"Nana", Part II

a Smoke of Sighs bonus chapter
by Ami

***

LAYLA

A couple hours after dinner, Kayden and I manage to excuse ourselves for an unchaperoned stroll out behind the cabin. We bundle up then crunch leisurely down the path, mitt-in-glove, under the pale silver shimmer of the moon.

"I didn't think I'd say this," I tease softly, "But I think Nana actually likes you."

He chuckles. "She reminds me a little of my mother, actually."

"I swear my dad's jealous. Apparently it took him forever to win her over." I giggle, swing from his grasp into a twirl. He draws me back in against him, my palms splayed across the top of his chest. "You made it look easy."

Our breaths hit the chilly air and fog up in the gaps between us. My hands climb up to grasp the lapels of his coat, and he tilts down. His lips are warm, and his tongue is wet, and his body is a solid hunk of muscle and heat and Kayden.

He groans into the kiss, leans his forehead onto mine. His eyes appear so black in the dark. He looks tired. I huddle closer to him and murmur, "You doing okay?"

The tips of our noses are cold as they nudge together. "I'll be honest. I've really been craving a drink tonight."

God, I bet. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I scrunch my nose affectionately at him, breathe against his lips, "I admire you so much, Kayden."

He dips down to capture my mouth again. A warm, restless tangle of desire flutters through my insides. Breathless and a little throaty, I bite my lip, whisper, "Do you think we could make it past them to your room?"

Tonight is full of surprises, because he actually hesitates. "I don't want your grandmother to castrate me..."

"Kayden Hall." My teeth nibble at his nose. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were suddenly going responsible on me..."

He laughs, raspy and rough. "Come on, Layla. I'm trying to make a good impression here."

Even though I am rendered gooey and beyond flattered, I try to sound as seductive as possible and coax, "Think about how hot it is, though. Sneaking into my room in the middle of the night, against the rules, just to have your way with me..."

Something like a growl rumbles from low in his chest. "You're a bad influence, Layla Mitchell."

I give him a light thud on the shoulder. "Fine." I pout my lips at him, but then he gathers me close and swirls us in circles and I burst into an uncontrollable peal of giggles.

When the ground stops spinning, we're kissing again. "And anyway," he smirks around my tongue. "On the drive over here, it was obvious that the idea of your parents knowing anything about your sex life just mortifies you."

Frick. Why do I always forget that he's so damn good at reading me? "Shut-up. Of course I don't want them knowing that I..." I trail off, blushing, but he fills in the blanks.

"Knowing that you..." His lips tickle my ear, his voice is thick, hoarse. A sudden ache floods the pit of my belly. "Are an insatiable little brat who likes being fucked like a whore?"

My gasp of desire puffs onto his cheek. Flustered, I mutter, "God-fearing, Catholic choir-boy my ass..."

He gives said-ass a firm grope with one of his burly hands and I try not to shriek.

But true to his word, he eventually kisses me goodnight and then makes me go to sleep in my own room, in my own bed. Alone. Without him. Ugh.

***

The next day, Christmas eve, Kayden somehow manages to jump through all my grandmother's hoops.

All of them.

Yeah, I know.

He recites Grace before breakfast.

He pitches in to change a couple of Nana's light-bulbs.

Her car craps out, and with the contents of an old rusty toolbox fished from the depths of the ice-cold shed, he pops open the hood and fixes it? He explains to Nana that he used to work at his neighbour's auto-garage in high-school to save up for university.

He even helps her with her Bible crossword:

"Genesis chapter six, verse nine... four letters, first letter N."

"Er... Noah, probably."

And after dinner, he plays her favourite Christmas carols on the piano.

By the time my grandmother is ready to retire for the night (ten PM sharp, every night, no exceptions), I have the intense, overpowering need to screw his brains out.

Nana's medication makes her drowsy earlier in the evening, and my parents and I aren't really religious. Coupled with the fact that there was a huge snow dump in the afternoon, we opt out of attending Midnight Mass at Nana's church.

