Ryan’s pov.
“What’s she doing now?”
My hand skims over the rim of the monitor as I look at the small figure.
In my field of vision is a man by a window. One of my windows, and one of my men. The dark-suited man answers in a low whisper.
“She’s getting a refill, sir.”
My eyebrows bunch in annoyance.
“A refill of what?”
My tone is impatient but I keep my temper in check. It’s one of the things I'll need to work on if I want to be better.
The video changes, switched automatically from the CCTV cameras to the eye camera in the sunshades all my men wear. Layla looks like an actress out of an eighties movie.
That summer yellow-tinged appeal all old Hollywood movies have to them lends her an air of exotic beauty, and for a while, all I can do is stare.
Her hair falls like golden wool down her back. It looks soft to the touch, even with the slightly blurred resolution. Her hair feels wild and matted from days spent in her bed yet unbelievably soft and thick.
Layla looks beautiful.
So beautiful I could watch her all day,
My mind flashes to the events that have led us up to this point and I curse silently, both at myself and at my impulses.
One look at her tears, and I came undone inside. I would have rescinded all my orders that minute if she asked me to.
And she did. Layla begged me to let her go, with tears brimming in her eyes, beautiful peridot orbs helping her shatter my heart even more.
But I can't let her go. Not now, and not yet. I adjust in my seat as I say, “Cut the video. Keep a close eye on her, if she acts weird, call me immediately.”
The call cuts with a beep and my body grows hot with the need for her. My cock grows with the desire of needing her close to me. I pick up the dark receiver of the landline and dial a number.
George picks up immediately and his voice is rough as he asks, “What do you need, boss?”
I decide today I want something other than a gun or a good lawyer. My voice is dark and crackly as I reply, “A woman. Shapely, sensual, green-eyed, and blonde-haired.”
I hear the silence that comes from the other side of the phone.
I hear the suspicion that arises in George’s heart, but he works for me so he doesn’t get to question me. He grunts as he answers.
“I’ll have one up in an hour.”
“Thirty minutes. Have a woman up here in thirty minutes or forget you have a job.”
George grunts out a “yes sir” but I cut the call. I wait for whoever he’s going to bring and my thoughts take me back to days when I pined for women.
I loved the sight of them. All I could think of was how to make them moan beneath me, make them scream my name, bend their soft supple bodies into obscene positions and slam my dick so hard and fast that our bodies trembled as we met our release.
That was five years ago, I was twenty and horny as a teen, but then my father brings a girl home.
A girl no older than eighteen. She was dirty.
Layla had tattered clothes, mud on her face, dirty hands. I’d later find out she tried to run from the car but that’s not what caught me off guard.
I ignored her. She was my enemy.
I was the kind of guy who would never look at someone like her if we met anywhere except my father’s house. I learned the eighteen-year-old was to be my stepmother, and I hated her even more.
I treated her like she didn’t exist.
But Layla was a vixen that wouldn’t be ignored. A siren… who might have captured something in me the first time I saw her, and held it captive ever since.
My stepmother fucked other men.
I knew it and I couldn't understand why. My father never knew.
My father loved Layla, yet she betrayed him in such a way. I was a bastard of a child because, for all the betrayal she dealt him, I wanted her to betray him with me.
I wanted her to revel in the pleasure of sex with me, moan my name on her pretty lips, and sing in pleasure as I fucked her under the showers, yet she never did.
“Your order’s arrived, boss.”
I raise my eyes and see the smiling female. Hair like golden spools, and lips in a sensual red hue. Her boobs are full, her waist is slim and she has green eyes, not the same. But close enough.
“Get out then.”
George nods and I stand, meeting the hooker halfway to my table, and grabbing her in one rough motion, and slamming our lips together.
She whimpers as I rip her dress off, makes a harsh hissing sound when I leave the rest of her underwear in tatters, there’s a lick of fear in her eyes now when she looks at me, and I strip. Desire hums heavy in her.
Even when she’s scared I might be rough, she still wants me. Still wants to risk having me. Her eyes widen slightly when they drift and settle downward but I don't give her time to complain.
I like them silent. I push her onto my table, her hips at the same level as mine and I slam into her with one hard growl. She moans amid her yelp, and I let my anger out.
I let my frustrations out, I turn her body in my mind’s eye into Layla’s, and I feel my cock grow harder in her.
The landline rings and I tap the answer button, still slamming hard into the wet heat of a vagina. My cock comes out with a pop at what I hear next.
“Boss, it’s Mrs Layla, …. You might want to see this yourself.”
I grab my clothes and exit the room immediately.
