Chapter 7

"Hey." Layla breezed into Cristian's hospital room fresh from work with her favorite green bag thrown over her shoulder. "You still reading those books?" She smiled as she strolled directly over to the chair situated next to Cristian's hospital bed and sat down, depositing her purse next to her chair. It had been five days since that terrible night. His color was finally completely back to normal, his prognosis was good, and he was clearly getting anxious to go home and sleep in his own bed.

"Well." He sighed and closed the pregnancy book from the library Layla had brought him, using a brochure as a bookmark, so he could focus his attention on his beautiful visitor. "I can't do anything else except lie here and read." He sighed again, a frown marring his features.

"There's TV."

He lazily turned to face her. She looked tired. And upset but trying to hide it. "Jerry Springer and Judge Judy are not what I call entertainment."

"There are soaps." He gave her a That's cute sarcastic look before turning serious again. "I know you're ready to get out of here." She reached out and rubbed his exposed forearm, trying to keep the subject matter focused on him as she noticed him looking a little too deeply into her eyes.

Staring at her intensely, Cristian decided to probe. "Are you okay?"

He always made her nervous when he stared at her like that. Like he could look into her soul and uncover all of her secrets. Then make mad, passionate love to her when he was done stripping her of all of her innermost thoughts. Shaking that image from her mind, she tried to keep up her happy facade anyway. "I'm fine, Cris. It was a long day at work." Wanting to change the subject, she kept talking. "So," she let out a long stream of air, "have you learned everything you need to know about being pregnant?" She figured teasing him would distract him. She really didn't want to get into her mother and her right now.

"Yeah, pretty much. I learned stress isn't good for you." He continued to stare at her. And she continued to feel uncomfortable. But diverting her eyes from his was a sure-fire way to show him he was making her uneasy, so she refused to let the daggers he was piercing her with run her away.

"Stress isn't good for anybody, including you."

He broke eye contact with her and nodded. "True..." He found her eyes again. "So tell me why you're stressed and we'll both feel better."

I hate him. No, I really do hate him. With more vitriol than she had intended, she retorted, "Maybe I'm stressed because you scared me half to death playing Superhero!" As soon as the words escaped her mouth she regretted them. One, because she didn't need him to know just how badly shaken up the ordeal had left her and two, because she knew he wasn't "playing" anything--helping people even if he didn't like them was deeply bred within him and a huge part of who he was. His mama had raised him right.

Not visually bothered by her small outburst, he stated simply, "She needed help."

Calming down immediately, Layla replied, "I know. I know." She looked down into her lap, shaking her head. "I didn't mean that. You just..." Scared the hell out of me because I realized I need you in my life and that's the scariest thing of all. She didn't finish her thoughts out loud.

He continued to gaze at her. She had come to visit him everyday since he had been hospitalized. She brought the books from the library that were left in her car. She went to his studio and found a sketch pad and graphite pencils and brought them to him. She had even sneaked in some of his mother's cooking when she had stopped at the diner for lunch the day before. It warmed his heart more than he could have ever imagined. It was incredibly uncomfortable having someone--especially someone as beautiful as she was--doting on him when she had no obligation to do so. He was not used to it. It was upsetting his usual order of things. His mother and his brother he could get to leave him to his own devices. Layla, however, he could not. He had tried around Day Two of his hospitalization. But he had to admit he liked it. He liked it and it made him want her even more than he already did. "I didn't mean to scare you. I never want to do that." She finally met his eyes again and this time he looked away.

Gathering her emotions about her and trying to lighten the mood, she teased. "I just want this kid to be able to meet her famous artist dad when she's born."

Looking back into her eyes, he knew he shouldn't ask but he did anyway. "Is that the only reason?"

I so hate him...Come on phone. Ring! Come through the door, nurse...Damn! He had returned to giving her that stare again. That damn penetrating stare. Stalling, she asked, "The only reason what?"

He knew he really shouldn't press her. He had told himself to focus on their baby and leave everything else alone. The Evangeline issue was something Layla would have to handle in her own way in her own time. If she ever would. "The only reason you were scared for me?"

Ring!!...Damn phone. Nevermind. "Of course not. You're my friend. Nobody wants to lose their friend. Especially like that." Pat yourself on the back. Go ahead. She returned his stare. Forget it. He sees right through you.

"Okay. Friend. Are you going to tell me why you were upset when you walked in here?"

