Page 20 of Castaway Whirlwind
Sitting in my driver’s seat, fisting my hands on my thighs with my head tipped back, I count to ten several times with my eyes closed, trying to calm down. I don’t want to drive while I’m this upset.
It doesn’t work, though, since all I keep picturing is trucks flying past Layla on her crappy little bicycle, dang near killing her. So I do something I know I shouldn’t. I carefully take the clip out of her hair so I can slip my fingers through her curly strands.
Instant calm.
Chapter 6
Layla
The sense of falling startles me awake, and Russell’s handsome face fills my vision as he lays me down on something soft. Confused about where I am and how we got here, I try to sit up, but he presses against my shoulder to lay me back down.
Russell keeps his voice low when he says, “Go back to sleep, darlin’.”
My jaw drops when I see we’re in my apartment and not at the diner, where I should be if I want to make the tips I need to afford my next student loan payment. It remains open when Russell trails his hand down my legs to untie and pull off my sneakers and socks. And even though his rough hands on my skin makes me want to curl my toes and rub my thighs together, I remain still, watching him draw my comforter up over my body.
“Did you get my bike?”
He’s just this side of grumpy when he says, “I’ll get you a new one.”
I sigh, too tired to get into an argument about my bicycleright now.
Russell braces a hand on the mattress beside me, reaches for my teddy bear in the corner, and lays it on my chest, covering my cleavage before tucking the comforter up further at my neck. Still leaning halfway over me, he murmurs, “Sleep well.”
I give in and close my eyes when he kisses my forehead since it’s probably useless trying to argue with him about that either. “I have to be up at four-thirty to get ready for my shift at the boutique.” When he grunts, I ask, “Promise you’ll wake me up?”
Reluctantly, he agrees.
My eyelids flutter slightly when the microwave beeps, then again when the comforter is lifted at the side, something heavy placed on my lower belly. The heat from the rice pad finishes the job, lulling me back into a deep sleep, safe under Russell’s watchful eye.
* * *
Russell
I’ve spent hours outside Layla’s various residences and jobs, but I’ve never had the pleasure of watching her sleep up close. Nor the exquisite torture that comes from refusing to touch her skin again after trailing my hands down her legs when I took her shoes and socks off.
Eventually, after dragging one of the kitchen table chairs to the side of Layla’s bed, I give in. Just a little at first, finding contentment in wrapping a hand around her left ankle, my thumb skimming slowly along her skin. But even that becomestorturous because now I’m addicted and need more.
Just a little higher…I rub the side of her calf with my thumb. Then higher again a few minutes later after dragging my chair closer, my hand on her knee.
I’m sickened but wholly unable to stop when I keep going, pushing my hand up beneath her dress and between her parted legs to palm her inner thigh. I stop at the hem of her tight shorts, scared of myself and what I would do if she weren’t wearing them beneath her uniform.
I’m already being more than inappropriate, and it shakes me to my core that I could be the kind of man who wouldn’t be able to stop from cupping her pussy over her panties. Worried even that wouldn’t be enough. That I’d push the fabric out of the way so I could intimately touch her bare skin, slide my middle finger between her pussy lips to part them, then dip my tip in. And if she didn’t wake, would I keep going? Deeper? Would I climb on the bed and kiss her there when simply touching her wasn’t enough?
“Layla,” I breathe out on a soft moan, watching her sleep peacefully with her head turned toward me.
I have to protect her, which means I have to leave. Now.
I remove her spare key from her key ring so I can lock her door behind me. But I don’t even get the door open, much less leave the apartment, before I’m sitting at her side again, my hand beneath the comforter, even higher this time, splaying across her stomach.
“Wake up, darlin’, and tell me to stop,” I whisper a few inches from her face. When she doesn’t, I play with the fourth button on her dress below the top three that keep coming undone on their own. “Stop me,” I mouth, slowly sliding my hand under the fabric to cup her bare ribs beneath her bra. “Tell me to go to hell. Call the Sheriff,” I continue mouthing.
Why can’t I stop?
When did I become this man?
This monster?
That’s what I am. A monstrous beast who barely resists pushing Layla’s bra up with my thumb so I can caress the bottom of her breast when she doesn’t react. Her dad wouldn’t love me. He’d be enraged and kill me if he were alive and could see me strugglingnotto assault his daughter in her sleep. He’d strip the skin off my back if he knew I was unbuckling my belt and rolling my zipper down so I can fist my cock, my lips an inch away from Layla’s so I can breathe in her air as I stroke her ribs and my thick shaft.