The fireplace in Nana's living room crackles, cozy and warm. I cuddle up with Kayden beneath a fluffy blanket on one of the sofas, sipping a cup of hot chocolate while Dad regales us with one of the many strange occurrences he's witnessed during his career as a neuropsychologist.

Kayden can be ridiculously charming when he isn't being a total grinch. My parents have warmed up to him a bit, I think. I can tell that Mom appreciates how well he's handled Nana, and I'm hoping that's won him a few points with Dad, too.

It's a good thing they don't know that he was my professor, because I don't think they'd be so easily forgiving of that whole situation...

I've noticed that Mom and Dad get sleepy when they're drunk. A glass or two of wine for my mother and a full helping of bourbon for my father has them both yawning.

I wanted to ask them to avoid drinking this weekend. I know that being around alcohol can challenge a person's sobriety, and I know how hard Kayden's been working to stay sober. But he told me he'd rather I didn't mention it to them. He wanted to keep it private, and he also didn't want to take the fun out of their holiday, and so obviously I respected his decision.

When my parents finally decide to call it a night and retire upstairs to their room, Kayden and I are left alone, squashed together in the golden flicker of the hearth.

I nuzzle closer, needing him. Needing to feel him, and smell him, and taste him. Needing to show him how much I appreciate the effort he's put into making nice with my family. Needing to make him feel good, and distract him from the fact that he misses the taste of whiskey. I'm in a warm holiday mood and I just need to love him, show him how much I love him.

Mugs on the coffee table, blanket pooled around our laps. My fingers in his hair, his lips scraping a lazy path along my jaw, up to tangle into a deep, fervent kiss.

The rough pads of his fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt and a cool stream of shivers travels up my body. He groans softly when I pierce into his bottom lip with my teeth, give the top of his thigh a squeeze. Calloused thumbs hugging up the sides of my ribs, just grazing the bottoms of my breasts. His tongue strokes mine, sensual, slow, lingering.

My hand travels up higher, and so does his. I feel him through his jeans just as he firmly cups the swell of my breast, kneading me through my bra. Quiet moans seep into our kiss. We slant in closer, my skin pricking warm with desire, everything tightening, and—

An awkward clearing of a throat.

The hazy glow of lust snaps instantly into pieces, and we pry ourselves hastily apart. My face burns. Dad looks ruffled and extremely uncomfortable. He mutters something about retrieving his phone, then swiftly plucks it off the armchair he previously vacated and strides away. There's the creaking of stairs. It's only when I hear the upstairs door swing open and flap shut that I stop holding my breath.

Kayden scrubs a hand over his face, chuckles wryly. "Ah, fuck. Well. I think he knows you're not a virgin."

"Shut up." My fist collides with his shoulder. Keeping my volume low, I hiss, "So much for being discrete..."

His amber irises glint. Mouth caressing my temple, he murmurs, "Let me take you to bed. I'll make it up to you."

With a pout, I whisper, "I have a sexy costume for you, but it's upstairs..."

His eyes have gone dark. He wets his bottom lip then tosses me a small, wicked grin. "Don't get caught."

Sneaking around like a pair of teenagers, he heads down to the basement and I creep up to my room. Fifteen minutes later, I pop my head out into the shadowy hallway to make sure the coast is clear. Cloaked in a long, thin robe, I tiptoe down two flights of stairs then tap oh-so quietly on his door before letting myself in. He's lounging on the bed, rakishly handsome, black jeans, bare-chested. He takes in my clandestine attire, looking curious and undeniably hungry. I reach behind me to click the lock into place.

My heart beats erratically as I slip towards him. He reaches for me and I crawl onto his lap, curving close. The silky fabric of my gown gapes open at the top, bunches up around my thighs, gives him a teasing peak of the red scraps underneath.