Back to that I see. Layla sighed. The man was relentless. Beautiful, caring, thoughtful...but relentless. "Is it okay if I really don't want to get into it right now? I came to see how you were doing, not talk about me."

He pursed his lips as he thought about what she said. "Okay. Fair enough. I'm fine and ready to get the hell out of here. So, now that you know how I'm doing, tell me how you're doing."

He really gets on my nerves. I should just walk out of here and leave his narrow behind. But she didn't. Taking in a large amount of air, she told him. "Mom called me today. Told me she got Evangeline moved back home. Just like that. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye." Her resentment towards her mother made her grit her teeth. "Now I have to fly all the way to Atlanta to see her." Getting up from her chair to pace, she found that she was telling him more than she planned. Like always. Pausing at the window, she looked out at the view.

Watching her at the window, he spoke to her back. "Isn't that where most of your family is? Where your mom won't have to fly back and forth every week to visit her?" He understood that she was upset because she hadn't been given a chance to say goodbye to her sister before she was moved but he wasn't understanding why it was bothering her so much.

"That's not the point."

She stopped speaking. After many seconds of waiting for her to continue, Cristian spoke instead. "What is the point?" He knew whatever she was about to tell him wasn't something she talked about much. If ever. Her body language was telling him as much.

She really didn't want to get into this now. "You don't understand. She...She always treats me like I don't know what I'm doing. Like I was always the problem child. The one with the pipe dreams that would never come true. The one "wasting" her life instead of doing something "worthwhile" like being a lawyer." She sighed and continued, realizing that she was feeling slightly better just by talking about it, letting it out. "We talked about this. I wanted Evangeline to stay here. Where her life was. Because I knew she'd come back. Taking her back home meant this could be permanent, you know? Like taking someone's body home for their burial." She shook her head and looked down, away from the cloudy sky outside the window. "Mom--she's retired. She used to always talk about moving here to be near us. So I told her she should move here like she always talked about, to be near both of us and wait for Vange to wake up." The resentment creeping back into her voice, she pressed on. "But she came to get her favorite daughter to take her back home with her and leave me here with my "silly" magazine job and my washed-up acting career... And to top it all off, she took my only sister without even letting me say goodbye." She had visited her sister for the first time since finding out she was pregnant after work that past Tuesday, before visiting Cristian. And, no, she still hadn't found the courage to tell her she was pregnant. Or by whom.

Not really knowing what to say, and certain Layla wasn't finished talking, Cristian remained silent, looking absentmindedly at his feet sticking up underneath the white sheet, his heart breaking as he learned about the strained relationship Layla had with her mother.

"I know, in her own special way, she loves me. I love her, too. But...it always feels like I can never do anything right in her eyes. Now, Daddy...He was always proud of me. I told him I wanted to be an actress, he told me to go for it and bring that Oscar home to sit on his mantel. I never had to work to get his approval. He always told me, no matter what, he would be proud of me." Her eyes began to water as she thought about what she'd finally figured out around the time she left home at eighteen. "Vange, she always felt like she had something to prove to him. She never did but she always felt like she did." She finally turned around to face Cristian, sniffing as she kept the moisture in her eyes from spilling over. "It's weird. It's like she thought I was Daddy's favorite while I thought she was Mom's." She looked down at the floor and smiled a sad, soft smile to herself. "Even with all of that, though, we never let it come between us. I mean, we've had our moments, but it was never a problem. When I wasn't getting the encouragement from Mom, she gave it to me. She told me I was going to make it in Hollywood, too. When I wanted to try out for basketball in high school, she and my dad were always there to support me."

Smiling for the first time since she began speaking, Cristian teased. "I didn't know you played ball."

She smiled back. "Yeah. You didn't think I could play, did you?"

"No, well yeah, well, I just never thought about it."

Her grin widened. "Yeah. I was hot stuff back in the day. What about you? I always figured you were in your room painting when the other boys were outside playing football and basketball..."

"Well, yeah, I was, but I can play."

"Mmm hmm. I'll believe that when I see it, buster."

"You want to challenge me to a little one-on-one, name the time and place." This he said with a certain undertone she did not miss. Deciding to play along, her expression turned serious.

"You sure you can handle it? You are laying up here in a hospital."

Eyes boring into hers again, he spoke, his voice husky and deeper than usual. "Oh, I can handle it."

