his entire posture signaling I am Mecca.
He looks way too young to be twenty-six
. His slender figure and his angelic, nearly girlish facial features certainly help. He sits casually opposite us, his tall figure hunched on one of the orange stools, a head taller than me, almost Daniel’s height but not quite. His almond-shaped aquamarine eyes now twinkle in a lively way in response to our laughter. As dinner progresses Daniel seems more at ease. He’s sociable with Tasha and Ian, though he doesn’t grace Rob with a single look or any form of attention whatsoever, for that matter.
Well, it’s not like I expected Daniel to hold hands with him and chant Kumbayaa. Guess ignoring will do in this case.

“We’ll clean up,” Tasha declares, smiling at Rob. Nobody protests. I am slightly repelled at the few lonely morsels left floating in oil at the bottom of the depleted containers and can’t wait to get away.

“There’s a phone call I need to make,” Ian announces.

“Alerting the media,” Tasha and I respond simultaneously.

“Biatches,” Ian snarls with a smile as he turns on his heels toward our wooden decked balcony for privacy.
Booty call?
I amuse myself
. Familiar with Ian’s lifestyle,
I am probably right.

“You …” I front Daniel, who’s sitting next to me wearing a white button-down shirt. He has two buttons undone, revealing a part of his tanned neck and a small triangle of soft, golden hair. His jeans enfold his pelvis in the most salacious way. I take a deep breath, drinking him in. My palm runs across the prickly bristles that decorate his cheek. “You are coming with me.”

“Am I now? Where to?” He smiles, causing a pang in my chest at his marked lip and those adorable wrinkles that form at the edge of his eyes when he grins.

“My room,” I answer softly, and pull him by the hand to follow me. He casually lifts himself out of the stool, obediently following my lead.

As soon as he closes the door behind us, Daniel empties his jean pockets. Phone, wallet and an Alfa Romeo key fob all settle on my bookshelf. He turns to embrace me, pushing us both back so we fall on my bed. I tilt my head back giggling. With the weight of him between my legs I sink into my white down-filled comforter. He raises his upper body by straightening his arms. Staring at me with his glittering, rebellious eyes, making me anxious, but yearn for him at the same time.

“You played nice with the worker bees,” I tease, lifting my head to graze his square jaw with my teeth.

“Mating, licentious worker bees that is,” he murmurs to my lips.

I start to chuckle, but stop when his tongue insistently invading my mouth becomes the only thing that matters.

“Hold on, baby,” he breathes, grabbing the remote from my nightstand, tapping play to bring my iPod to life with Snow Patrol’s, “Make This Go on Forever.”
This song and you, D, what more can a girl ask for?

“This will give us some privacy with all your moaning,” the curve of his lip, pure tease. I roll my eyes and he smirks.

“
Where was I,” he mumbles into my slightly parted lips, covering my body with his. He brushes my hair to the side then leans into me slowly, fluttering his lips on mine. He pulls back to look at me, his eyes a tender hazel. His touch is now deeper, more demanding, as his tongue rejoins mine in a stimulating dance that starts pulsing currents in my very depths. I slide my hands under his shirt to stroke his firm back with the tips of my fingers, sensing his warmth against them, savoring the feeling.

He rises to his knees and pulls me up to face him; we stare at each other with the slightest gap between us, our faces almost touching. He grabs my pink tee by its hem and pulls it over my head. I undo his buttons, parting the fabric, freeing him of his shirt, then hastily help him out of his white tee. I gaze at his bare, chiseled body, his molded chest, three even, alluring pairs of square muscles just above his tanned navel, the seductive maze tattoo wrapped around his shoulder, and I quiver in anticipation. He moves his gaze from my baby pink bra to my eyes with a scorching stare, liquefying my insides.

Abruptly, as though possessed, we embrace, forcing our bodies together. His mouth doesn’t leave mine when he yanks my jean buttons apart; I copy him, unzipping his fly. Anxious short gasps come out of our joined mouths as we pull down our pants. Unwillingly we detach to hurriedly peel off our remaining clothes, then frantically embrace again, our bare bodies amplifying the feeling of skin on skin.

Daniel pulls us down to the bed. He caresses me, stroking from between my breasts to the trail beneath my navel, till his hand halts between my legs, starting a fire in me. With a passionate, blazing stare and flushed cheeks he sinks into me in the most indulgent way. I cry out in ecstasy.

Grabbing his face, holding his bristled cheeks, I pull his mouth to mine, exploring every part of it. I feel myself build up in response to the faint groans reverberating from deep inside his throat as his mouth collides with mine. I am lost in our proximity, lost in the intensity of our union, the way he methodically moves in and out of me, lost in his incredibly drugging scent, utterly lost in him.

We devour, ravage each other, stroking every inch of bare skin. He grazes my back, my breasts, strokes my face. My hands comb into his soft wavy hair as I pull him deeper, wrapping my legs around him. We absorb each other, dependent on an overwhelming pleasure that causes my body to blister inside out. I am climbing up rapidly and shudder to a release at Daniel’s last thrust, just before he eases onto me.

The exhilaration leaves my each and every organ in deep spasms. We pace our breath while Daniel is still wrapped on me.
I could have him stay this way till my last day on earth.

Lying with his head on my bare stomach he mutters, “You feel divine.” He pecks my navel, fluttering my skin with airy kisses. I play my index finger over the tattoo covering his entire left shoulder; my vision is fixated on the spiral-shaped phrases, three circles of inked cryptic letters. I find it madly erotic and am not able to take my eyes away.

“What does it say?”

“My tat?” he murmurs to my skin, planting yet another supple kiss on it.

“Yes.” I continue my trip around it as though I am solving the maze on his skin while enjoying the pleasurable touch of his lips on my bare stomach.

“It is the Lord’s Prayer in ancient Hebrew.”

“It is so sexy.”

“Now, that would be you,” he says, and runs the tip of his tongue over my bare skin; I move to caress his dusty blond head, feeling serenity settle over me.

“When did you get it?” I ask behind closed eyes.

“Right after I signed the final papers to register my company.”

I can’t help but contemplate what made him choose this specific theme. “I didn’t take you for a believer,” I say.

“You were correct with your assumption,” he snorts. “The ink has a different meaning to me than its original context.”

“Oh.” I shift my head to look at him.

“For me it represented the end of an era, a beginning of a realization of a dream, gratitude.” He looks back at me and then asks, “Are you familiar with the way the prayer concludes?”

Though my father would be disappointed at my answer, with years of trying to get some faith and love for God in me, I answer that I don’t.

“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” he quotes. “That part was just what starting my company was to my past.” Highly intrigued, I lift my head, but just when I’m about to ask for further elaboration about his past life, we’re distracted by the national anthem playing from my phone on the floor where my jeans are scattered with the rest of our deserted clothes. Daniel inclines his head to face me with an inquisitive stare.

“What the fuck?”

I burst up into laughter.
How Daniel of you to phrase a question so subtly, Mr. Finesse
.

“That would be my phone,” I answer, still amused.