Page 62 of Castaway Whirlwind
“Yes,” he admits, thrusting deep within me.
“Because you loved me.”
“And I always will.” He slants his lips over mine.
This time, when I scrape my nails over his sides, Russelltakes me harder, quickening his pace and giving us what we both need to cum together,just as we should have and always will.
* * *
Russell
It doesn’t matter that Layla and I have spent the majority of our afternoon either in the shower or bed, only taking a break to eat on the patio with our family before Layla dragged me back to our bedroom with simply a hot look in her eyes—I’m hard in an instant when Layla steps into the living room where we’re waiting for her. She’s all fancied up with rosy cheeks, dark lashes, and loose, bouncy curls, wearing a body-hugging navy blue dress and the new whiskey-brown western boots I gifted her an hour ago. If I thought her white boots and jean shorts were sexy, they’ve got nothing on this outfit, drawing attention to the long lines of her legs I had spread wide for me not too long ago.
Stunned speechless, I stumble forward, ready to sling her over my shoulder, when Max opens his mouth. “Little short, don’t you think?”
Layla looks herself over and slides her hands down her dress as if that’ll lengthen the hem.
I tuck Layla under my arm and turn toward the group hovering at the side door to the driveway. “How about you let me worry about my beautiful wife, and you worry about your…girlfriend?”
Max laughs as if I said something funny, stuffing hishands in his light blue jeans. “She’s not your wife yet.”
“But she will be soon.Verysoon, if I have my way.” Layla wraps her arms around me, and I sense her smile even if I’m looking directly at Cora, dressed in the kind of bell-bottom type jeans I haven’t seen since I was a kid and a white T-shirt knotted above her belt. I ain’t too proud of myself when I mutter a phrase I didn’t understand until this very moment: “Don’t let your boyfriend stop you from finding your husband.” Max puffs out his chest, and I laugh as insincerely as he did. “Relax. It was just a joke.”
“Yeah, real funny,” Max grumbles.
Cora, on the other hand, has a million thoughts swirling behind her hazel eyes while she frowns at Max.
Paul clears his throat, standing apart from us in his own little bubble, having smartly avoided Max for the rest of the day. “I think it’s time we head out.”
Another thing I ain’t too proud of is being grumpy when Layla forked over herhard-earned moneyto have Max’s car repaired. I’ve been intentionally parking my truck to block her car in with its brand new windshield, selfishly wanting to continue driving her around. Maybe I’ll let her drive alone once I can convince her to let me buy her a new car.Maybe.
Max and Cora follow behind the three of us in my truck to Wyatt’s mama’s house, where she and Dolly’s mom will be babysitting all the youngsters. Introductions are short since the women wave us off with promises that four children under the age of three—Dolly and Wyatt’s sons, William and Weston, and Davis and Goldie’s daughter, Lily, plus Gauge—won’t be too much to handle for one night. Angels, the two of them.
It’s a half-hour’s drive to Big Hart’s Dance Hall, named after a local legend, Mrs. Hart, located way out in the boonies.It’s our region’s hidden gem, and you’d miss the barn-type building if you weren’t looking for it. Plenty of people have found it tonight, though. The paved lot is packed, vehicles spilling out to park in the surrounding fields, country western music pumping loudly from the inside and outside speakers.
“I can’t believe this has been here the whole time,” Layla says when I urge her forward with my hand on her lower back, her head on a swivel. Bar-height tables with backless stools form a U around the central dance floor, a squat railing separating the two areas, with a stage at the back large enough to fit an eight-person live band. “It’s huge. A person could get lost in here.”
“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll keep a close eye on you so you don’t get lost.”
Layla giggles. “Are you going to follow me around, Daddy?”
“I just might.” I wink, spinning her around as soon as we step onto the polished wooden floor, dancing her away with one arm around her back, clutching her hand in the air as we join the couples already making laps. The lights hanging from the exposed, pitched beams are a warm yellow, set low enough that a couple could get a little frisky if they wanted to, but not so low that you can’t see where you’re going. When Layla steps on my toes and trips over her own feet a few times, I raise my voice to be heard over the band. “Have you ever been dancing before?”
“No. This is harder than it looks. Sorry.”
I slow and count our steps out loud until she finds the rhythm. “So what I’m hearing you say is we need more practice. Alotmore practice.”
There goes my dick, bulging against my zipper when her cheeks pinken at the innuendo. When I spin her around,swaying with her from side to side, I think she intentionally grinds her backside against me, her eyes fluttering shut when I glide my hand low across her belly before turning her around again.
“This is fun,” Layla murmurs, eyes shining bright when the song ends and a slower one begins. “Maybe with enough practice, we could do something like this, rent a dance hall, maybe even this one, for our wedding reception. What do you think?”
I dip her, making her laugh when she hikes her knee up my side, then kiss the crook of her shoulder up to her jaw when I pull her to my chest. “I think I’m going to drag you out to the truck and kiss your pussy if you keep talking about our wedding in that sexy little dress of yours, Mrs. Berenson.”
Layla’s eyes are hooded now, and she slips her hands between us to grip my vintage pearl-snap button-down just above my belt buckle. “I want to hire Violet to plan the wedding. There’s a lush area on the property with a ton of old oaks that would be perfect for our ceremony, then—”
I spin her and gently but quickly guide her toward the exit, planning to make good on my promise to kiss her into an orgasm.
As loud as the music is, the Granny’s Girls are even louder when they rush onto the dance floor before we make it three steps, talking over one another in flouncy dresses and boots, pulling Layla away, exclaiming over her engagement ring.