Why do I want him so bad? This isn't right. Right or not, she stood there gazing at him, allowing him to fuck her with his eyes, and enjoying it way too much, as the moisture between her thighs indicated. I have to stop this. "I better get going. My stomach's growling. This kid has me eating almost as much as you."

He smiled. "Her?"

She looked at him, confused at what he meant. "'Her' what?"

"Awhile ago...You said you wanted 'her' to meet her father."

"So?"

"You think it's going to be a girl?"

"I didn't say that."

He chuckled but stopped immediately, as the movement pulled at this sore insides. "Yes, you did."

Noticing the brief, pained expression on his face, her concern became evident. "Are you okay? Are you due for your pain meds?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine."

At that moment, someone softly knocked on the door to his room. Both looking towards the door, they watched as Diane--the woman who had been attacked--entered with a huge potted plant and a large balloon arrangement along with a male companion.

Diane and her companion entered his room cautiously, not wanting to startle Mr. Vega. The last time she had stopped by to thank him, he had been asleep so she had had to decide to return later.

"Mr. Vega?"

"Yes?" Recognizing her as she turned the corner in his room and stood at the foot of his bed, he smiled. "Hi."

Noticing him looking at her companion in wait of an introduction, she spoke. "Hi. This is my husband, Barry."

Cristian nodded at her husband and smiled. "Hello."

Barry smiled back and replied, "Hi. How are you?"

Taking hold of the conversation again, Diane continued. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good. Doctors say I might be able to go home tomorrow."

"That's wonderful." Looking around for a place to set the plant and the balloons, she continued cheerfully, "Well, we wanted to bring you these." She and her husband settled on placing the plant and balloons next to the seven other sets of flowers and balloons Jamie (representing the Vegas), Blair, Adriana, Jessica, Natalie, Viki, and Dorian had brought him. Layla had opted to bring him some chocolate and his sketchpad for a "Get well soon" gift.

"Thank you...Very much." He genuinely appreciated the gesture.

"I see you have a lot of 'Get Well' wishes already," Barry said.

Cristian smiled softly to himself. "I'm very blessed."

Walking to stand next to his bed, Diane spoke, her voice shaking as the emotion caught in her throat. "I just wanted to say thank you. You saved my life. I don't know what would've happened to me if you--" she glanced at Layla--"both of you hadn't been there."

Looking into the woman's grateful eyes, Cristian didn't regret for one moment stepping in to help her. He reached out and grabbed her hand as it rested on the edge of the bed. "I'm glad you're okay."

Her husband spoke up. "Yes, Mr. Vega, I can't thank you enough. She's--" he glanced at his wife, "She's my whole world. I don't know what I would've done without her."

Cristian looked at Layla, who was standing off near the door, when he said, "I know what you mean." Turning his attention back to his guests, he continued. "And, please. It's Cristian."

Diane spoke, having hemmed up her scattered emotions. "Well, then, thank you again, Cristian."

Shaking his head, he replied, "It was nothing. Really." The praise and accolades from everybody were making him uncomfortable. He didn't do anything anybody else wouldn't have done in the same situation. Wanting to change the subject somewhat, he asked, "Have they found him yet?"

"They have. That's the other reason we wanted to stop by. They caught him a couple of hours ago, thank God."

Barry finished his wife's story. "Yeah, in broad daylight. He tried to attack another woman but she was able to knock him out cold with something she found in the alley. The cops thought he might have been involved in your attack so Diane went down to the station and was able to identify him. She had seen him in the store that night staring at her and that's when she got a good look at him."

Cristian nodded. "That's great. He's off the streets."

Diane nodded solemnly. "Yeah." Looking towards her husband, she didn't want to overstay their welcome. "Well, we better get going and let you get some rest. If you ever need anything, anything at all, let us know. We won't hesitate to do anything we can to help. We owe you that much." Leaving his side to join her husband at the foot of his bed, they thanked him again and excused themselves from his room.

Approaching his side again, Layla smiled down to him. "You hated that didn't you?"

Cristian sighed and shook his head. "I didn't do anything special."

"Sure you didn't."

He reached out and grabbed her hand, sending tingles down her spine. "Are you getting ready to leave me?"

His bottom lip is so juicy. And soft. "You keep telling me to get some rest, don't you?"

"You're right." He released her hand and shifted in the bed trying to get comfortable. "Be careful, okay?"

