“Layne.”
“Do it.”
She pressed her head back into the couch and whispered, “But… I don’t think I can be quiet.”
Layne grinned again.
She probably couldn’t. She was a moaner eighteen years ago and she was again last night. She was great at giving head, mostly because she liked doing it and it helped when she moaned how much she liked it around his cock.
“We’ll get creative,” he promised and her eyes got round. “Go upstairs, honey, and get naked for me.”
“Okay,” she whispered, he rolled to the side, she shot off the couch but strutted up the stairs.
Layne took his time as he secured the house, turned out the lights and followed her.
He found her naked in his bed.
He got naked and joined her.
Then he did everything he promised and then some.
And he just managed to muffle her moans with his hand the first time she came, his mouth the third time and she muffled them in a pillow the second.
* * * * *
With Rocky dead to the world and pinning him to the bed, Layne stared at the dark ceiling and remembered his dream.
“Do you get it?” Rocky whispered in his ear.
“Get what, baby?” he whispered back.
“Why I left you?”
He didn’t get it. She’d finally explained it and he still didn’t get it.
That wasn’t a scene she acted out on his couch that was real.
Fuck, Rocky didn’t even fucking get it.
Which made Layne wonder why she left him? Why she took everything from their house, jammed it into her room and lost two days? Why she spent every day for eighteen years struggling against connecting with him? Why she spent the last months since he’d been shot losing that struggle but grasping at it?
Why was she so afraid of the fucking dark?
And what was that he felt coming off of her, seeping in the room so strong it even pressed against him, reeking of a fear that was more than fear of the fucking dark?
He knew one thing. That fear wasn’t a fear of dark and wild. That fear was dark but it wasn’t fear of him. It was a fear of something sinister.
Layne had no answers to these questions.
But he knew who did.
Chapter Seventeen
Fighting to Win
Layne felt her moving against him, over him, her hair sliding on his shoulder, her lips at his throat, she shifted astride him, he felt her knees at his sides, her bottom settle into his crotch, her breasts against his chest.
His hands went to span Rocky’s hips.
He opened his eyes.
* * * * *
Layne saw dark ceiling.
Rocky was astride him, her lips moving from his throat to the hinge of his jaw, her hips in his hands.
She wasn’t a dream.
Now, this was how he wanted to wake up yesterday.
“Baby,” he murmured, her lips left his jaw and he saw her head come up, her hair falling down to frame both of their faces.
“Morning,” she whispered, that soft, sweet word said with her warm body on top of his drove into his mouth, down his throat, burning a golden trail through his chest, his gut, straight to his cock.
She tilted her head and her lips hit his.
The moment of impact, his hands slid in, his arms going around her waist, one slanting up, his fingers gripped her hair, she opened her mouth, his tongue slid in as he growled and rolled her to her back.
* * * * *
Layne was at the bar doing pull ups wearing nothing but shorts, ankle socks and running shoes.
He’d pulled up when one of the double doors to his bedroom swung open, Rocky walked out and stopped dead.
He dropped down and hung there, staring at her.
She had her hair wrapped in a towel, a huge bundle of dirty laundry piled in her arms and her body wrapped in his plaid, flannel robe.
Jesus, where’d she find that fucking robe?
He’d had it since he was seventeen and he had no idea why he kept hold of it. His mother bought for him it to take to Ball State. He’d skipped a grade, going from sixth to eighth and therefore graduated from high school early. He remembered she’d given him that robe with tears in her eyes, distraught, she’d told him, that her baby, not even a man, was going away. He remembered it had annoyed him immensely because he thought he was a man. He’d worn it sometimes during his freshman year in the dorms when he had to walk the corridors to get to the bathrooms and then never wore it again.
He’d had it when he was with Rocky, obviously, but she’d never worn it. She’d had her own robe but mostly she strutted around in his tees. So she wasn’t the reason he kept it.
He had no clue why he kept it. He just did.