The guard looks unsure when I arrive but my glare gets him cooperating immediately. I shove him aside when his wits don’t tell him he has to move and I crouch to peer through the keyhole.Layla’s taken a blanket to every security camera in her room.She’s shut down every electrical appliance and blocked all her windows. There’s barely any light filtering in through the glass and her room has been thrown into semi-darkness. I frown because how many dresses can one woman have? And how thick can they be?A voice from behind interrupts my thoughts.“I… almost went in to dissuade her, Sir Ryan. I remembered you said we shouldn’t.”I turn back to glance at the guard and I peer at him, “You’re new aren’t you?”He nods eagerly and I take stock of his featuresTall the way all my men are tall, although he’s a bit on the shorter side compared to most of their general height. He’s stocky the way all my men are stocky.He’d have made a typical Earl guard, except he seems a bit empty up there whe
Layla's pov.I am not a fan of alcohol. Never was, at least not before I married my late husband. He always went to these events, meetings that I had to escort him to and they never served strawberry juice for some reason. I eventually got used to the Champagnes and wines they served and soon… I found that I craved them and needed them to go through life being married to a man that thought it okay to pimp me out to his friendsA surge of anger overtakes me in that moment and I physically shake my head to smooth out my emotions. I want to lose myself for a while.I sway my hips to the sweet sensual music playing from the old music box, following the flow and beat of the alcohol now in my system, letting loose as much as I can.Tears run down my cheeks as the memories I try to keep at bay force their way through the walls I carefully built a long time ago. This was supposed to be my big break, the opportunity to get out of a house that has done nothing but scar me in the last five y
I hear Ryan’s pained groans echoing from the kitchen, but I pay them no heed, this is my chance, my way out. My mind is consumed with one thought: escape. With silent determination, I slip out of the ornate mansion, my steps light and swift as I navigate the dimly lit corridors. The cold air greets me like a long-lost friend as I make my way towards the desolate parking lot, wrapping me in its cool embrace as I emerge from the imposing structure. The scent of rain lingers in the air, a prelude to the storm that looms in the distance. My eyes dart around for any sign of Ryan’s guards, I know all it will take is one slip up and I’ll be stuck back in that house.My hope of freedom would be gone forever. Every footstep feels like a victory, each turn a step closer to freedom. My heart pounds in my chest, the adrenaline surging through my veins, urging me forward. In the solitude of the lot, I clutch the keys in my trembling hands, trying them on several cars before one obediently respo
Ryan’s pov.My breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps as I struggle to shake off the remnants of the tormenting dream. The faceless figure’s words still echo within me, a bitter reminder of my inadequacy.In the darkness of my subconscious, the silhouette looms, its features concealed by an impenetrable shroud. The air hangs heavy with anticipation, an unspoken certainty that something pivotal is about to unfold. And then, like a razor, the voice pierces the silence. “You’re not good enough for me, Ryan. I reject you,” it whispers, laden with scorn and contempt.I feel my heart plummet, burdened by the weight of those cruel words. I attempt to protest, to refute the unjust condemnation, but my voice fails me, leaving me exposed and defenseless. The figure dissolves into the shadows, leaving behind a desolate void that reverberates in the depths of my being.As I sit upright, the remnants of the dream ensnare my consciousness, a lingering fog that refuses to dissipate. Rejection is unfam
Layla’s pov.“Where do you think she was even headed to?” I stir from sleep, my eyelids heavy with the weight of unconsciousness. A hazy fog envelops my mind, leaving me disoriented and lost. The sterile, white hospital room seems unfamiliar. Two voices converse in low tones, their words muffled by the cottony haze lining my senses. One voice rises slightly, The other man mumbles in response, his tone troubled yet urgent. I strain to comprehend their discussion, but the effort leaves me with a throbbing ache in my head. Although I cannot understand the men, their conversation continues.The taller man leans In, his eyes fixed on my fragile form. “She looks so lost, so different from the last time we saw her. What do you think happened to her, man?”His companion, a wider blurred figure with a furrowed brow, shakes his head in disbelief, his tone more robotic, almost solemn but in that hard way. “I don’t know, but she’s barely alive."The taller man’s voice softens and he asks almo
"I said WHAT the hell are you doing here!" My voice echoes in the room, my eyes filled with hate as I glare at these pieces of my past."Layla.." Damien's deep familiar voice begins. His eyes hold a softness that I have never seen in them before and It irks me.Where was this kindness when I needed it? I try to sit up but I wince as a sharp pain around my ribs momentarily stops me from doing so."Shit, are you alright?” He asks softly, "Please don't strain yourself." He says, his hands wrapping around me but I quickly slap it off."I'll do as I please, and don't touch me." I see the tight clench that appears to his jaw but I couldn't care less about that.Damien withdraws his hands hesitantly but he still watches me closely as I right myself. I wince again, trying to find a more balanced position to sit.Everything hurts."Are you sure you’re…?"He stops the moment he notices my glare and I try to gather the thoughts in my head. My eyes seem to spin as I think about it, because the
Layla's pov.Ryan's voice cuts through the air, startling me and setting something in my pulse to run faster. I watch as he enters the room, and for the first time in five years, I feel a wave of relief at seeing him. Damien and Alek both whip their heads simultaneously to inspect the intruder and they must realize who Ryan is because they step aside as he walks up to me.Their reluctance is clear in the way tension radiates off their forms, and Ryan eyes them briefly before glancing at me."Are you alright?" He asks, softly, surprisingly.I nod."Now that you’re here, I am."Surprise runs through me as those words leave my lips. Ryan’s expression falters for a second as he regards me, before swiftly regaining his composure and nodding, appropriately playing along."I'm glad you’re doing well. I was here earlier but I was told to wait outside for you, since you were in the E.R"I nod again and wince lightly."Thanks for looking out for me, but I'm fine now. All I want is to go back
Ryan's POVMy hands clench into angry fists as I watch Layla turn away from me, her way of avoiding my questions.One moment she’s all sweet to me and the next she’s being a little prick! Sometimes it feels like I'm talking to a toddler and it irks me.I run a hand through my hair just to loosen that fist up and i take a deep breath.I want to understand she's probably still feeling the aftermath of the accident, but I doubt that's the reason she's being evasive. She doesn’t seem to like the guys who were in here just now, and she even went as far as saying she can’t wait to go home with me.I huff at the thought of that, the sound leaving my lips laden with the disbelief that inspires in me.That probably put a sour taste on her tongue.Layla will say anything to get what she wants.My eyes roam the bit of skin peeking out the shoulder of her hospital garb and a feeling runs through me, like a deep chord being struck in my heart. She drugged me, and almost killed herself, yet she’s