"I will. Call me tomorrow if they decide to let you go home." Fight the lips. Fight them! She kissed him softly at the corner of his mouth and turned to leave. Good job.

"Okay. Here we are." Layla opened the door to Cristian's loft two days later, her arms laden with her purse, his overnight bag, his medication, and him. Once inside his studio, he broke free of her steadying arm around his waist and walked at a snail's pace to one of his yellow chairs to sit down as gently as he possibly could. Layla had stood there watching him, shaking her head. He was being such a damn man.

He didn't want his mother to bring him home from the hospital to get him settled because he didn't want her "babying" him as he called it. He didn't want Layla bringing him home either for the same reason. His brother, now, he did want to bring him home because his brother understood. He would make sure he had what he needed, remind him to take it easy, and leave, telling him to call if he needed anything. That was the way he had wanted it to go. That was the way it was supposed to go. But here he was, being brought home by Layla at a quarter after six on a Sunday evening, a week after the stabbing that had landed him in the hospital and left him with half a spleen.

Although he never wanted to admit it to her, the trip home had damn near killed him. It was hell even walking. Every step he took felt like something was pulling on his stitched up insides and caused him some serious discomfort. He felt every bump on the ride home--Layla drove like a damn madwoman--and didn't know if he was going to make it to his building from her car, let alone up the elevator and down the hall to his apartment. The sweat glistening his forehead, he sat in his chair trying to gather the strength to make it up his winding staircase to his bed.

Finished shaking her head at his stubbornness, Layla silently walked up the stairs and deposited his bag and medication next to his bed. Taking a brief look around, she wondered how he was going to make it by himself in his apartment until his body healed. It was always a good idea to have someone around to take care of you while you recovered from major surgery. Sighing deeply to herself, she turned and walked back down the stairs, finding him right where she left him. "Cristian, maybe you should go to Antonio's for a few days. I don't want to worry about you being here by yourself. You can barely walk."

Cristian sighed. "Layla, for the tenth time, I'll be fine. I wanted out of that hospital so I could sleep in my own bed. Not Antonio's bed. Not Mami's bed. My bed."

Why is he acting like a two year old? "Fine. Then I'll call your mother to come over here and--"

He glared at her. "Don't even think about it." He was dead serious.

...A two year old starting to tick me off. "Don't argue with me, Cristian. You wanted to take care of me while I'm pregnant, I'm going to take care of you while you're still hurt."

Damn. Using my own words against me, he thought. "Layla..."

She noticed how his accent was more pronounced when he said her name this time. He was beginning to get frustrated with her as well. "Okay, Cristian, look. You have three options. You go to Antonio's, I call your mother to stay with you, or I stay here with you. Either way, you're not going to be alone so give it up." She didn't know why she tossed that last option in there. You really need to stop speaking before you think. Staying with him was not a good idea. Things could happen and they'd already happened enough.

He continued to glare at her, not saying a word. She gave his attitude right back to him. Stubborn jackass.

"I don't need a babysitter."

Layla rolled her eyes and sighed deeply, deciding to come at him from a different angle. "I don't care. You are seriously raising my blood pressure, Cristian. After all of that reading you did, you ought to know that's not good for me or your child."

Using my own kid against me. She was going to win this round. And he knew it. So, he considered his options. He wasn't going to stay with Antonio, Talia, and Jamie. He needed to be in the comfort of his own home, surrounded by the familiar smell of oil and acrylic and his own damn bed. Layla was too dangerous an option. She was beautiful, already pregnant with his baby, and ticked off at him. But, his mother was the worst. He could just see her coming into the bathroom with him to help him clean himself up. 'Mijo, don't argue with me. I'm your mother. You haven't got anything I've never seen before.'

Layla stood in front of his seated form, arms crossed, waiting on another retort from him. Not at all happy with the situation, Cristian grasped both sides of the chair and slowly raised himself out of it. Hunched over, he looked straight into her eyes. "I'm going upstairs."

She watched as he turned towards the stairwell. "What's it going to be, Cristian?"

Damn he hated this. "I'm not a very good patient so I don't want to hear any complaints."

So he picked option three. This was so not a good idea. Me and my big mouth. Knowing this was bothering him more than a little, she decided not to argue with him and followed as he made the slow trek up to his bedroom.

Completely exhausted, Cristian settled his sore body down onto the edge of his bed.