Looking at her now, Layne was glad he kept it and he was equally glad Rocky had dug through his shit to find it. She looked adorable in that old robe.
“Hey sweetcheeks,” he greeted and she stared at him as he pulled himself up, chin over the bar, then slowly lowered himself down.
“Is that taking it easy?” she asked in a tone that stated clearly any answer other than “no” and any future action other than him letting go of the bar and hitting the shower was unacceptable.
“Yep,” he replied and pulled himself back up.
She glared at him as he slowly let himself down and continued to glare at him as he pulled himself back up. Then she stomped to the stairs.
She returned as he was hooking his ankles under the bar at the weight bench he’d declined and he was about to roll back to do sit ups. He twisted to watch her glare at him as she walked back to his room, one hand holding the handle of a coffee mug, the other hand precariously balancing a pile of his folded clothes under which, hooked on her fingers, were hangers on which hung his ironed shirts.
“Your mother re-ironed everything I ironed yesterday,” she told him in mid-strut, tone now displeased. “She says I don’t do it right.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond, not that he had a response, she walked into his bedroom and kicked the door closed.
Layne twisted back and rolled down, grinning.
“Pancakes!” Vera shouted from downstairs and three seconds later, Tripp tore through his bedroom door, racing down the hall to the bathroom.
Tripp was a big fan of his Grandma’s pancakes and there was a reason why, her pancakes were the shit.
Not twenty seconds later, Jasper came out of his room and, with his back to the bench, Layne looked at his mostly upside down son who was staring down the hall at the closed bathroom door.
Jas’s eyes came to his Dad. “Tripp in the bathroom?”
Layne grunted, “Yep,” as he curled up.
“I’ll use the one downstairs,” Jas mumbled and Layne heard his footfalls on the stairs.
Proof that Vera’s pancakes were the bomb. It was Sunday morning, his sons were both teenagers, it was just eight o’clock and they both were out of bed.
Layne rolled back to the weight bench, again grinning.
* * * * *
Layne was standing outside with hair wet from his shower wearing thick socks, track pants and a freshly laundered, white, long-sleeved thermal. He bent down to pick up the tennis ball Blondie had just dropped at his feet, tipped his head back to see she’d inched back, front legs out and sprawled, chest to the cement patio, behind in the air, tail wagging and her eyes were riveted to the ball.
Layne tossed it and she went racing after it.
Then he straightened, turned to the table, picked up his coffee mug steaming in the cold air, sipped at it and turned back to Blondie who was dropping the tennis ball again at his feet. He repeated his actions, she raced away and Layne reached to the table and grabbed his cell, flipping it open.
By the time it was ringing in his ear, he’d thrown the ball for Blondie three more times.
He heard the connect then, “You’ve reached Lieutenant Garrett Merrick, I’m unable to take your cal
l but leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
After the beep, Layne said, “Merry. Layne. Call me when you get this.”
Then he flipped the phone shut, tossed it on the table, bent and tossed the ball for Blondie and turned to the table to get his mug. Something caught at his peripheral vision, he twisted his neck to look through the sliding glass doors and froze.
Rocky was walking down the stairs.
Not even ten minutes ago he’d left her in the bathroom. After he’d finished his workout, he got in the shower when she was blow drying her hair and when he got out of the shower, she was still blow drying her hair.
He could see this. His woman had a lot of hair.
After he’d dressed, he’d left her bent over the basin applying mascara.
Now she was strutting down the stairs wearing a tight, dark brown skirt, a blue sweater with one of those cowl necks, the one on Rocky’s sweater hanging deep, passed her tits and showing skin at her chest, the rest of the sweater skintight and a pair of dark blue pumps with a high, thin heel, a closed toe and a thin, sexy ankle strap. Her makeup was done full on. Her hair was back and he couldn’t tell how she’d pulled it back this time but he thought it was a waste of all that effort with the blow dryer to pull it back and he’d be pulling it down about two seconds after he found out what in the fuck she was up to, dressed like that on Sunday morning.
