NOTE BEFORE READING: This fic is technically a sequel to "Blood On His Hands", but I don't think it's really necessary to have read it to enjoy this story. (Although I hope you do!)

Chapter One

Layla Hamilton did not want a boyfriend.

It wasn't that she wasn't interested in the opposite sex – she was – but love and romance were distractions she didn't have the time or luxury to enjoy. Maybe in the far future, when her career was on the decline and she had achieved all her professional goals, she would consider getting married and raising a family, but at the moment, the only thing that mattered to her was performing at Kaleido Stage. Even though she was already the top star at the tender age of eighteen, she knew that she had not yet reach her peak.

However, just because she was dedicated to her career, that didn't mean she didn't experience the occasional sexual urge. She was a teenager; it was normal. Usually she took matters into her own hands, so to speak, but as of late, pleasuring herself wasn't cutting it. She wanted to feel the heat of somebody's skin against hers, their fingers caressing her body as their lips claimed hers, bringing her to the point of ecstasy...

As Layla took a drink from her water bottle during a break from practice, she watched her partner Yuri Killian wipe the sweat from his brow with a towel. He was going shirtless, as a record-setting heat wave had hit Cape Mary just as Kaleido Stage's main air-conditioning unit decided to go on the fritz. Everybody else was complaining up a storm about the unbearable temperatures, but Layla had to admit there were some perks to the situation.

She thought back to Paris, the previous winter when they had been named the champions of the prestigious International Circus Festival. To celebrate, they had indulged in a bottle of expensive champagne – perfectly legal in France, where the drinking age was lower – and ended up sleeping together. Her first time.

She hadn't enjoyed it much. Alcohol and sex were a bad combination, and Yuri had been upset about the unexpected death of Sophie Oswald, a fellow participant in the Festival he had apparently been seeing.

But the next morning, he made it up to her by doing some amazing things with his tongue. Layla's face went flush as she flashed back to the incredible climax he had given her that almost rivaled the feeling she had felt when they had performed the Golden Phoenix at the Festival to a standing ovation.

"Layla, you feeling okay?" Yuri asked, breaking her away from her reminiscence.

"What?"

"Your face is all red."

"I'm fine," she said, mentally berating herself for thinking of such things in the middle of practice. "Just a little over-heated, I guess." She took another swig of ice cold water, then placed the bottle against her forehead. The chill felt wonderful against her sweaty skin. "I hope the air-conditioner is repaired soon."

Although she certainly would miss the sight of shirtless Yuri…

"You're telling me." Yuri grabbed his own bottle, took a couple of large gulps, then poured the rest of the remaining water over his head. "Ah, that feels better," he said, running a hand through his wet hair. "What do you say we call it a day? It's nearly impossible to train in this heat."

Layla hated cutting practices short, but for once, the idea didn't seem so bad. Besides, opening day for their new production had been pushed back a week while the problem with the air-conditioning was being fixed.

"I think that sounds good," she agreed, starting to gather her things. She could always practice on her own later at home. Her father had a training facility built in the basement of their sprawling estate especially for her.

"Want me to give you a lift home?" Yuri offered, as he often did.

Layla had a limo and personal chauffeur at her beck and call, but she rarely used them. When he once asked her why, she told Yuri that she didn't like flashing around her father's wealth like that, but in truth, she simply enjoyed riding in his prized Ferrari. Whenever she got around to getting her driver's license – another thing she had put off in favor of focusing on her training – she wanted a car similar to his.

"If it's not a problem," she said.

"No problem at all. I want to take a shower and change first, though, so let's meet back up in…say, thirty minutes?"

"Sounds fine to me." She could use a cold shower herself. "Meet you at the car?"

"I'll be waiting."

The both of them then headed to their separate dressing rooms – one of the perks of being a headliner. The moment the door shut behind her in the bathroom, Layla peeled off her practice clothes and stepped under a blast of freezing water. The sensation was harsh at first, but once she became accustomed to the temperature, it was a welcome change from the extreme heat.

"Ah, this is heavenly," she murmured, slathering her favorite jasmine-scented shower gel all over her body.

Underneath the cold water, Layla's nipples had become hard and erect. She cupped her breasts with her hands and began twirling her thumbs over the nubs. Soon, she was quite aroused, and she reached for a girl's best friend – a detachable, pulsating showerhead. Concentrating the stream of water at her most intimate spot, she brought the picture of a shirtless, sweaty Yuri to the forefront of her mind and imagined him pleasuring her the way he had in Paris. It didn't take long before her orgasm hit – hard – blissful waves crashing over her as she cried out in ecstasy.

