Quiet Angel (20 page)

“OK.” Layla looked at the clock. “What time do I need to be ready tonight?”

“Not until around six.”

“What is this thing anyway? You’ve been so secretive. I don’t even know if my dress is appropriate.”

“It’s a surprise,” Gage said. “I’m wearing a tux, so. . . .”

“Great, my dress isn’t going to work.” She playfully swatted him. “You could’ve told me.”

“I can take you shopping for a dress. I’m giving a little speech and. . . .”

“You are? Why don’t you tell me these things?” She pulled him towards the door. “We better get shopping. I can’t believe you’re giving a speech. Your fiancée can’t look like crap.”

“It’s impossible for you to look bad.”

“I don’t think I even packed a strapless bra. Oh God, what if the dress is backless? I’ll need one of those crazy bras. Do you know how hard those are to find?”

“I vote for no bra—and no panties.”

“Deal.”

Gage’s deep blue eyes lit up. “What?”

“Until we got back together, I slept nude.”

“What? You’ve been holding out on me.”

Layla laughed then turned serious. “I used to sleep in layers of clothes as a child, as if that would stop him. When I got older and started therapy, I started to embrace my body, not hate it.” She shrugged. “So I found power sleeping nude.”

“My fiancée is a nudist. That should break the ice with Mom.”

“I guess I’ll have to sleep in pajamas until we get married.”

“A month.”

“A
month
?”

“If you really want to wait until we’re married, then the wedding should be in a month.”

“You can’t plan a wedding in a month!”

“You can when you have lots of money.”

“The bride pays for the wedding!”

“Not this one.”

Layla flipped over and straddled him, pinning his hands down. “So you expect me to marry you in a month and let you pay for the whole thing?”

“Basically,” he said. “And just so you know, no matter when the wedding is, I’m open to sex beforehand.”

“You’re
open
to it?”

“I’m open to anything with you, Angel.”

“Well,” Layla said, tilting her head as if in deep thought, “I’m a pretty open-minded girl.”

Gage couldn’t hold
back any longer. It had been way too long, 30 days. And now there was nothing between Layla and her ice blue dress. He lunged at her in the back of the limo and pinned her to the seat. He climbed on top of her, kissing her mouth, her neck, their tongues stroking each other.

“My dress, my hair, the event!” she protested softly.

Gage hit the intercom button. “Circle the block,” he told the driver then looked down at her panting below. “I won’t make it through the night knowing you don’t have on panties.” He brushed her breasts with his hands and gave her hip a little squeeze, his dick bulging through his tux, pressing against her body. He slid a hand down her upper thigh and inched it slowly up her dress.

Her breath ragged, Layla moved his hand away. She sat up and straightened her dress. “Not like this. There’s plenty of time for hot, fast sex in the back of limos.”

“I’ll take my time,” he promised.

“No,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. “There’s something I want to do first, something I’ve waited years to do.” She hiked up her dress a little and got on top of him, straddling him. She gently kissed his neck and slid down his body until she was on her knees. She looked up at him as she undid the button and zipper on his pants. Her eyes grew large when his hard dick came out right away.

“I decided no underwear should go both ways,” he said.

She smiled at the surprise and licked her lips, moving his pants down to his ankles. She rubbed his inner thighs then took his balls in her hands and stroked them softly. His body trembled under her fingertips, the beautiful diamond accenting them.

Gage wanted her mouth on him so badly, to feel her tongue, her wet warmth surrounding him. He looked down at her, almost begging, his body tingling in anticipation. She moved closer to him. He could feel her warm breath. But just when he thought she’d slide him, she lowered her head and ran her tongue across his balls, lightly sucking. “Yes,” he groaned loudly. Layla stopped and raised her head just slightly. His eyes shot open and locked on hers. He held her gaze as her mouth slid over him, her pink lips and warm tongue magically working him up and down.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Her mouth still felt familiar. He felt himself grow longer and harder in her mouth, and he could feel himself starting to build. He told himself not to finish yet. She’d just started. It felt so good. He strained to hold back. But when she slid up and down again and flicked her tongue across his tip, he came hard, long, shooting into her mouth without warning. Panting, he looked down at her continuing to suck, making sure she captured all of him.