He tips forward to latch his lips onto my throat, pulling a sharp gasp from my lungs. His thick hands rake up the sides of my thighs, hook onto my hips to pull me tighter into him. The heaviness in his jeans presses right between my legs and I clench them together reflexively, and it makes us both moan.

Mm... He may have fooled my grandmother for now, but he and I both know that he's pure trouble, and he loves it, and I love it too. Apparently last night's conviction to make a good impression has been superseded by his nature. Oh well.

Low and raspy, brushing my ear, he scolds, "Look at you. Fuck. Such a bad girl..." The satin of my gown is sleek beneath his palms as he smooths them upwards, grips onto my waist. His teeth graze my pulse, hot breaths fogging my skin, shivers of warmth cascading through me. "Sneaking around your grandmother's house, behind your parents' backs, dressed like a little slut." And then his fingers are dipping up my inner thigh, beneath creases of pearly fabric, to cup me gruffly between the legs. He hums softly against my cheek when he feels the wet heat at my centre. "All because of this greedy little pussy."

My body squirms down into his hand. I crane forward to press our mouths together but he grunts his disapproval. "Whose pussy is this, huh?"

Yours. But I'm not in a particularly submissive mood. One coarse hand between my legs, the other stroking the side of my face. I bite his thumb coyly and breathe, "Mine. It's mine."

A brisk flurry of rough movement makes me squeal breathlessly. He pins me onto the mattress beneath him, hips digging punishingly into mine, his fists trapping my wrists above me. "You want your parents to hear you screaming for me?"

I shake my head, crooning no. My robe has yanked open. Balmy air streaks across every exposed inch, making my skin pucker. The sexy costume I referred to earlier is a generous term for what is actually barely anything at all. A broad, flimsy red ribbon that slips between my legs, around my cleavage, to end with a giant bow in front of my breasts. He looks down at me with blackened, hooded eyes, like he wants to devour me.

I innocently inform him, "I have a present for you..."

"Oh yeah?"

"You're gonna have to unwrap it very carefully..."

He's already plucking at the knot with deft fingers. His breath is hot on my neck when he husks, "I think I'd rather just tear it open. So I can play with it, all night."

My head to the pillow, his hands roaming all over. The ribbon unfurls, and he tugs at it so digs firmly up between my legs, between the lips of my pussy, between the curves of my ass, spreading me. My mouth parts with surprise, discomfort, a sharp shock of arousal. Swiftly, he slips the silky strip from between my legs, and I watch with a gasp as he tears the material into two long strips with this teeth, his pupils glinting devilishly.

Naked and helpless beneath him, I thrash restlessly as he uses one half of the ribbon to truss my wrists together above my head. He grips each end of the other piece—which used to be between my legs, obvious from the patch of moisture darkening the fabric—in his thick fists, leans close to my lips to grumble, "I think we should make sure you stay quiet."

Secretly (or not-so-secretly) drenched at the idea, I pout, "But then I won't be able to tell you to go fuck yourse—Mmph!"

He wedges the frayed red scrap between my teeth, forcing my mouth to stretch around it, then ties it securely in place behind my head.

I squirm and let out some incoherent squeaks of protest, but it just serves to make the gag soppy with my saliva, and to make him look ridiculously pleased with himself.

He drags a single fingertip down my cheek, down the quivering slope of my throat, down to circle tauntingly around one straining nipple, then the other. I watch him trail along my bareness until he's prowling between my thighs, shoving his deliriously handsome face against the centre of me, inhaling my scent with a deep groan. Hot, humid exhales puffing against me, the allure of his mouth so close but not close enough...

He wets his lips then gazes up my body and promises, "I'm gonna use you how I want, the entire night, and you're gonna lay here and take it." With a dark grumble against the tender flesh of my inner thigh, he teases, "What would they think, if they knew how fucking filthy you are?"

My muffled objections fade into a whimper when his mouth envelops me, latching onto the swollen folds of flesh at my core. His fingertips dig into the curves of my thighs, clutch my ass, spread me wider so he can lick and suck until I'm a buckling, dripping mess.

