Layla
The Black Penny in the French Quarter is definitely a dive, but everything is all lush, dark paint and leather, as I follow Bailey and her cousin, Adam, through the darkened threshold into the bar. Beyond the bar, the sidewalk is teeming with nightlife. Music flows through the street, mingling with riotous chatter and the occasionally drunken body swaying to the music in the middle of the road.
We’d spent the day exploring New Orleans. I’m full of beignets, and my ears are ringing from the sweet sound of a saxophone as we saddle up to a high-top table near the front of the bar. Adam leaves to order drinks, disappearing into the throng of jazz music and lively conversation.
“I’m so glad you came with us tonight!” Bailey exclaims over the noise, leaning in to brush the words directly into my ear. “You’ve been in a trance the past couple of weeks. I thought I’d never be able to get you out of the house!”
“What do you mean?” Leaving Hahnville is a nice distraction from the fact that two weeks had flashed before my eyes without me realizing it. I’d come to the conclusion I’m just severely sleep deprived. There were times during my travel nursing rotations that I looked at a calendar and realized weeks had gone by in a blink, having been too busy to notice the passage of time. But I’d been an ER nurse then–burnt out, worn thin, living off energy drinks and stale granola bars. Working for my aunt has been a much slower pace of life. I shouldn’t be this burnt out, not yet at least.
“Curtis told me you haven’t slept more than two to three hours a day since you came to the house,” she scolds. “And he’s right. You’ve just been wandering around all day until your shift at night!”
“I have trouble sleeping in the house!” I have to yell over the music.
I’m not sure if Bailey hears me or not. “You should order some black out curtains for your room. That should help!”
“What?!” Our cheeks are practically touching as we yell back and forth. A new band has entered the stage, and fresh music is fanning out over the crowd, which is going absolutely feral. “What did you say?”
Adam slides up to us, handing me a gin cocktail. He is ridiculously good looking, but I’m not his type. In fact, his boyfriend, Carlos, is currently trying to fight his way to our high-top table through the maddening fray of partiers trying to shove toward the stage.
“This place is insane tonight, Adam! Let’s go to Old River Blues instead!” Carlos manages to say as he hugs the table, panting.
“They’re closed until next weekend!” Adam shouts over the rim of his neat glass of whiskey, his smooth brown skin illuminated by the dimly flashing lights all around us. “I don’t know why. That was the original plan–”
Their voices are drowned out by the music. I stand on my tiptoes to look out over the crowd. The music isn’t what I expected. After a day full of jazz, this new band’s music blends into something more sensational, a mix between jazz and EDM. They are playing an ethereal, sultry song that sends shivers shooting up my spine and settling deep in my bones, begging me to dance, to sway my hips to the music.
I sip my drink, turning back to Bailey, who is watching the crowd with interest. I follow her gaze to a group of men standing on the outskirts of the crowded dance floor. A man with dark hair and gray eyes bright enough to be seen through the crowd looks right at Bailey and lifts his drink in greeting, his mouth quirking into a seductive smirk.
“You should go talk to him!” I shout, nudging her with my shoulder.
“I’ll go if you come with me. It looks like he has plenty of friends to choose from!”
She throws me a devilish smile, winks, and the rest is history.
I’m allowed to have a little fun, aren’t I?
“What’s your name!?” the tall, fit, blond man with devastatingly dark eyes asks as he leans down, his cheek brushing against the top of my head.
“Layla!”
“Nice to meet you Layla.” His eyes light on mine, the color of fine whiskey, in my humble opinion. “I’m Nick.”
I’ve decided Nick will do nicely. I’ve already learned this group of guys are on vacation, having flown down from New York City to spend a weekend of debauchery in New Orleans. They’re all finance bros, of course, and are more than willing to pepper both me and Bailey in attention and all of the drinks our pretty little heart’s desire.
But I’m already two gin and sodas in, and my body is feeling loose and relaxed. I subconsciously sway to the music, which beckons me to join the crowded dance floor with each seductive note.
Nick and his buddies don’t seem too keen on dancing tonight. I doubt any of them would risk getting sweat and glitter on their dry-clean-only Ralph Lauren button-down shirts.
“Where are you going, Layla?” he asks.
I reach up toward the ceiling, closing my eyes as my hips sway to the thrumming echo of the music. “Dancing! Come with me!” I open my eyes to see Nick watching me with a hungry look behind his gaze, but finance bro from New York City doesn’t follow me into the crowd right away, and within seconds I’m consumed by the throng.
Each note is a siren song. Each chord buries itself in every cell of my body. I close my eyes and move to the music, letting my mind go blissfully blank. There’re people all around me, everyone in their own little world. I feel like I’ve been cast under a spell, and there’s nothing on this earth that could tear me from this feeling of utter bliss.
I love to dance. I love that high brought on by hot, sweaty clubs where the music is loud enough to drown out my inner voice. I love the feeling of strangers surrounding me, of being totally unknown and vulnerable, with no cares but the way the music settles in my heart and sets my blood on fire.
I don’t open my eyes when I feel two large hands graze over my hips and stomach. I let my head fall back against the chest of someone at least a foot taller than me, relaxing into his touch as he presses my ass against his thighs and grinds against me to the music. Did Nick finally decide to follow me? The flashing lights blur my senses, and then there's nothing but the music and this strangers touch, and I’m lost to it, wholly and utterly overcome.
