Page 43 of Tormenting Me

When my orgasm breaks, it has me in a free fall, the added pressure from my head hanging off the bed and Wes’s grip on my throat, heightening every pulse. My pussy clenches around him as he groans, spilling himself inside me. After a few moments of heavy breathing, he drags my head back onto the bed and pulls out of me.

“I guess we owe my Ma a new comforter.” He shrugs, looking between our legs. I hold my hand out to him for help. With a firm grip, he pulls me up to a sitting position. I groan when I see the bloody mess all over the cream colored comforter.

“Great, first a set of sheets and now the comforter. We’re going to need to buy bedding every time we visit.” I chuckle.

“Ready to have some turkey, baby? I’m starving.” Wes chuckles as he climbs off the bed, heading to the bathroom to clean up.

Sometimes I don’t know what I am going to do with him.

Chapter twenty-seven

Wes

Back to the daily grind. We’ve been home from Virginia for three days and I am already back to work. I sit at my desk and sift through the files that have piled up, feeling my frustration grow. The chaotic mess is a stark contrast to the organized filing system I meticulously maintain. I can’t help but suspect that Courtney is intentionally creating the chaos as a way to get back at me.

Courtney has been acting like a fucking child. While I was off work, she found out from Davis that I got married, and ever since, she has been intentionally trying to stir shit to get me to pay attention to her. Not that she ever had a chance on any planet in any universe. But hey, she can live in whatever land of delusion she chooses. As long as she doesn’t try anything, I don’t give a shit how she feels.

Though I don’t see how she missed the white gold band on my ring finger, that I have not taken off since the day Layne put it on.

Meanwhile, Davis has already lined up a multitude of fresh cases for me. I search through the pile for the perfect one to occupy my time for the next few weeks. Christmas is just around the corner, and I’ve already secured my three-day vacation, planning to whisk Layne away to Lake Tahoe for a White Christmas.

The hours drone on, I recline back in my chair, getting comfortable. I come across a file on a Russian Bratva member involved in a money laundering bust. It’s clear that Davis wants this case to receive special attention. Clear by his sticky note that says “SPECIAL ATTENTION.” Subtle. Bratva activity in San Francisco has been on the rise lately, and it’s important that we get on top of it. Setting the file aside, I pick up another one.

I delve into the file and read all about Corbin Bannister, a drug dealer and child rapist. Disgust fills me. He’s the type of criminal I’m passionate about getting rid of. I quickly take pictures of the file with my phone and email them to myself. With three weeks of uninterrupted work ahead, it’s the perfect opportunity to ensure this piece of shit faces the consequences of his heinous crimes.

In my mind, it’s not just about personal satisfaction; it’s a public service. By removing one more depraved pedophile from society, I save taxpayers’ money that would have been spent on his imprisonment. It’s a small contribution, but every little bit counts in the fight against such trash humans.

I pull my phone out, Layne’s tattooed body is my screen saver.

Wes: What’s the plan for tonight, Ma Petite Mort?

Layne: I want to watch horror movies with either your hand down my pants or massaging my scalp. I can’t decide.

Fuck me.

Wes: I have two hands, I can do both. I’m great at multi-tasking.

A few seconds later.

Layne: I’ll be waiting for you on the bed. In your favorite shirt. No panties. Bring snacks.

I can already envision Layne on the bed in my head. It’s four-fifteen, and all I have been doing is sitting here reading files. Fuck this place. I’ve got a wife that needs her snacks and a good dicking, so I’m out. Before I leave, I clean up all the files and put them in order. Everything else can be tomorrow’s problem.

The GTO rumbles to life and I pull out of the parking lot, heading to the nearest store. Once inside the little corner shop down the street, I realize Layne didn’t give me a list. I debate texting her back about what she wants. Then I give it some thought.

Layne wants snacks even though both of us know we won’t be watching the movie. If Ma Petite Mort wants her snacks, I’ll bring home a variety of snacks. From chips to cookies, and an assortment of drinks. I head to the drinks aisle and grab a few different sodas, some beer, and my favorite whisky. After checking out, I toss the bags into the passenger seat and begin my journey home. I may or may not have exceeded the speed limit on the city streets to get home in under fifteen minutes.

With the car parked, I sprint up the loft stairs, the excitement building with each step. I hit the last step and enter the room. Layne is on our bed, donning my favorite Metallica shirt that hugs her curves perfectly. She’s sitting up on her knees with the projector screen down and scrolling through a list of horror movies.

She makes eye contact with me. “You brought snacks!” Her tone is excited as she eyes the bags that I put on the coffee table.

“Sit back and spread your legs, baby. Let me see if you’re just teasing me.” I pant, out of breath and burning with lust.

With a mischievous grin, she leans back slightly, opening her legs while remaining on her knees. “Why don’t you come and find out for yourself?”

Such a fucking tease. Fuck. This woman. All she would have to do is text me, “I’m horny.” I would drop everything and come running just so I could bury my cock inside her.

I kick off my boots and sink into the softness of the bed. I position myself behind her, as Layne starts her favorite scary movie, The Exorcist. With a firm grip on the shirt, I pull her towards me, causing her to lean back against me, finding support between my legs. “Now, spread your legs,” I whisper, my lips touching her ear. Layne spreads them and I look down, her bare pussy already glistening with her arousal. I smirk, running my left hand up the back of her neck and up into her hair. The tips of my fingers apply just the right amount of pressure to her scalp.

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