There's an undeniably delicious thrill in being bound, and silenced, and used, completely at his mercy. He brings me right to the edge, twisting my clit with his tongue, his thick fingers curling into me while I writhe against his face. And then, of course, of course, he pulls away, leaves me bereft and aching, a smirk of trouble and strife tugging at his glistening lips.

I arch my hips up towards him, needy, whining into the gag, thrashing. His palm cracks down with a slap right between my legs, sending prickles of pressure flooding through my pussy. My gasp is trapped by the fabric cinched between my teeth. "Behave," he warns, a low rumble, his lips glistening wet with my juices.

My entire body burns with desire, and he knows it, and it pleases him. Sadistic bastard.

I love it. I hate it but I love it.

Long, excruciating minutes pass. It feels like hours. He keeps me bound beneath him, at his every whim, as he teases each inch of me with his fingers, his lips, his tongue.

Suckling my nipples, pressing taunting kisses along the lurching plane of my stomach, sweeping his tongue slowly along the sensitive strip of skin beneath my navel, along the smoothness of my inner thighs, sucking hard enough to leave marks everywhere while I flail and plead into the silken gag.

Straddling me, peaking the ribbon away just enough to force his hard dick into my mouth, shallow thrusts and loose moans as I suck and choke on his thick length. The swollen head of his cock runs along the seam of my lips, and his face goes slack with pleasure, high on the control, the surrender...

I look up at him through dark, dewy lashes, an innocent quiver to my chin, and then promptly dig my teeth into him. Not hard, but not exactly light either.

The flash of alarm, and pain, and surprise, and warning... Well. I'm a bit of a sadist too.

A flurry of tugging and flailing and gruff touches. For my cheekiness, my belligerence, he throws me over his knee and spanks me so good that I actually wonder whether my grandmother can hear it all the way on the top floor of the house. And then the fucks me, vigorously, several times, and so I can't be bothered to care whether she hears us or not.

It kinda reminds me of Christmas last year, when Kayden and I were on two different planets, wrapped around each other but worlds away. Except this time, there's no heartache or heaviness, just him and me, twisted together, panting and raw and real.

Pinned to the mattress, my ass in the air, his hand wound around my throat, his hips pumping back and forth, filling me over and over while I drip all over his big cock, all over the sheets.

(Remind me to, uh. Change those, before Nana finds them.)

His breath is hot and heavy against my shoulder, my ear. My cries of discomfort and pleasure are dampened into the gag, and it's such a high feeling, being used, bound, taken. Pinching my nipples, squeezing my breasts as his teeth graze the crown of my spine. He reaches forward, wraps a burly hand around my neck, uses the other to clasp the back of the gag and cinch it harder, while his hips dig into me from behind, while my pussy throbs and clinches around his burning length.

His grip tightens, and a rush of breathlessness, exhilaration, powerlessness streams through me. The pressure of his hand, his fingers digging measuredly into soft points along the column of my throat. I whimper, an airless gasp for breath, a thrilling flood of hazard and adrenaline. "Mm," he grumbles approvingly against the shell of my ear. "That's right. Feel that?" My chest rises and falls with rapid, shallow protests. "You like it when I choke you, huh? Fuck." He eases off a little and oxygen sucks through my lungs. A harsh thrust has me crooning helplessly. "Yeah, fucking take my cock, Layla," he grunts. "Good girl." He nips at my earlobe and whispers low encouragements as my high overtakes me, unraveling my body from the inside out, heat, shivers, weightless spasms of ecstasy.

I melt beneath him, and he wraps his arms around me as I sink onto my belly, puffing for air, delirious, and he takes me like that, driving into me until he reaches his peak too. He growls softly into the dip of my shoulder-blade, twitches deep between my legs, cursing coarsely beneath his ragged breath as he empties himself into me.