He grabbed his phone and was nearly to the door when Blondie caught him and dropped the ball at his feet. He transferred his phone to his hand carrying the mug, bent, grabbed the ball, tossed it side arm as he straightened, she dashed after it and Layne slid open the door and walked into the house.
Rocky was now at the island transferring shit from one purse to another. Vera was at the sink, doing dishes. His boys were both camped out on the couch watching TV and he couldn’t see but parts of their bodies as they were lounging.
“We don’t usually dress to watch the Colts play, sweetcheeks,” he remarked after he slid the door closed.
He thought it was telling that she didn’t lift her head when she answered and he knew why with what she said.
“I’m going to church.”
Layne stopped dead and felt his eyes narrow. Vera turned slowly from the sink and her surprised eyes hit Rocky. Both his boys’ heads popped up over the couch.
“Come again?” Layne asked quietly but he couldn’t keep the rumble out of his tone.
Rocky lifted a compact at the same time she unscrewed the lid of a tube of lip gloss and her eyes skidded across him before she flipped the compact open, her eyes going to it and she repeated, “I’m going to church.”
Then she calmly slid the applicator across her lips, transferring a glimmering, peachy gloss to them as Layne watched and wondered if counting to ten actually worked.
Then he decided, fuck it.
He walked to the island and stood at the end of it next to where she was at the front, put his mug and cell down and asked, “You’re going to church?”
She rubbed her lips together, shoved the applicator in the tube and snapped the compact closed, taking this time, he knew, to pluck up the courage to meet his eyes.
Then she met his eyes. “Yes. I’m going to church.”
“When’s the last time you went to church?” Layne returned.
She pulled in breath then shrugged.
It was then, Layne was done.
“You’re not goin’ to church,” he stated firmly but his voice was pitched low.
“Yes I am,” she replied firmly but her voice was pitched a little high.
“No, Roc, you aren’t.”
“Yes, Layne, I am.”
“Why?” Layne asked sharply.
“I feel in the mood for fellowship,” she answered and Layne heard both Tripp and Jasper laugh, Tripp’s was louder and Jasper’s was more a chuckle.
“Roc –” Layne started, wondering if his mother and sons would find it inappropriate if he threw her over his shoulder and carried her up the stairs, knowing at least his mother would, and then wondering if he gave a fuck.
He was cut off by Vera. “That’s an excellent idea. Let me check my hair. I’ll go with you.”
Rocky’s startled eyes turned to Vera, who was definitely not Rocky’s best friend and she’d made this clear beyond yesterday morning. Re-ironing Layne’s shirts was just the continuation of it. They’d been in détente during the Paige drama but Vera laid it on after they got back from Cal’s. When they’d arrived home, Vera had been in mid-October-Spring-clean of the house which now, top to bottom, was sparkling. And, after Layne had brought in the cookies that Rocky made and his sons devoured them like they’d never tasted anything but sawdust in their lives, Vera had demanded to make dinner then demanded to clean up after dinner. She also practically raced Rocky to the washing machine any time Rocky looked to be heading that way and, therefore, they’d engaged in a hostile tag team to do Layne’s laundry. Through this, Vera was making clear whose house this was and who was welcome to make themselves at home in it and clear whose it wasn’t and that person was Rocky.
Vera rounded the stairs and by the time Rocky’s head turned back to him, she’d realized the advantages to Vera’s unexpected alliance and she smiled smugly up at him.
He stared down at her wondering if her lip gloss tasted like peaches at the same time wondering if she’d attack him again after he spanked her fucking ass.
“I’m goin’ too!” Tripp shouted and catapulted himself over the back of the couch.
Layne watched his son race up the stairs then Jasper rolled off the couch, muttering, “I’m not gonna miss this,” and he followed his brother.
Layne’s eyes went back to Rocky and she was dropping her compact and lip gloss in her bag and, incidentally, failing miserably at hiding her smile.