She kissed his semi-hard dick and lifted up his pants, fastening back the button and zipper. She sat beside him, and he fell into her arms, resting his head on her chest. Gage slid his hand under her dress. “I want to watch you come for me now.” Layla spread her legs slightly as he slid down her body.

A loud ring stopped his progress. He took out his phone to turn it off but saw he needed to answer. “Yes. . . .” He looked at his watch. “I didn’t realize. . . . OK, five minutes.” Gage hung up and reached under her dress and slid a finger inside her.

“God,” she moaned and arched her back.

Gage leaned over her, as he moved his finger in and out. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this. I wanted to bury my tongue in you until you begged me to let you come.”

Layla dug her hands into his back. “Please, oh please! It’s been forever!”

Gage liked hearing that. He wondered just how long it had been. And he liked she was growing wider and wetter each time he slipped his finger in and out. His dick grew hard again. “Fuck it,” he said and threw her dress up higher. He leaned in and gave her a hard suck, tasting her, swallowing her, while still working her with his fingers. She released a hand from his back and gripped the seat, thrusting against his mouth and fingers. “Just lie back and let me make you come,” he growled, sucking and stroking her, breathing in her sweet scent.

Layla spread her legs wider and buried his head between her legs. She ran her hands through his hair, as he brought her to the point of no return. Her entire body trembling under his mouth, she screamed his name when she came, so loud she was sure the limo driver heard. Gage slid out his finger, and she moaned at the loss of contact. She looked down at him on his knees, her dress around her stomach, and let out a sexy smile.

He was sure five minutes were up, but he sensed she wasn’t done yet. She still had more to give him. And he couldn’t resist trying. He wasn’t going to leave her unsatisfied. He went down and licked her again. Her legs tightened together, and he knew he was right. He flicked his tongue in her, and her hips bucked up, as if begging for more. He blew out a warm breath and watched her body roll.

His hard dick poked against her leg, and Layla reached for him. “I want you!” she said. “Now!”

“Thank God!” Gage said and quickly unzipped his pants. His phone vibrated against the floor of the limo. “Shit.” Layla scooted back, trying to calm her hair as Gage answered. “What? . . . Bad traffic! . . . We’re close.” He hung up and groaned, seeing Layla adjusting her dress, knowing the moment was over. He ordered the driver to step on it.

Layla looked at him from under her lashes, and her dimples blossomed. She scooted towards him, fixing his hair with her fingers, adjusting his jacket and tie. He tucked in his shirt and zipped up. Then she looked down at herself. “Help me! I don’t even have a mirror!”

Gage leaned close to her lips. “You look amazing. Your eyes are sparkling. Your lips are the perfect shade of red. Your cheeks have just the right blush.”

“I need a bathroom, a toothbrush, a mint!”

“I like the idea of you wet all night with the taste of me in your mouth,” he said. “I definitely like the taste of you in mine.”

The limo came to a quick stop in front of a hotel. Gage didn’t wait for the driver to come around. He hopped out and took Layla by the hand. She straightened her dress as she got out, making sure the spaghetti straps were up and the right places covered. She heard someone calling out and looked over to find Sarah rushing towards them.

Layla looked to Gage. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry, we’re so late, Sarah,” Gage said. “Bad traffic on 285. Nothing we could do about it.”

“I’m willing to overlook it,” Sarah said and gave them both a hug. “You look beautiful, Layla.” Sarah quickly ushered them along a red carpet. “We’ve got to get you inside. Everyone’s waiting for your speech, Mr. Montgomery.”

“The charity is Hope Cottage?” Layla asked.

Sarah smiled. “He didn’t tell you, Layla? He and his sister organized this whole thing. So many rich and powerful people inside. Southern Wings is getting us a new building.”

“A new building?” Layla cried, stunned, her mind racing.
OMG! An ex-nun was calling us in the limo!

Sarah led them up some stairs and through a back entrance and into a huge ballroom, all white except for lavender floral arrangements atop dozens and dozens of round banquet tables. There were at least 1,000 people in black tie waiting for the guest of honor. Sarah pointed Layla to her table.

“Got to give a speech, babe,” Gage said, winking at her, and waited to be introduced on stage.