When she was finished, Layla quickly washed her hair, then stepped out of the shower, wrapping a soft terrycloth towel around her middle. She returned to the main room and took a seat at her vanity to apply moisturizing lotion to her skin before she began braiding her wet hair in lieu of blow-drying it.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't pushed Yuri away, she thought, still remembering Paris. At the time, it seemed like the best decision. He had been grieving Sophie Oswald, and Layla knew from the start that he was only using her to forget his pain. It was hardly the best way to start a relationship – not that she had wanted one in the first place.

She had been with a couple of other men since Paris. One was a handsome waiter/aspiring actor who had worked at a party her father forced her to attend. The other, some nameless face she had picked up at a club on a lark. Both were meaningless one-night stands. Neither of them had satisfied her, even though the waiter, at least, had some skills.

Layla had decided that random sex with strangers wasn't her style. She wanted to be with someone who knew her, someone who she could trust.

Someone like Yuri.

However, she didn't want a boyfriend. Just sex.

She wondered if he would be interested in such an arrangement.

"Don't be silly, Layla," she told her reflection in the mirror, reaching for a tube of lipstick.

But was the idea really so ridiculous?

Yuri waited for Layla inside his car, the motor idling as he turned the AC on full-blast. It wasn't environmentally friendly, but screw the environment. It was too freaking hot to sit around in this heat.

Fortunately, she didn't make him wait too long. A couple of minutes later, the passenger-side door swung open, and Layla slid into her usual seat. "Oh, this feels nice," she said, adjusting one of the vents so that the air blew on her face.

"Ready to go?" he asked as she buckled her seatbelt.

"Whenever you are."

Yuri pulled out of the Kaleido Stage parking lot and onto the highway leading to the Hamilton estate. Layla didn't seem to be in the mood for talking, so after a few minutes, he turned on the radio to his favorite station. He didn't mind the lack of conversation. She wasn't one for making small talk, and he didn't care much for it either, although he could be quite witty and charming when the situation called for it. Halfway there, however, Layla reached over and turned down the volume until it was barely audible.

"Yuri, are you seeing anybody at the moment?"

Yuri glanced over at her, mildly surprised by the question. They almost never spoke of personal matters. "No, nobody special," he said. "We've been so busy lately, it's hard to find time to date."

"Oh."

"You? Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Of course not." She sounded almost offended that he thought she would. Turning to look out the window, she continued, "I told you before, my career at Kaleido Stage comes first. A boyfriend would just be a distraction." Her hands clutched at the hem of her dress. "But…"

"What?" he prodded, unaccustomed to Layla seeming so…nervous. She was always confident and self-assured, the picture of poise.

"Well… Do you want to do it?"

Yuri veered slightly off the road, shocked. Once he composed himself, though, he began to laugh. "That's a good one, Layla."

"I'm being serious," she said more assertively, reaching over and placing a hand on his upper thigh. "Women have needs, too."

"Sure, but –"

"Pull over. There's a rest stop."

"This is insane," he said, even as he followed orders.

The rest stop was deserted. "Good, there's nobody else here." Layla took off her sunglasses and unbuckled her seatbelt. "Push back your seat," she told Yuri as she kicked off her heels. She then reached underneath her dress to pull down her panties.

Yuri knew it probably wasn't a good idea. After what happened in Paris, things had been awkward between them. It was only recently that their relationship had returned to some semblance of normal. He couldn't risk jeopardizing it again, not when he had yet to get his revenge on Kalos for his role in his father's early death.

But he never stopped desiring Layla. She appeared in his every erotic dream and starred in all his masturbatory fantasies. Never had a woman gotten so deeply under Yuri's skin.

He turned off the ignition and unbuckled his seatbelt before pushing the driver's seat back as far as it would go. After unzipping his fly and slipping on a condom she found in her purse, Layla straddled his lap, her skirt hiked up around her waist.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Yuri," she said, lowering herself onto him.

And enjoy it, he did. Since he returned from Paris, there had been no one, and he reveled in the warm sensation of being inside a woman again. She felt so good, even better than he remembered. As Layla continued grinding her hips against him, Yuri's hands roamed up her backside until he reached the thin spaghetti straps of her sundress. The dress didn't have a zipper, so he slid the straps off her shoulders and yanked down the bodice so that her full, round breasts were on display.

