Chapter 17
Layla
Max whistles as I had done when he gets his first look at Russell’s house. Since his car wouldn’t start, even after we tried jumping the battery, we’re all squeezed into Russell’s truck. His bed is overflowing with all our belongings, which I didn’t get a say in, since Russell packed my suitcases with just about everything I own before I got the chance to pick what I wanted to bring.
Not that I minded .
I have a sneaking suspicion he won’t be letting me leave, either. And also that he took my book, since I couldn’t find it anywhere.
Russell pulls up to the left side of his garage and asks Max to help him bring everything in through the side door that opens into the living room.
Cora follows me into the kitchen with Gauge. “This place is huge,” she whispers in awe, dropping her head back while she does a slow circle like she’s looking at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. “Now I get it.”
“Get what?” This may only be the third time I’ve been to Russell’s house, but after cleaning it from top to bottom, I move around the space as if it really is my home, flipping on the overhead lights as I go.
“Why you don’t care that he’s so old,” Cora says like it’s obvious.
“I told you, it’s not like that.” I drop the backpack and my tote bag on the kitchen table, rubbing my lower back, dog-tired and ready for bed. I sigh, toeing off my sneakers, dreaming of the hot shower I plan on taking, wondering if Russell has another nightgown he wants me to wear. I hope so.
Cora and I both scream shrilly and clutch each other, scaring Gauge when a huge body materializes out of the shadows near the primary bedroom with a mothereffin’ shotgun. Russell vaults over the luggage he and Max have just finished bringing inside and rushes to my side, shoving Cora and me behind him before realizing who it is that scared us.
“All clear,” Elliott says.
“Gotdang, Elliott. Could’ve done without you scaring the ladies,” Russell chides.
Elliott grunts and shrugs his massive shoulders.
I poke Russell’s side. “Admit it. He scared you, too, didn’t he?”
That earns me a half-barked laugh out of Elliott. If I were in a better mood, I’d preen at the achievement.
“Who is that?” Cora asks, shushing Gauge as she rubs his back to soothe him when Russell goes to his brother, the two of them carrying on a low conversation as they fade into the shadows.
“Russell’s brother.” I move to the luggage, separating what’s mine from Cora and Max’s .
“Is he as rich as Russell?”
“Don’t know,” I say curtly, hefting Russell’s duffel bag over my shoulder.
“Why do you want to know?” Max asks innocently, though his hand tightens on the handle of his suitcase.
Rolling my two suitcases I stole from Steven toward Russell’s bedroom and heading off the tension brewing between Cora and Max, I tell them, “One of the rooms upstairs belongs to Russell’s son, but you can choose from any of the other three.”
Max’s right eye twitches. “How old is his son?”
Knowing my answer will lead to more questions or disapproval, I rush to say, “Twenty-one. Goodnight.”
The black herringbone tiles of the shower that take up nearly a third of the large bathroom glitter when I turn on the water. I strip and step inside as if I’ve done this a million times and this is no big deal , simply standing beneath the waterfall shower head, my muscles uncoiling beneath the hot water. And I stand there some more. Then even longer, staring through the spotless glass door, waiting for Russell to join me with mounting disappointment that I most definitely shouldn’t feel after he’s done so much for me today.
Though the water never cools as it does at my apartment, I eventually give up waiting for him and actually wash myself. Wrapped in a fluffy towel afterward, I sort through my luggage until I find my toiletries, then neatly set them up between the double sinks on the natural stone vanity and begin the tedious process of drying my curls.
I step through the door to Russell’s closet, oohing and ahhing at the spacious interior. Russell’s shirts and jackets hang neat and tidy next to a wall of cowboy and work boots, some nicer than others. “Fancy,” I murmur to myself when I pick up a particularly expensive, gleaming pair of brown boots with a pointier toe that I’ve never seen him wear.
I didn’t get a chance to snoop earlier, and since Russell hasn’t returned, I take my time poking through his drawers, blushing when I find the one containing his boxer briefs and socks. The drawer beside it brings a rush of heat to my cheeks and lower belly. Nightgowns in silk, lace, and cotton in every color imaginable—all of them with their price tags still attached—are neatly folded within, the other half of the drawer devoted to sexy underwear that are little more than tiny scraps of fabric. The three drawers below it are as empty as Russell’s kitchen cabinets.
