Page 57 of Tormenting Me

I’ve never touched myself. The only people who have ever touched me are Wes and Bannister. “I-I can’t, Wes.” I stifle a sob that wants to come out. “You know I’ve never…” My voice tightens. Wes lets go of one of my thighs and slips his hand in between us. The rough pad of his thumb moving over my clit in unison with his thrusts.

“Whatever is preventing you from coming, let it go. I’m not going to stop until you are trembling in my arms and filled with my cum. So let go, baby.”

Chapter thirty-three

Wes

Layne has the leg that I dropped wrapped around my waist to keep herself level. The thrust of my hips pushing her into the brick wall, and her head tilts back with her eyes closed. “Eyes on me, Ma Petite Mort.“ Her eyes slowly open and she gazes into mine, her chest rising and falling. I lean in and press my lips to her ear, “Come for me, Layne. It’s just us, baby.”

Layne’s body trembles in my grip. I keep up the light pressure on her clit as I feel her pussy clench around my cock, gripping me so tightly that I can barely pull out. “That’s it. Goddamn, baby.” I groan as I thrust, hard, one last time, and fill her pussy with my cum. I gently pull out and shift her thong back over. “Come on, let’s see if the piece of shit is still in the deli.” I press a kiss to her forehead, then set her down, taking her hand in mine, and leading her back out of the alley.

She adjusts the back of her dress as we turn back onto the main street from the alley. “Fuck, I can feel you leaking out of me, Wes.” I smirk and pull my sunglasses out of my pocket, sliding them on. Layne and I exchange a knowing glance as we spot Bannister through the window, accompanied by three men, sitting at a small table toward the back of the deli. Anger courses through my veins as I tighten my grip on Layne’s hand, ready to confront the piece of shit, but I know I can’t do that.

Yet.

Keeping our cool, we enter the deli, blending in with the lunchtime crowd. The aroma of freshly baked bread and savory meats fills the air, momentarily distracting us from our task. But we stay focused, our eyes locked on Bannister and his companions.

Layne discreetly adjusts the back of her dress some more, ensuring that she looks presentable despite the intense fucking we just did. I can see the anger in her eyes, mirroring my own.

Before ordering, I steal a glance at them again. I strain to listen to the conversation they are having; I catch only a few words. Layne decides to order food for us, as I try to keep my cool. My hands drop to my side, balling into fists as I try to control the raging hellfire that is attempting to consume me. Just knowing this is the piece of shit that has caused my wife so much pain makes it extremely hard to not walk over there and beat the shit out of him.

“Babe,” Layne says, drawing my attention back to her. “Your food.” She hands me a sandwich and a container of some kind of cold salad.

I give her a strained smile and we make our way to a table close to Bannister but not too close to where he could spot Layne. With every step closer to the group of tables, my heart pounds in my chest. I make sure her back is to him, and I keep my sunglasses on to keep my identity hidden. Not that he knows me at all.

Layne leans in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “We need to get as much information as possible without drawing attention,” she advises, her hesitation clear in her tone. I nod in agreement, my eyes darting towards Bannister and his companions intermittently, searching for any clues or hints. “Stop scowling at him, Wes.”

“This isn’t a scowl, it’s just my default facial expression when I come across human trash.” Layne lets out a soft chuckle before rolling her eyes.

“I’ll let that one slide,” I whisper with a smirk. “Since you took my cock so well in the alley.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Layne’s checks flush a rosy hue.

I take a moment to compose myself, trying to maintain a calm exterior despite the turmoil inside. I take a bite of my sandwich; the flavors blending in my mouth, but my mind is still racing with thoughts of tearing him apart. I can’t even enjoy what I’m eating because my stomach is sour, just looking at this fucker.

Their conversation continues in hushed tones, their words still obscured by the language barrier. But the mention of “Cocaine” and “young girls” sends a shiver down my spine, igniting a fire of righteous anger within me. I fight to keep calm, reminding myself to gather as much information as possible. Then we can kill him.

The thought of Layne ending his worthless life brings a smile to my face.

I open the container of salad that sits in front of me, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy. However, the overpowering smell of mayo and cured meat makes me question its contents. I cautiously raise my eyebrows and bring the container closer to my nose for a sniff. It’s a peculiar combination of peas, carrots, mystery meat, and other unidentifiable ingredients. Layne, sensing my skepticism, snickers under her breath.

“Picky, Picky.” Layne whispers under her breath.

Reluctantly, I take a bite, struggling to chew and swallow as the taste of pickles and eggs overwhelms my senses. Okay, yeah, maybe I am still a picky eater. Sue me. Layne watches my reaction with amusement, clearly finding the situation amusing. I quickly wash away the flavor with a sip of water and push the container toward Layne, offering her a taste. She declines, focusing on her sandwich and trying to contain her laughter.

I lean in closer to Layne. I whisper, “Keep laughing, baby. Just wait until I get you home.” She swallows her bite, knowing that now is not the time for her brattiness. I turn my attention back to Bannister and the three men, noticing their body language, the subtle exchanges that hint at something more sinister. My intuition tells me that there are more victims, young and innocent girls trapped in this web of darkness. The mere thought of it all sickens me.

The gravity of the situation sinking in, I retrieve a small notepad and pen from my pocket, discreetly jotting down the limited information I have gathered so far. Each detail, every word overheard, could be a crucial piece of the puzzle. We need to act swiftly and efficiently to gather all the evidence we can. The lives of these young girls depend on it.

Bannister gets up and shakes the hand of one man, then walks right past our table to leave the deli. “Do we follow him?” Layne asks, shifting in her seat to keep her eyes on him.

“No, we’ll head home and I can use what I have to connect with some of my contacts. I don’t want to risk him recognizing you.” I stretch back in the chair, tipping my sunglasses down to get a better look at her. Layne’s tension is tightly wound, like a rubber band ready to snap. I need to get her home.

“Let’s go home, Ma Petite Mort. A nice hot shower. You can curl up on the couch with your dirty book and relax.“ I reach across the table to offer her my hand. Layne touches my simple white gold wedding band, as she looks at the matching one on her finger. Her face lights up with a smile, and I’m desperate to know her thoughts.

“Okay,” she says, pushing her chair back to stand. I rise and reach for her hand, taking it firmly in my grasp. We approach the door and it opens. Two women hold the door and give me a thorough look as we leave. Layne takes notice and laces her fingers between mine. The women mumble words in Russian to each other, with their eyes stuck on me.

Layne notices them checking me out and goes still.

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