Layla made her way to her table. It was incredible Gage and Emerson orchestrated all this, that Gage even knew Sarah or was even involved with Hope Cottage. Layla had no idea. She simply couldn’t believe where she was, what was happening. And she was happy to see some familiar faces at her table—Poppy, Emerson, Dash—among some others she didn’t know. She took a seat next to Poppy.

“Did you get a little post
boned
?” Poppy whispered.

“No! Hush!” Layla said. A waiter put an entree in front of her. She looked around, seeing everyone else was onto dessert and coffee.

“Tell that to your hair,” Poppy said, fidgeting with her own, now its natural dirty blonde color and cut in a pixie. “It’s sexafuckalicious!” She took Layla’s hand and took in the ring. “Jesus, that’s huge! I can’t believe you’re getting married.”

Emerson flashed Layla a smile. “I’m so happy for you.”

Layla gave a little wave, showing off her finger, just as Gage took the stage to a round of applause.

“Good evening,” Gage began. “I want to thank everyone for coming.” He gave Layla a subtle smile, as cameras flashed all around him.

“Just how many times did you come?” Poppy whispered. Layla kicked her under the table.

“Right now, a child is being sexually molested,” Gage said. “Is it your child? I know what you’re thinking. It can’t happen to your child. Things like that don’t happen in your family. But sexual predators don’t care if you’re rich, poor, white, or black. They don’t care which religion you are or which political party you belong to. This is not a problem of ‘other’ people. And this is not a woman’s issue. I don’t need to tell you all the good things Hope Cottage is doing for girls who’ve been sexually assaulted or molested—the inpatient and outpatient services; the individual therapy; the art, music, and movement programs. They treat girls in Savannah and the rest of Georgia, and most every other state, too. They are treating our girls.” He paused. “Let me say that again—they are treating
our
girls. And nobody does it better.”

An older gentleman sitting one seat from Layla leaned towards her. “He looks very polished—almost presidential.” Layla gave him a confused look and smiled politely. The man looked slightly familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“Every man in this room has a daughter, mother, sister, niece, and, yes, maybe even a son,” Gage said. “They’re all potential survivors. We are here tonight to give a voice to those who’ve had theirs stolen—silenced. We are here to speak for them, to them. On each table is an envelope with a letter. The brave girls at Hope Cottage took the time to write down some of their feelings, thoughts, stories. There are no names on the letters. And that’s the point. These letters could be written by any child, even yours. Before you leave tonight, I’d ask that you read the letters—word for word.” He motioned to a side door and waved someone up. “One brave young woman asked to come tonight to read her letter in person.”

Gage stepped away from the podium, and a ginger-haired, freckled-faced girl took the stage, her eyes fixed straight down. She couldn’t have been more than 20. The crowd greeted her with polite applause, somewhat nervous about what was coming. The girl opened a folded sheet of paper and took a deep breath.

“The title of my letter is ‘Why I’m Fucked Up.’” The girl looked over at Sarah who gave her a little nod. “My first memory is of my grandparents taking me to Disneyland. I remember them letting me drink soda for the first time, and that I screamed my head off in fear of Donald Duck.” The crowd laughed. “Not bad for a first memory, but you haven’t heard my second.” She stopped to gather herself, the letter rustling in her shaking hands.

“My second memory, the one that haunts me to this day, the one that has shaped my life, is being naked under the gaze of that same grandfather. I wasn’t more than three. I still wore footed pajamas. When he was done, when my pajamas were on the floor, he told me I was bad. He told me it was my fault. He told me I made him do it. And I believed him. He was the adult. He was family. That’s the moment I became fucked up.” An old photo of her—in pigtails and pajamas—flashed on a huge screen behind her. She looked back at it. “That’s me at three. I was cute, huh?”

She turned back to her paper, her hands steadier now. “But I know the dark parts of her soul, the broken and fragmented spirit, the feelings of loathing and self-hatred. To hate yourself before you even have a word for it. He told me if I said anything, I’d be punished for being bad. So I kept my mouth shut. I stayed silent. Silence became my best friend, my armor. There were members of my family that didn’t know what my voice sounded like. I cried myself to sleep every night for years, begging God for the next day to feel better. I wished myself dead more times than I care to admit. I’m sure I was suicidal by the time I was five.”