Questions burn at the back of my mind when I drop my towel and slip into the pastel pink silk nightgown from the top of the pile and rip the tag off: when did he buy these? Three years ago when we met? Two, when he moved in? Or the first time he saw me in one of my old nightgowns? Any of those options has me fighting the sudden, urgent need to slip my fingers between my thighs.
I’m still alone in the bedroom when I slide into Russell’s plush bed, the dark beyond the glass doors unnerving me the longer I remain alone. I toss and turn, trying to ignore the creepy feeling like I’m being watched, my muscles tense as if ready to throw myself off the bed should another rock come sailing through the glass again.
Within thirty minutes, I’m so spooked that I slide out of bed and rifle through my suitcases until I find my white teddy bear. I recoil when I bring it to my nose, though, my adrenaline spiking at its familiar scent. It’s like saying a final goodbye to a family member when I shove it back in my suitcase beneath my clothes, then tiptoe out of the bedroom and up the stairs. I take one of the spare bedrooms that faces the backyard but doesn’t unnerve me as much, leaving the door open a crack so Russell can find me.
At the window, I scan the yard, too keyed up to fall asleep yet, until I see Russell and Elliott walking across the lawn from the right side of the house, stopping near the pool with their heads bent toward each other.
* * *
Russell
Elliott’s keen eyes shift about, even though we double-checked that the house and property were clear. “I had my suspicions. Started looking into it before you sent me that text.”
“Should’ve known,” I say, hooking my thumbs in my belt loops. “Find anything?”
“They’re from the same county, though their ages are off. Different circles. I’ll keep looking.” He darts a look over my head, narrowing his eyes at a second-floor window. “Think your woman’s waiting for you.”
Elliott shouldn’t be able to see Layla in the bedroom, even at night with any of the lights on, after I dug deep into my pockets to have every door and window retinted in one day. My dick jumps at the thought of Layla waiting for me in bed.
I clap my brother on his arm. “Best get to it, then. Thanks for sticking around so much. I know you’d rather be out on the road. ”
“Eh,” is all he says, then disappears into the pitch-black woods that separate his property from mine, carrying his shotgun in both hands, ready for anything he might meet in the dark.
Layla is asleep on her side facing the window, farthest away from the door, by the time I set the house alarm and make it upstairs, sliding under the covers beside her in my clean sweatpants. I want to sweep back the short strands of hair that have fallen over her cheek, but I fear if I do that, I won’t be able to stop touching her.
I’m treading water in a deep well of agony as I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling fan with my hands crossed under my head to prevent them from drifting toward her. I did more than just touch her while she was asleep last night. I took what I wanted from her body when she couldn’t consent after she’s already suffered so much with Steven.
I taught my son that the absence of no doesn’t mean yes when we had the birds and the bees talk. So why couldn’t I stick to it myself? I have half a mind to take care of myself after taking care of Steven when he gets out of prison. If her dad weren’t already dead, I’d do the favor for him, too.
Layla rolls over, rubbing her eyes with a yawn.
“Sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Something on your mind?” She inches closer, my dick hardening when she runs her hand lightly up and down my stomach. Cora might not find me attractive at my age and weight, but my little darlin’ certainly does—of that I’m sure.
I continue to keep my hands to myself, though my muscles strain with the urge to sweep her on top of me. Or better yet, roll her beneath me so I can work my thick cock inside her.
I get a little choked up, having to close my eyes and ignore my dick when I tell Layla, “I’m sorry for offering to pay you to take off your uniform after our conversation in the truck…and also all the things I did to you before that when you were…when you were asleep. Wasn’t right of me.”
She sits up on an elbow and cups my cheek. “I told you I wanted you to.”
“After the fact, darlin’. Not before. I took advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable. I promise I won’t do it again. You’re safe with me— from me.”
Layla wrinkles her nose and slips her hand beneath my waistband, skimming her fingertips along my shaft before gripping it loosely. “But what about your other promise?”
I moan, fighting to keep my fingers interlocked so I don’t take over and do something to her she doesn’t want. “What promise?”
She hikes her top leg over me, moving to straddle my thighs, the white comforter falling away to reveal she’s wearing one of the new nightgowns. “You promised I could sleep on top of you every night.” She tugs my waistband down to free my cock and grips it again, slowly jacking it up and down. “How, exactly, am I supposed to do that if you won’t touch me?”