A tangle of limbs, disheveled hair, sweaty skin plastered together, weak and tired, sticky, his weight resting comfortingly atop my back as I nuzzle into the comforter, sore and thoroughly spent.

His fingers tickle my cheek and then I feel it as he gently strips the ribbon away, discards it off to the side. Finally able to talk, to make full use of my mouth, my head cranes back and I whisper, throaty and needy, "Kiss me..."

He gathers my hair in one fist, sweeps it out of the way, tilts in to seal our mouths together, wet and hungry and exhausted. Our foreheads bump together, noses nudging and sliding. "You okay?" he murmurs, eyebrows scrunching up, warm gaze searching my face.

"Mhm," I breathe near his lips, curling up into his strong warmth. Shifting, tugging, gathering me close so our heads sink into the pillows and I'm tucked firmly against his chest, in his arms.

The sweet, earthy smell of our sex hangs humidly in the air. Burying his nose against my scalp, he mumbles, barely audible, "I love you."

With a soft, sleepy grin I return, "Love you too." My eyelids droop. I want to shut the lights off and melt away into the darkness, cocooned in his warm embrace. I nestle my head into the crook of his shoulder and pout, "Please don't send me back to my room..."

His chuckles, gives my bum a tender pinch. "You're gonna have to sneak out..." A deep yawn breaks through his words. "...really early tomorrow morning."

Snuggling up into him, I press a kiss to his shoulder. "Yes, sir."

Lights out, alarm set. Legs looped together, perched at the hazy precipice of sleep. "Kayden?"

"Yeah, baby."

"Merry Christmas."

A snort, a sigh, an unconvinced shake of his head. But then he indulges me by mumbling, "Merry Christmas," and we fall asleep with the imprint of my smile tattooed against this arm, the steady cadence of his heart beating into my palm.

***

My morning alarm is delivered in the form of his mouth nipping at the tender flesh of my inner thighs. I squirm, groggy, as his day-old scruff tickles along sensitive skin, his coarse lips grazing slowly upwards while his hands wrap around my hips, fingers pressing into the curves of my ass.

My bleary eyes have barely even adjusted to the glow of the lamp or to the dim, wintry morning navy peaking through the slats of the blinds when a hiccup of breath tumbles from my lungs. His nose, his mouth, his tongue, buried right between my legs in one swift go.

I snatch at the thick, disarrayed waves of his hair, pressing myself reflexively down into his face. When the feeling becomes too much, I wriggle away, but he holds me in place, his grunts of satisfaction rumbling into my pussy. Slick, wet sucking noises, the airy breathlessness of my stifled moans.

This time, he doesn't torture me, tease me. He's patient, dedicated, exceedingly thorough. He actually lets me finish like that, spasming around his tongue, spine arcing off the bed, praising his name.

When I glance down to where he's comfortably settled between my naked thighs, he smirks up at me, crooked and lazy, his eyes glinting with mischief and filth. "Merry Christmas."

That makes me giggle for some reason. But then he's on top of me, skin to skin, his warm, solid muscle pressing me into the mattress, rocking himself into me, and my giggles morph into whimpers. "Merry Chr—Christ..."

***

Hickeys.

Hickeys everywhere.

An early morning shower in the basement guest bathroom and some more decidedly un-Christian shenanigans. Wrapped in a towel, I sneak furtively back into my room to change my clothes. The house is still and quiet.

My eyes widen when I catch a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror.

Dark, bruised splotches are sunken into my skin from head to toe. Two on one side of my neck, one on the other. Along my throat, dotted across my collarbone, speckling my breasts, my upper arms, my thighs. I twist around and sure enough, there are big fat hickeys all over my ass. Between my legs, on my calves...

Crap.

I get to work with some concealer, try to arrange my hair to provide the most clandestine coverage possible. Unfortunately, my attempts at hiding the evidence are not particularly successful.

