Page 33 of Castaway Whirlwind
His husky praise fills me with warmth. It’s been so long since he told me I was agood girlat the diner, which is something that’s played on a loop in my head ever since, hoping to hear it again.
I tilt my head to the side, though, picking at the frayed edges of my shorts along my inner thighs. “How do you know? You didn’t watch me clean.” The disappointment in my voice is unintentional but very real.
Russell groans. “Did youwantme to watch you?”
I’m telling the truth when I say, “I kept looking over my shoulder, wondering if you eventually would.”
He holds his breath, his arm going still. “Did I upset you by staying in the living room instead?”
“A little.”
“I’m sorry.” He swallows. “Next time, I will.”
I walk my knees out wider, toying with the button on my shorts, drawing his eyes downward. “It’ll be a long time ‘til you need another deep cleaning, but we can set up an appointment. Same time next month?”
“Tomorrow,” he demands.
I smile, puffing out a small laugh. “I have to work, but I can fit you in next weekend, though you’ll have to give me something else to do, Daddy.”
Russell shudders, releasing a harsh exhale, his shoulder moving up and down again, faster now, the pillow jerking up. “I can do that.”
“Let me get my phone so I can make a reminder.” I lean forward and brace my hands on Russell’s knees to help myself up.
“Oh, darlin’!”
I suck in a ragged breath when the pillow falls to the side, his large hand moving fast over his shaft to jack it, his body visibly vibrating. I squeeze his knees, leaning forward, my eyes locked on his wet, swollen crown. “Oh my god, Russell, I knew it would be huge.”
Russell groans deep and low when I can manage to look up, our gazes colliding. He yanks the sides of his flannel out of the way and angles his cock up, pumping his shaft even faster, his hips lifting off the couch. His powerful thighs flex when I skim my hands up his legs, feral with lust when he asks, “You knew it?”
I nod, licking my bottom lip. “You’re so big and thick, I knew your cock would be, too, Daddy.”
Russell throws his head back. “I can’t believe my little darlin’ just said that to me.”
My little darlin’.
Never in my life have I heard anything so special and beautiful directed toward me. It brings tears to my eyes, and I scoot closer, forcing him to spread his knees, my face so close to his lap. “I’m your little darlin’?”
He grips the side of my neck possessively with his free hand, rubbing his thumb across my lower lip. His voice is deep and full of gravel when he says, “You’ve always been my little darlin’. My good girl. Mine.” I watch with rapture as his cock erupts, cum painting his chest and abdomen, breathing so hard that his whole body visibly buzzes.
I stay frozen, kneeling, intently focused on his face andeuphoric expression. I also, for the first time in my life, am not sickened by the idea of giving a man a blow job, though of course I can’t do that or it would make me so much more than a kinda, sorta stripper, which would be illegal.
When he’s done, his big body loses its tension, relaxing back into the couch, watching me through half-lidded eyes.
“Stay right here,” I whisper, finally getting to my feet and moving toward the kitchen on unsteady legs to wet a paper towel, grinning like crazy with my back turned.
When I return, I brace an arm on the back of the couch so I can bend over him while slowly cleaning the cum from his body. I dip and whisper in his ear, “Is it warm enough for you, Daddy?”
He fists his hands on his thighs so as not to touch me. His heavy, spent cock lying against his stomach starts to harden again the longer I linger as I wipe him down, my hand drifting lower toward it.
“Maybe it’s not right to ask this of you, since you just started this business, but I want you all to myself, darlin’. Nocleaning,” Russell stresses with an edge to his voice, “for anyone else.”
My gaze snaps to Russell’s swirling blue eyes, my hand stilling as I’m slapped back to reality.Right.He’s a client. This is transactional. Merely role-playing. It’s not real. Not for him.
My head pounds, tears hot and heavy behind my eyes when I quickly step away with my back turned so I can dispose of the paper towel. I shove my feet into my boots and wrap my robe around me, in too much of a rush to get out of here to attempt putting on my bandana top. After dumping everything in my tote bag, I sling it over my shoulder and hurry to the frontdoor.
“Layla?”
I stop with my hand on the doorknob and nod without turning to face him, not wanting him to see the ridiculous tears in my eyes. The normalcy I force into my voice is as fake as the American cheese on my ham sandwiches when I say, “Exclusivity costs extra.” I don’t tell him that we would be exclusive regardless, knowing I’d never want tocleanfor anyone else after this.