“Told you I won’t do it again. Not if you’re already asleep.” I shudder at the intense pleasure of her small fingers squeezing my crown.
Layla pouts and walks up my body until her bare pussy is sitting atop my shaft, flat against my belly. She pulls my hands from behind my head and sets them on her thighs, dragging them up beneath the hem of her nightgown. “And I told you, I want you to, Daddy.”
I grip her naked hips, helping her rock back and forth along my length. “Where are your panties, darlin’? ”
“Why would I wear panties when they’re just going to get in the way?” Layla braces her hands on my chest, squeezing her breasts in the little triangles together while she grinds down on me. She tilts her head and bites her lip before saying, “Maybe that could be our signal. No panties equals I want you to touch me”—she lifts the front of her nightgown, showing me her pussy—“here.” She finds and massages her clit with her middle finger, moaning for Daddy , her pussy growing wetter with her arousal.
I punch my hips up, making her bounce on my lap. “And wearing panties to bed equals…”
“Cuddling, but nothing more.”
I lick my lips, bouncing her again. “Agreed.” And then I jackknife up, whip her nightgown off over her head, and grip the back of her neck beneath her hair, sliding my tongue between her plush, parted lips.
Layla breaks the kiss with a long moan, stilling the hand that had been moving faster over her clit. “I don’t want to wait any longer. I need you inside me.” She sits up on her knees to angle my cock at her entrance.
I stop her from sinking down on my tip with my hands gripping her butt. “You tell me if it starts to hurt, and we’ll stop. I mean it.”
She lightly scrapes her nails through my beard on one side, pressing her supple breasts against my chest. “I love you, you know?”
“I love you, too.” Our mouths meet once again, slower this time, as I help her work my cock inside her, coming to an immediate halt when her thighs clench with a sharp intake of air.
“I thought I could take more than half in this position,” she says, clearly upset.
I wind her curls around my fingers, kissing along her jawline from one side to the other, rubbing a hand up and down the length of her spine and over her bottom. “It’s ok, darlin’. We don’t need to go any further.”
“But I want to, Daddy.” She tries to flex her hips, but I force her to stop.
“I don’t, not if it causes you any pain.”
“You’re a good man, Russell,” she whispers tenderly. “The best man I’ve ever known.”
“And you’re a good woman, Layla.” I wish we had more light so I could see into the depths of her rich, dark brown eyes when I proclaim, “ My woman.”
“Yes.” Layla arches her back with a moan, and I relax my hold so she can roll her hips, though she doesn’t try to take me any deeper.
I groan as her warm, wet pussy tightens around half of my cock. If this is as much as she’s ever able to take, I’ll still live to be the happiest man to ever live.
“You’re going to be an even better wife,” I tell Layla, and her eyes flare wide when I bring a hand between us to rub circles over her clit with my thumb, still gripping one of her cheeks to help guide her when her strength lags on top of me. “And I’m going to be the husband you deserve.”
“Is that your way of proposing to me?”
“Yes. I’ve already asked you to marry me a million times in my head. This is just the first time you’ve heard it.” When she wraps her arms around my neck, nuzzling her nose against mine with a wobbly smile, I ask, “Is that your way of saying yes?”
“Yes,” Layla whispers, her lips brushing mine. And then she thrusts her tongue into my mouth, holding me closer, finding new strength to jerk her hips faster. She moans when I twist my wrist awkwardly so I can press my index and middle finger against her clit, increasing the pressure. “I’m so close, Daddy.”
“Oh, thank god. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out with your little pussy so hot and wet.”
“Just a little more. A little—there, right there. I—” Layla gasps, her pussy clenching around my cock head, forcing my cum out of me when she orgasms. She whimpers as I continue rolling her clit to draw out her pleasure until she forces me to stop by pushing my hand away.
Layla and I are breathing hard when I lay back with her on my chest, my cock snug in her pussy. Her voice is raspy when she says, “Oh my god, Russell, that was intense. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.”
“Sure, you will. It just takes practice.” She props her head up with her chin on my sternum. “Lots and lots of practice,” I say with a toothy grin, which makes her giggle. It’s a sweet little sound but as sexy as when she moans my name.
“Let me guess. You’re more than happy to help me practice, huh?”
I push her hair back behind her ears, then manage to finagle the comforter over our rapidly cooling skin. “The only one allowed to help you practice.”
“Agreed.”