“Sweetcheeks,” he called, her smile vanished, her head came up, tilted to the side, her eyes alight, and she mumbled, “Hmm?”
“What’re you doin’?” he asked quietly.
“Didn’t you hear?” she asked back. “We’re all going to church.”
“What’re you doin’?” Layne repeated, her eyes locked with his and she went into stare down.
He was pissed and she knew it so she couldn’t hold it and whispered, “Layne.”
“I told you, you’re not on this guy’s radar.”
“Layne –”
“I told you, this guy is a predator.”
“But –”
“Jas has been datin’ Keira for a few weeks and he’s keepin’ her clear of this guy. You think, what you mean to me, eighteen years I finally got that back, I’m not gonna do what I gotta do to keep you clear?”
Her eyes went half-mast a half second after they went intense, her mouth got soft then she swallowed before she ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip then her teeth sank into it. It sucked he was so fucking pissed at her because, that look on her face, he really wanted to see if her lips tasted like peaches.
She held his eyes and they went back into stare down.
She broke it again by saying softly, “Then you better get dressed to go to church, sweetheart.”
He stared at her.
He should have known. It’d been too easy to talk her down that night when she’d come up with her fool plan to confront the fake TJ Gaines. When Rocky got something in her head, she never let it go. She’d been waiting for her opportunity and here it was. He was cornered. With his mother and boys in the house, they couldn’t have the showdown he needed to stop her.
He should have known.
Shit, he was out of practice. He was going to have to step it up.
Layne leaned in and she braced as he did but held her ground.
“I’ll get changed but, baby, fair warning. You’re gonna pay for pullin’ this shit.”
He watched her eyes get wide right before he turned and walked up the stairs.
* * * * *
The parking lot to the Christian Church was jammed by the time Layne an
d his family arrived so he let them off at the door, twisting his neck toward the backseat as he did, giving Jasper a look that communicated his responsibility was keeping Rocky out of trouble. Jasper read this loud and clear if his grin was anything to go by, he nodded and Layne watched him stick close to Rocky as they walked in the door.
By the time he parked and made it to the crowded vestibule, he found Rocky, Vera and the boys deep in conversation with a short, squat woman with a dark helmet of hair and very large tits, so large, the blouse she was wearing opened at the buttons, exposing her bra.
He moved in beside Rocky, sliding his arm around her shoulders and Rocky looked up at him with a smile as the woman exclaimed, “Oh my goodness! There you are!” and Layne’s eyes moved to her. When they did, hers shot to Rocky. “Oh Rocky, the girls in the office are right! He’s even more handsome close up! You lucky duck!” she cried loudly.
At that, Layne watched Rocky’s dimple come out.
“Sharon, let me introduce you to Tanner Layne.” Rocky kept smiling at the woman and then turned that smile to Layne. “Layne, this is Sharon Reynolds.”
She emphasized the “Sharon Reynolds”, Layne found that name in his memory banks and looked back at the Church office lady.
“Sharon,” he greeted.
“So nice to meet you and so nice to have you and your Mom back at church.” Sharon turned to his sons. “They used to come here all the time, a long time ago, I remember. Or,” she paused, “at least, your Grandma did before she moved away to Florida.” Her eyes went to Vera. “We sure missed your weekly contributions, I can tell you that.” Then her antennae, obviously always active and working overdrive, dinged, her head suddenly jerked and her eyes focused on someone. “Oh! There’s Gray Lacey,” she announced and everyone turned to look where she was looking. “His offering has been light the last two weeks. He usually gives a hundred dollars and now he’s only giving fifty. This is probably because his wife Donna has been hitting the wine or, I should say,” she paused again to lean in, her eyes never leaving her target, and confided, “hitting it more than usual. I need to go speak to him.” She turned back to them explaining, “Fifty dollars is fifty dollars and a member of this flock shouldn’t be spending that fifty dollars on booze.”
Golden Trail (The 'Burg Series) Page 36
