She slams her palm on my shoulder, twists her hips trying to get the friction she needs as I thrust inside her. She grips my hair, takes my mouth, sucks my tongue. I shove my hand between us and finger her, rubbing her ruthlessly right above where we’re joined until I feel her flex and tighten around me. Her inner muscles clamp down on my cock as she comes, and there’s nothing I can do but roar a guttural cry and throw back my head as climax takes me.
She shouts my name, “Tyler, Tyler, yes,” and she’s shaking in my arms.
I let go of her thigh, set her on her shaky legs, but I hold her up, my arm around her waist. I wouldn’t let her fall. I never stop kissing her. It’s somehow the fact of kissing her that pulls it from me, deep and low until finally I buck into my own hand and finish.
I slept hard that night, and the only dream I had was of Layla Mayberry and the sweet sway of her hips as she walked away.
When I woke up, the alarm was going off. I never slept until the alarm. But this time, I rolled out of bed, cleaned up, and found the flyer I’d wadded up on the nightstand.
PTSD group counseling for trauma survivors, it said, and listed different types of trauma—abuse, neglect, domestic violence, sexual assault, survivor of a violent crime, or devastating accident. I studied it, made myself really think about it. I knew Jeremiah was right. I needed to get back in counseling. But I wasn’t ready to go one on one with Layla Mayberry unless it was up against a wall. I’d get more benefit from counseling if there were witnesses, if I couldn’t put my hands on her. I wondered if I should give it a shot. The therapy, not shooting my shot with the counselor. That was off-limits, and I knew it.
4
Layla
“They’re gorgeous. Thank you,” I said, taking the cookie box from Connie at Macy’s Treats.
It was the best bakery in town, and the owner was married to Sarah Jo’s brother Ryan, aka Ryan the Reformed, formerly known as That Prick Brother of Yours. He had turned himself around better than the hokey pokey and had a fabulous wife and family to prove it. Macy waved from back in the kitchen.
“I did a sugared pansy on each one,” she said, “I was out of violets.”
“They’re beautiful as always. Thank you! How are you doing?” I said.
“Oh, I’m good. I just started the babies on solids. Daniel loves avocado, like to the point we have to limit him to one a day. Charlie doesn’t like anything but bananas. I’m literally mashing banana into other stuff to try and get him to eat it.”
“Sounds cute,” I said.
Well, thank you for the cookies. I’ll put them to good use. I’m doing a PTSD group, and this is the welcome snack.”
“Good luck,” she said.
When I got back to the health department, I let Caroline peek in the box.
“So pretty. But so delicious. I hate going to Macy’s because everything is so yummy but then it’s too pretty to eat and I feel bad about destroying it. It’s a love-hate relationship,” she said.
“Nothing could keep me from eating her cookies. I don’t feel guilty about it because they exist to be eaten. And guilt is a waste of energy.”
“Is this more wisdom?” she teased.
“Yeah. I’m a FOUNTAIN of wisdom,” I rolled my eyes, “but I’m a little worried that people won’t show up this evening. Maybe I should’ve put Cookies By Macy on the flyer. That’d draw people in even if they didn’t have trauma to discuss,” I said.
“You had a call from Maggie,” she said.
I put the cookies down and went to call her back.
“Hi,” I said, “how’s life at the vineyard?”
“Incredibly busy. I heard you were here putting up flyers. Why didn’t you come say hi?”
“You were at the daycare.”
“Still anti-child?” she laughed.
“Not anti-child. Anti-loud group of children who are always sticky and crying,” I said.
“You crack me up. I saw the flyer and I think it’s a great idea. I hear you met Jeremiah’s brother.”
“Yes. I ran into him while I was there.”
“What did you think?” she teased.
“I thought he was hot as fuck, but just as annoying.”
“Just like his brother,” she laughed.
“No. It was my fault. I think all my circuits misfired in the presence of the hotness and I tried to flirt with him.”
“He’s not interested in women,” she said.
“He’s gay?” I said, surprised.
“Not that I know of. He’s more of a confirmed bachelor. Jeremiah said he doesn’t do relationships.”
“So he’s just a boy toy? That’s not uninterested in women though.”
“I don’t think he’s that either. He keeps to himself. Works all the time. I don’t think he has fun. He works, he exercises, he eats. He only really jokes around with his brother.”