Page 17 of Castaway Whirlwind
“I’ll finish putting up your shower curtain so you can…” He stops mid-sentence and goes into the bathroom.
After propping my teddy bear in the corner of my bed, my mood lifting now that I no longer have to hide it since I live on my own, I start putting away the groceries Russell bought.
* * *
Russell
I ought to be disgusted with myself instead of relieved by how quickly I was able to cum in my palm not a minute after I pulled my dick out when I heard Layla turn the shower on. I’d have died if she’d caught me masturbating on her bed, staring at the bathroom door, imagining her soaping up her beautiful body. I’d have died if I hadn’t found my release after getting hard and staying hard from the moment I walked into herapartment.
I’m finishing up putting the new sheets on her bed, her teddy bear tucked under the covers between her pillows when Layla steps out of the bathroom in a black blouse tucked into skinny black trousers instead of the body hugging nightgown she was wearing—the one I can’t stop thinking about; the one I want to replace with newer, but just as tight, nightgowns in every color of the rainbow.
“You’re still here.” I can’t tell if she’s pleased or annoyed by that, her dark brown eyes round with surprise, her curls bouncy after blow drying them for the majority of the last thirty minutes.
“Couldn’t leave without locking the door.”Wouldn’t have left even if I could.
“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” There’s a rosiness to her cheeks that makes me wonder if it’s makeup or me. Probably makeup, seeing as I apparently remind her of her dad, who most definitely wouldn’tloveme if he could see the filthy images I’ve dreamed up of his daughter in my mind.
“I made you something to eat, too.” I tip my head toward her tote bag that I’ve packed with reusable to-go containers of gluten-free spaghetti with homemade sauce and meatballs, a large spinach and kale salad with a Greek yogurt dressing, and mixed fruit drizzled with local honey for something sweet.
Ok, her cheeks are definitely pinker now, and my dick jerks back to life in my jeans. Another alarm goes off on her phone, signaling it’s time for her to leave for work. I hang back while Layla locks up her apartment, then walk her the ten feet to her car.
I open the driver’s side door for her when she reaches for the handle, which seems to startle her. I’m guessing that littlepissant of an ex never did something so simple for her. She looks up at me instead of getting in her car, and I wish I could read her mind.
I also wish I could gather her up, take her inside the apartment, and strip her out of her black clothing. Lay on top of her and slide my tongue into her mouth just as I slide my cock inside her heat. Make love to her nice and slow on her new bedsheets. Listen to her make that whimpering sound again when I bring her to orgasm.
So now I’m thinking I’m grateful she can’t read my mind either.
“Thanks, Russell. For everything.” She kind of leans in and away before diving back in, squeezing me around the waist.
I gently grip the back of her neck and drop a kiss on top of her head, rubbing my nose side to side over her soft strands. “You’re welcome, darlin’.”
I’ll admit I’m a bit of a bastard for hoping her car won’t start when she finally gets in, only so I can be the one to drive her to work. I sigh when the engine finally turns over on her third attempt.
Idling in my truck for a few minutes after she drives out of the lot, I follow her to the bridal place in case her car breaks down. Once I’ve made sure she’s arrived safely, I go home, planning to shower and catch a nap before I have to head out toward the end of her shift so I can follow her back home.
Except a nap is exactly what I don’t get, having to spend my time pounding my fists into my punching bag the way I’d like to pound Steven’s face. After a call to Sheriff Gibson, I found out the cops had caught up to Steven not fifteen minutes after Layla called him. They currently have Steven in custody, charged with DWI, which apparently isn’t his first or secondoffense, either, so he’s looking at an actual prison sentence instead of a slap on the wrist.
Despite repeatedly upping my offer, Gibson has refused to accept my bribe to let me inside the station and have a few minutes alone with Steven. No cops, no cameras. Just me, my rage, and the shit-bag who should have never had the pleasure of being with a woman as sweet and precious and loyal as Layla.
Steven is safe and out of reach.
But he won’t be forever.
And I’ll be waiting for him when he gets out.
* * *
Faye greets me with a worried crease between her light brows, then grabs a mug and pot of coffee before leading me to my usual table. After spending two nights in Austin, visiting my son to make up for having to end our vacation early, I’m hungrier for the sight of Layla than I am for a meal.
Things have changed quite a bit in the months since Layla moved into her apartment. No longer do I feel the need to stare at my mug instead of looking her in the eye, though I haven’t deluded myself into thinking I have a shot with her just because she’s no longer engaged and we’ve hugged a few times.
Two of my warehouse employees—Steven’s old friends he quickly won and then lost—tip their ball caps at me when I pass, muttering, “Hey, boss.” A few others give a friendly wave, including Dolly and Violet, sitting at a red booth on the opposite wall.
Faye fills my mug as she chews her bottom lip, then writesdown my order on her notepad without asking me what I’d like, even though she’s rarely the one to serve me. I watch the front while I wait for my food, then scowl at the plate with my six-egg omelet, the double order of turkey bacon Layla had put on the menu just for me, and a large bowl of cut-up fruit when Faye returns.
I gently catch her wrist before she can leave. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Faye twists her hands together when I let go. “Don’t get upset. Everything is ok, I promise.”