In the end, I opt for a big, frumpy Christmas sweater with a puffy turtle-neck and sleeves that nearly drown away my fingertips. My jeans reach down to my ankles. I can already feel the sweat collecting at the nape of my hair.

There's a knock on my door. It's my mother. She takes a good look at me, something suspicious in the cast of her eyebrows. "I came to check in on you last night while on my way to use the bathroom."

I can feel a pink flush worm its way up my cheeks.

I don't say anything. She stands there with a hand on her hip and continues casually, "But you weren't in your room..."

I try for an innocuous shrug. "Mm, maybe I went down to the kitchen for some water..."

She nods tolerably, but then adds with a hum, "Funny. Your bed was still made."

My lips purse together while she shakes her head knowingly. "Layla." She glances down the bridge of her nose at me sternly, though partially in play, I think. "You're being safe, right?"

"Oh my god, Mom. Yes, yes. We seriously do not need to have this conversation..."

"Just checking..."

"Mhm."

A little while later, I make my way down to the kitchen to help Nana with Christmas brunch. The sun has finally emerged. Light glimmers through the windows, soft tunes play quietly in the background. The twinkle of garland and ornaments, the warm smells of fresh-baked pastry... I love Christmas.

Kayden wanders into the kitchen as I'm gulping back a glass of water. Black jeans, black V-neck T. My grandmother stands in front of the stove, fussing over a pan of something. I choke so hard that water snorts up my nose.

I glare pointedly at him, rubbing the driblets of sputum off my chin, trying to signal him with a silent, frantic shake of my head.

"Good morning, Kayden," Nana greets amiably. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Meyer."

Nana turns towards him for a proper polite hello. I watch with horror as her shrewd gaze hones in on the monstrous red love-bite stamped onto the side of his neck.

Oh my fricking god... So much for winning her blessing. She is going to eat him alive.

Frankly, it serves him right for the way he tortured me last nigh—

"Layla Mitchell," Nana chastises sternly. "Goodness gracious. Look at what you've done to this poor man."

My jaw falls open.

"Really. Such loose, unbecoming behaviour." She shakes her head, clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

Kayden keeps a straight, neutral face. He doesn't even have the decency to look guilty, the bastard he is.

Nana explains to Kayden, "Unfortunately, my granddaughter was not raised with a firm enough hand, you see. Her parents spoiled her."

"I try my best to set a good example," he promises calmly, "Though sometimes I'm simply outmatched, I'm afraid." I swear his eyes are rife with wickedness. "Would you excuse me please, ma'am." He gives her a deceptively virtuous smile. "I was actually just about to head out front, clear up the driveway."

"How lovely. Thank you, dear."

I stare daggers at him as he passes me by, on his way to earn more points by shoveling snow off the fricking sidewalk. He just winks.

Take a deep breath. Count to ten. Do not consider inflicting physical harm upon your boyfriend or your grandmother.

My parents swing into the kitchen to help out too. "What a nice young man," Nana comments, busying herself with the oven. "He is the kind of strong, mature influence our Layla needs. A very good match, I think."

Dad grunts something surly, not having been fooled for a second. I give his arm a small jab with my elbow and sweetly remind him, "What was that thing you said before, about Nana's blessing?"

He grumbles back, "Apparently she likes him better than the both of us." He mutters some curse that sounds suspiciously like little shit under his breath, but I can't be sure.

I suppress a giggle, whisper, "You gonna beat him up for me, Daddy?"

My dad rolls his eyes. The edge of his mouth flickers with wry mirth. "I would, but he gets off on that kinda thing, doesn't he?"

"Dad!"

He shrugs, advises dryly, "Maybe you guys should try harder to keep it down next time."

My face burns. No way they heard us, two floors away—

Except then he's grinning, and I realize with a flood of relief and irritation that he's totally BSing me. Little shit.

***

A/N:

That was definitely a fun one. Hope you enjoyed it!

Please drop a comment to let me know your thoughts! Thanks for all your support.

xoxo Ami