"Here, let me get these set up for you." Layla reached across his bed and grabbed the two pillows, fluffing them and setting one on top of the other. "Here." She took her small, strong hands and gently helped him settle against them. "How's that?"

In answer, he only nodded and closed his eyes, hating that he wasn't free to move around or work down in his studio. He had deadlines to meet and refused to ask for an extension. Wanting to leave him alone for awhile while he adjusted to his predicament, Layla decided to get something to eat. "Are you hungry?"

He opened one eye to look at her. "I could use something." Then, he promptly closed it.

Leaning over, she took each of his feet and removed his shoes. His voice barely a whisper, he acknowledged the gesture. "Thank you." He sounded so pitiful. Defeated and pitiful. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she leaned in towards him and brought her right hand up to softly stroke his cheek. Why, she didn't really know. He slowly opened his eyes and held hers hostage yet again. Then his eyes fell to her mouth. God, he wanted to kiss her. Taste her full lips again.

When she noticed her hand beginning to tremble slightly, she pulled it away as discreetly as she could. Tearing her eyes away from his face, she picked at some invisible lint on her pants and asked, "So, what are you in the mood for?"

Sex. With you. "Whatever you're in the mood for. After that hospital food, I'm not going to be picky."

Turning back to look at him, she made a suggestion. "How about Italian? I've been craving some pasta all day."

Shifting to get more comfortable, Cristian replied, "That sounds good."

"I'm thinking Olive Garden." She glanced at her watch. "I better go before they close. What do you want?"

"Doesn't matter. Just order me whatever you get. I'll eat anything."

Get your mind out of the gutter, Layla.

"I think my wallet's in my bag."

"I've got this." Rising off of the bed, Layla continued. "I'll be right back."

"Layla, get the money out of my wallet. You're going to get the food. The least I can do is pay for it."

"Bye, Cristian." She waved over her shoulder and walked straight to the staircase, right past his bag and wallet. Cristian shook his head and sighed. Be careful.

Two hours later, Layla returned with their food. The restaurant had taken forever to prepare their Tuscan Garlic Chicken entrees so she had to rush to get back, needing to drop by her place to pick up her toiletries, pajamas, and a change of clothes. She had forgotten to leave a phone within Cristian's reach so she didn't want to call to let him know what the hold up was so that he had to get up off the bed and possibly hurt himself. Grabbing two glasses and a bottle of ginger ale from his kitchen on her way up, she entered his upper quarters and found him missing from the bed. "Cristian?" She called his name as she looked around the room, setting the food and glasses on his desk and dropping her overnight bag and purse on the floor. "Cris!"

"In the bathroom." She heard his muffled reply and walked to stand outside the slightly ajar bathroom door.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm in the bathroom."

"Oh, are we back to having an attitude?"

Cristian sighed as he struggled to change his bandages. Taking a shower he so desperately wanted after not having had one in a week while trying to keep his stitches as dry as possible had completely zapped his energy. "Lo siento."

"What?"

"You don't know what that means?"

"You know I took French."

Laughing softly to himself, Cristian stopped immediately, as the action pulled at his sore muscles. Softening his tone, he told her, "I said 'I'm sorry.'"

"Are you okay?"

I KNOW she can't tell I'm having a hell of a time trying to get this shit right. "Si... You know what that means, right?"

Rolling her eyes, she ignored his last question. "What are you doing? Do you need help?"

"I'll be out in a minute."

Not believing everything was okay in the bathroom, Layla decided to check it out. "I'm coming in."

What the...? Cristian thought as she slowly opened the door to the bathroom at the same time she was giving him a verbal warning. Clearly, she didn't believe in making sure a person was decent before barging into his bathroom.

Oh good Lord. He's in his drawers. Turn around and leave, Layla, turn around and leave!

Looking at her like she was an alien from outer space, Cristian couldn't believe she just waltzed up into his bathroom like that. "What are you doing?" Leaning against his bathroom counter in nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs, Cristian was trying to bandage the wound just below his left pectoral muscle where the knife had gone between his ribs and punctured his lung. His other wound he had managed to tape before she came barging in.