His fingertips travel up my belly, over the ruching of the tight, light blue dress I bought at a boutique earlier today. One of his hands rests over my navel while the other moves upward, over my breasts, his tender, exploratory touch sending ripples of heat washing over my skin. His hand slides up further and closes around my throat.
I jerk in shock, but his hand on my belly keeps me fixed in place, pressed against him as my eyes fly open.
“Are you afraid?”
I let out what breath I can muster, trying to see and hear past the shimmering lights and throbbing music, but everything is all shadow now. All of the colors and sounds merge together, and my vision begins to blur as his hand tightens around my neck.
“I could take you right here, and no one would even hear you scream.”
His hand slips down from my belly and under my dress. I jerk involuntarily as his fingers brush over my panties. I’m ashamed of how wet I am right now, how turned on being this vulnerable makes me. His dominating touch has me melting into his hands–this total stranger–this man whose face I haven’t turned to look at.
But his voice is so familiar. So very familiar….
I close my eyes as he slides a finger over my slit, my underwear the only barrier between us.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps against my cheek, groaning with approval. His teeth graze the rim of my ear, his breath tickling my skin.
My eyelids flutter closed as he slides his fingers under my panties, pushing them to the side. He grinds against me, his groans mingling with the sultry, thrumming music that sends vibrations up through the floorboards. I writhe against his touch, unable to help it, and I know full well how wrong this is.
But I it turns me on. I’ve always craved this. For years, I’ve dreamed of being chased, being taken, being treated like a prize and used like a toy.
But I’ve never let it show. I’ve never had the nerve to ask anyone to be rough with me. To fuck me in public like this total stranger is trying to do. And God, I’ll let him.
I reach back and grip his thighs, which are thick, solid muscle beneath my hands. He could rip me apart. This guy could pick me up and haul me over his shoulder with ease or throw me down and have his way with me right here. Fighting back would be futile.
But I don’t want to fight back.
“Please,” I pant, my head resting on his chest as he slowly, achingly, circles his thumb over my clit.
“You haven’t earned it yet.”
The room spins on its axis, and suddenly it’s Dalton holding me. It’s Dalton’s hand clutching my throat and his fingers pumping inside of me in the middle of the dance floor. His teeth graze my neck as he laughs, low and maliciously, while my body suddenly erupts in chills that send tremors through every muscle and bone.
He’s the only reason I’m upright. My legs shake as his touch deepens, becoming more aggressive, like he can feel I’m on the edge of release.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “Don’t forget that.”
My lips part as I fight back a moan, but then my name rips through the air. “LAYLA! Layla? Where the hell is she?”
His touch evaporates, and I whirl around, panting, finding myself alone in the crowd. Dalton, Nick, or whoever it had been–is gone.
My heart rate spikes, and I find it hard to breathe as I frantically look around. My head spins from the gin and dancing. Sweat breaks out along my temples. I made it up, didn’t I? This is another dream. I’m losing my fucking mind… but then my blood runs cold anew as the music shifts, and the band begins to play a familiar song. It’s a sped up, modern version, but those lyrics sink into my skin like claws. “She’s stretched on a long, white table. So sweet, so cold, so fair…”
“St. James Infirmary,” I whisper.
“Layla!” Bailey beams as she shoves into view, but her smile falters when she sees the troubled expression on my face. “Oh my God, what happened? Are you all right?”
“I don’t feel well. I–I drank too much–” I resist the sudden urge to vomit as I push past her and the crowd, fighting my way toward the edge of the dance floor. The music is grating on my nerves, setting every fiber of my being on fire as I try to clear my vision. Adam and Carlos are still at the high-top, and Carlos stands when he sees me approaching.
“Are you okay?” he asks, but I shake my head, covering my mouth with my hands. Adam springs into action, and in a matter of seconds, I’m being hustled outside in the cool, late night air.
I steady myself on the side of the building, my heart refusing to stop hammering against my ribs. Adam is saying something to me, but the blood rushing through my ears blocks out his voice. With my phone in my hands, I tell them, “I just ordered a car.” My words are strained and falling over each other. “I’m going back to Hahnville.”
“If you wait, I’ll get Bailey, and we can drive you back–”
I shake my head, waving him away. “I’m not going to ruin her weekend away. I’m fine, really. I’m just going to wait for the car. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” My words are slurred from the gin, I think. Either the gin, or the adrenaline pumping through my veins. My vision is still blurred, but in a matter of seconds, an Uber pulls up along the busy sidewalk. Adam, ever the gentleman, steps forward and speaks with the driver for a moment before waving me over.
“Take her straight there, no stops.” He slips the stranger a hundred dollar bill. “Call me when she gets there safely. This is my number–”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I try to say, but my throat closes around the words as I slouch into the backseat and close my eyes.
New Orleans spins out of view while I rest my head on the door, refusing to close my eyes and let the darkness still hovering within my peripheral vision take over. It’s only a thirty minute drive, and a silent one, nothing but soft music on the radio to drown out the blood still thrumming in my ears.
I’m insane for thinking Dalton had been at that club. What are the odds? But if it had been him….