Page 22 of For the Love of Layla

This is wrong.

He licks, sucks and tongues my sex like it’s all he’s ever wanted. I feel myself clench around his tongue. My orgasm ripping through me, not able to stop myself from crying out as my legs start to shake. He shows no signs of stopping until a second wave of heat and white-hot soul binding pleasure barrels through me.

“Liam.” I moan, his blue eyes and freckled face forcing itself to the front of my mind. I feel the man go still as my heart stops dead in my chest. Panic taking over again, and I welcome it. This stops. Now. Everything in my body screams one thing.

Run.

I slam my knee into the side of his head, knocking him off balance as I scramble to my feet sprinting for the door, the soreness momentarily forgotten. I don’t look behind me, hearing him right himself as I jerk it open, running into the hallway sliding on the hallway runner. I scream as I feel his boot connect with the back of my knee with brutal efficiency, making it buckle painfully as I fall against the banister.

“Fucking brat.” He mutters as he bends, grabbing my ankles and dragging me back into the bedroom. My nails scrape across the hardwood. They bend and snap, but I don’t care. I kick and jerk wildly, too scared to feel embarrassed about my reaction to him or my stark nudity anymore.

“Why do you have to make things so fucking difficult for us?” He asks me calmly, as if this is a perfectly normal thing. My stomach churns as I realize for him…it might be.

“Get out! Get out now! Let me go!” I scream as he tosses me onto my bed, blood still leaking from the cut on my arm. He walks to the dresser, opening up my underwear drawer. My heart stills when I hear the rattle of my sleeping pills against the walls of the bottle.

He knew exactly where to look.

“You’ve been inside my house before?” I cry, scooting back against my headboard, tugging my knees tightly to my chest, trying to ward off the trembling. “Who are you?” I demand, feigning strength that I certainly do not have. He doesn’t answer as he walks into my bathroom, filling a cup I keep next to the sink. My muscles jerk with the impulse to run, but the pain in my battered body keeps me in place.

Stupid fucking girl. Run.

He tosses the bottle at me as he holds out the cup, “Take three.” I shake my head, slapping the bottle from the bed into the floor. I watch his knuckles go white as his hand tightens around the glass. He slams it on the bedside table gripping my chin tightly in his hand, “You insisted on being a fucking brat. Now take the damn pills or I’ll carve up your pretty face so badly only I’ll be able to love it.” I swallow hard, sobbing as he shoves me away from him, bending and grabbing the bottle before removing three pills himself.

“Please don’t, I don’t like how they make me feel. Please.” I beg him, hating how pitiful it feels.

All these years and you’re still that weak, pathetic girl. You’re a victim and you’ll never be anything else.

“This is your fault. You did this.” He leans over, grabbing my chin as I force my lips together as tightly as I can, trying to shove him off of me. He grips my ankles, jerking my legs free from my grasp and pulling me down towards him. I shake my head frantically as he crawls onto the bed slamming me back and straddling me. His fingers digging into my cheeks so hard pain radiates through my jaw, forcing my mouth open. I whimper as he shoves the pills deep into my mouth. Making me gag around his fingers, the taste of my arousal lingering on his skin. “Be a good girl and swallow.”

I try not to, I really do.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks, handing me the cup of water, letting me sit up slightly. I take it while my hands shake, making some of the liquid slosh out over the rim. I watch it splatter to my blood smeared sheets, “What are you going to do to me?” I ask, trying to steady my hands. He gently takes it from me, his fingers lightly teasing the back of my hand before he lifts it to my lips. Letting me drink heavily from it. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.

“I’m going to take care of you, Layla. That’s all I want.”

I lift my head, staring at the tall dark figure on top of me. Wishing those words meant nothing. That they didn’t make my heart race with something entirely different from fear, although there’s no small amount of that there too.

“If I asked you why, would you tell me?” I whisper, as he reaches forward, wiping my tears from my eyes with his sleeve. The fabric feels nice against my swollen and puffy face.

“Everything about you calls to me.” He answers with so much seriousness it takes me aback.

“Then tell me who you are.”

He doesn’t respond as he bends, kissing me so gently it makes my skin prickle. He keeps his lips there, almost as if he’s willing me to know the answer. As he pulls back, I stare into his dark brown eyes, trying to.

How can you not know someone that feels so familiar?

He brings his large hand to the back of my head, laying me down gently against the pillows. Trails his fingers down my nude body as if he’s memorizing every imperfection, every flaw, every curve until he stops at my arm taking in the wound there. I feel my eyelids droop as my breathing starts to even out for the first time since I woke up to him. I strain to keep my eyes open as he gently runs his fingers along my skin, soothingly.

Just like Liam did.

My heart flutters as I try to sit up abruptly, his large hand pushing me back down by my chest. He just stares at me unbothered as I weakly struggle against him. He hums that creepy old song, his voice sounds… different now.

Can you tell that from a hum?

After I surrender to the heaviness in my limbs, he resumes running his bloody fingers up and down my arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Liam?

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