Flustered as all hell--He has a body for DAYS--Layla quickly found her voice and willed it not to betray her. "I'm m-making sure you're okay. Here--look. What-what are you doing? Here." Her thoughts just a fraction away from pure lust, Layla rushed over to stand in front of him. She could swear she was feeling the heat radiating off of his chiseled body. "Come here. Sit down." Grabbing one of his hands that was holding the untaped bandage to his wound, she led him over to his toilet, putting the seat and lid down, and gently helped him sit down.

Sighing, Cristian voiced his lack of comfort over the situation. "Layla, you don't need to do this."

Kneeling down on the rug in front of him, she looked up into his face. His ridiculously beautiful face. "Will you please just shut up and let me help you?"

Resigned to his predicament once again, Cristian studied her face as she avoided his eyes and worked on applying his bandage. Her soft hands were warm on his bare chest as her feather-light touch aroused his senses. His heart began beating faster and he wondered if she could feel it. He wanted her. She was pissing him off with the over-protectiveness yet turning him on at the same time. And she was so damn beautiful. Mocha skin so soft and smooth. And she had the biggest heart and a fiery spirit to match that lit up the room every time she entered. He wanted her so bad. All of her. Her body, heart, mind, and soul. She was the last person he should be feeling so consumed by but he knew one can never control his heart. He could either fight it or follow where it leads. And his was leading to the mother of his child, his first child, his only child. His best friend outside of his brother. His stunning, over-protective best friend.

Trying to keep her focus on her task, Layla's heart began pounding in her chest. Being this close to him, feeling his warm skin beneath her fingers, was lighting her body on fire. And it wasn't helping that she could feel his eyes trained on her, looking into the depths of her soul, radiating the heat she felt rising in her body. This whole thing was ridiculous. And shouldn't be happening. She shouldn't have made love to him. She shouldn't have gotten pregnant. She shouldn't be feeling like she was complete when she was with him. She shouldn't have felt a part of her would die if he'd been killed the week before. She shouldn't have wanted to spend as much time as she could with him while he was in the hospital. Her heart shouldn't flutter whenever he looked at her. And, most importantly, she shouldn't be feeling what she felt the last time she fell in love. It was so wrong.

Quickly finishing with his bandage as her hands began trembling once again, she cleared her throat and spoke. "Okay. There we go." Rising from her knees, Layla reached down and set her hands on his either side of his waist, intending to help him from his seated position. Rising slowly in her grasp, Cristian stood as straight as he could in front of her, his body an inch from hers. Suddenly the air changed from one of unease to one laced with sexual energy. Being unable to move, Layla's eyes found their way to his lips. Those soft lips. Then they moved to his eyes, as if drawn by the force of a magnetic field.

Bringing his right hand up, he softly caressed her left cheek, her soft skin escalating his need to be close to her. Eyes breaking from hers, they found their way to her lips, where his thumb soon followed. Feeling his nature begin to rise, he took one small step towards her, his body effectively pressing against hers. Pain becoming an afterthought, he couldn't take it anymore. He had to taste her again. Taking his thumb from her lips, he slid his hand down to her chin and lifted it, his eyes searching hers again, seeing his need reflected in the windows to her soul. Parting her lips slightly and rising onto her tip-toes, she closed her eyes as she felt his soft lips lightly brush her bottom one before taking it between his. As he ran his tongue along her lip in his mouth, she felt herself becoming lightheaded and a soft moan escaped her throat. Pushing her lips further apart with his own, he felt her tongue immediately start a slow dance with his as his hands fell to her ample ass, squeezing it then sliding beneath the waistband of her yellow French Terry sweatpants to wrap around it unclothed before finding her sweet spot from behind. She whimpered—he remembered that sweet sound from that night. Their slow tongue dancing soon worked its way into a feverish salsa. Layla heard and felt a grunt rumble in her mouth as her hands softly slid down his abdomen and found his gun, cocked and loaded. She wasn't thinking. She wasn't thinking because she slid her hand inside his boxer-briefs and ran it along his throbbing dick, causing him to grunt even louder, from either pleasure or pain or a mixture of both. Then her wayward hands pulled him free from his underwear, pushing them down his huge, muscular thighs with one swift motion. Desire outweighing the pain in his upper body, Cristian stumbled forward, pinning Layla to the wall of the bathroom, tongue still engaged with hers, trying to gain back control. As soon as they hit the wall, he removed his hands from inside her pants, sliding them down along with her underwear as far as he could without changing his posture, his hands immediately finding the zipper that would free her from her yellow French Terry top and sliding it down...