Layla guided his hands to her chest. As Yuri circled her pink nipples with his thumbs, they hardened under his touch, causing Layla to let out a low moan of pleasure. She liked it even more when he started kissing her neck, alternating between licking and lightly biting the smooth flesh. Her skin smelled of exotic jasmine, the scent reminding him of their night together in Paris.

Feeling himself getting close to release, Yuri wrapped his arms around Layla's back, pulling her closer against him. Her mouth was right next to his ear, and he could hear every single whimper she made. It took all his self-control not to come right then and there, finding the sound unbelievably erotic.

It was she who climaxed first, her muscles contracting around his shaft. Layla gasped in surprise, her eyes widening as her head shot back up, and Yuri realized it must have been her first time orgasming by penetration. In Paris, he'd only gotten her off with his tongue, having been interrupted by a phone call the second time they tried to have intercourse. (The first time wasn't even worth remembering, leaving neither of them particularly fulfilled.) Feeling a bit pleased with himself, he came a few moments later, bucking his hips underneath her as he let out a satisfied groan.

When it was over, Layla climbed off of him and moved back to her own seat. The both of them were breathing heavily, their skin covered in glistening sweat. Neither said anything for a long moment until a green SUV parked in a spot a few feet away from them.

Layla quickly pulled her dress straps back up and smoothed down her skirt. "We should go," she said, buckling her seatbelt once again.

"Right."

After disposing of the condom and zipping his pants, Yuri moved his seat back to its usual position and drove off. The rest of the drive to the Hamilton estate was spent in complete silence. Many questions filled Yuri's mind concerning what they had just done, but he kept them to himself, unsure of how to broach the subject.

As always, he dropped her off in front of the main entrance of the mansion. Layla exited the car and stuffed her discarded panties into her purse. "Thank you for the ride," she said. There was a slight pause before she added, "And…the other thing."

"About that…" Yuri began, but Layla cut him off.

"I'll see you at practice, Yuri."

It was obvious that she had no intention of discussing what had just happened. Yuri got the hint. "Fine. See you later, Layla."

After she closed the passenger side door, Yuri sped off in the direction of his apartment building, silently berating himself for letting his hormones get the best of him. Sleeping with Layla again was most definitely not a good idea, no matter how incredible it felt. How could he be so stupid?

When he arrived home, Yuri took another quick shower, then changed into a pair of his favorite black jeans. He didn't bother with a shirt; he rarely did when lounging around in the privacy of his apartment. Walking over to the glass door leading out to a balcony, he slid the door open and stepped outside. It was still hot as sin, but a light sea breeze provided some minor relief from the heat, tousling his wet hair.

He sighed, shielding his eyes as he stared out at Kaleido Stage's main tent in the distance, surrounded almost completely by crystal blue waters that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. The view was the main reason he had chosen the apartment. He wanted Kaleido Stage to always be within his sight, so he would never lose focus on his main goal.

He had almost lost it once before, when he and Layla had first returned from Paris. After what he had done to Sophie Oswald, he questioned if he really had what it took to take his revenge on Kalos. Even now, her death continued to weigh heavily on his conscience – Yuri doubted he would ever be able to forgive himself – but he had decided to move forward with his plans, telling himself that if he didn't, Sophie would have truly died for nothing.

Everybody thought that Kaleido Stage was a place of dreams, where magic become reality, yet Yuri knew better than anyone the cost of making those dreams come true. The majority of performers were lucky to get away with only dislocated shoulders or twisted ankles. His father, however, had paid the ultimate price, encouraged by Kalos to attempt an impossible maneuver as a publicity stunt to drum up business.

Kaleido Stage was no dreamland. It was Yuri's vision of Hell, and Kalos Eido played the part of the Devil to perfection, tempting his performers to perform deadly stunts with promises of fame and accolades, all the while reaping the profits of their hard work from the safety of his office. As long as he made lots of money, he didn't care what happened to the cast of Kaleido Stage.

One day, Yuri would get his revenge, but now was not the time.

For now, he just needed to play the part of Layla's partner – nothing more, nothing less. What had happened earlier could not – would not – happen again.

No matter how much he wished it could.

DISCLAIMER: Kaleido Star doesn't belong to me.