Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

LAYLA

As soon as my eyes blink open, I have to orient myself to where I am. This isn’t my one-bedroom condo in Charlotte. I’m in my childhood room, staring at the ceiling. I’ve been here a week and I’m still trying to acclimate to the slow life of a sleepy small town. There are times I have to tell myself to relax, that I don’t have a deadline. I don’t have to pay rent or get that social media post up by three p.m. for the company. I don’t have a standing happy hour appointment every Friday with the office staff.

I have nothing to do but feed the chickens, collect the eggs, and milk the cows.

Talk about a one-eighty.

But wasn’t it a one-eighty when I moved to the city? No more farm chores, just different responsibilities?

I feel like I’ll never find a balance. I love the city. When I wasn’t feeling well, I could work from home in my pajamas, using technology to get my memos written and my social media posts done. Now, I have no use for a computer at all. I have a savings account sitting with nothing to spend money on except the occasional groceries. Mom won’t let me help her with the utilities or property taxes. Her birthday is coming up though, so I’m going to order her something nice online. I don’t care if it takes a month to get delivered here.

Meanwhile, I do need to fire up the old laptop. I have to sell this damn Tesla.

With a sigh, I list the car, stating it’s in perfect condition except the battery is dead. I head outside to take pictures of it. The dusty tires aren’t doing it any favors, so I pull the hose out and spritz them to get them to look black again, then I wipe off any dust with an old towel and start snapping photos with my cell phone.

I upload it to a national car buying site and tell them they have to come get it and that I’m only taking cash or a cashier’s check, and then hit post .

After that’s done, I go feed the animals and notice the milk is drying up on one of the three cows we have.

“Mom,” I say, heading into the kitchen to wash my hands. “Belinda’s drying up. What do you want to do?”

She puts bacon on a paper towel-lined plate and drains the grease. “She’s still very young. We’ll need to breed her.”

Afraid to ask but having to anyway, I say, “And who are we breeding with? The Andersons?”

She shakes her head and throws me a look before turning and cracking eggs into the same skillet. “Anderson sold all his animals. He and the wife retired. I think they’re in Florida on vacation for the winter, or will be soon. We’re gonna have to use the Parsons.”

I close my eyes. Of course we are.

“Call Jake and see if we can’t get that arranged,” she commands, her back still to me. “Sooner rather than later. There’s a lot of people relying on me for raw milk.”

“Fine. “But not at this ungodly hour.”

She laughs and turns around, grabbing the salt shaker. “It’s eight thirty. I’m sure they’ve been up since before sun-up.”

She’s right but I don’t want to.

Defiantly, I wait until around noon, dialing Jake’s cell from mine. I hate using that house phone. I wander outside while it rings on his end.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Layla.”

He pauses a few seconds. “What’s up, Clapton?”

“Belinda’s milk is drying up. We need your services. I assume you have a bull we can use?”

“Of course. Your place or mine?” he asks.

I grin at the innuendo. “Whatever’s easiest for you. We don’t have a trailer so we’re at your mercy. And of course we’ll pay you whatever fee.”

“Nah, it’ll be on the house. We have a section of the barn here specifically used for that. I’ll come get Belinda in a bit.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“See you soon.” He hangs up.

I pocket my phone. “Jake will be here in a little bit.”

Mom smirks. “That’s great.”

Not thirty minutes later, I hear Jake’s truck pull up. I open the door before he can knock and he again has his tool bag in his hand. Maybe he needs it to hook up the trailer? Which is stupid since the animal trailer is already hooked to the back of his massive truck.

“Hi,” I say, smiling.

“Hi,” he replies, staring down at me with those impossible blue eyes.

The electricity in the air crackles between us, and I hate it. I hate how he can do this to me.

“Before I pick up Belinda, I’m gonna fix a few things.”

I invite him inside and then cock my head to the side while he stands in my living room. “Like what?”

He ignores me and moves to the kitchen. “The hinges on your cabinets are loose. Also, your carbon monoxide detector isn’t working.” He points to where it’s mounted on the wall.

“How do you know it’s not working?” I ask.

“There should be a green light. Maybe it just needs a battery.” He pulls a 9V battery out from his bag, yanks the thing off the wall, and replaces it. After he secures it back on the wall, sure enough, a green light illuminates from it. “You should replace that every time you move your clocks for daylight savings.”

I knew this. Guess it got put by the wayside with everything else.

Then, wordlessly, he gets to work replacing the hinges on three cabinets. I watch with appreciation as his muscles move and bunch with the work. Once he’s done with that, he gets up and goes down the hallway to the guest bathroom. I, of course, follow him.

“The hot water isn’t working on this tap,” he says, pulling out a wrench and grabbing a bucket from the bathtub we keep in there for drips. He places it under the pipe under the sink and gets on his back as he undoes the pipe. The water rushes into it and then he flicks on a flashlight from his pocket. “Mineral deposits.” He somehow clears it out, puts the pipe back with the flashlight held between his teeth, and then closes the cabinet. He turns the tap on and the hot water flows. “All fixed.”

Jake collects his bag and leaves the bathroom with me trailing behind him like a puppy.

“Where’s your mom?” he asks as we stand in the living room.

He’s towering over me, always so tall and imposing, but sexy nonetheless, and peers down at me.

I swallow hard. “She went to the grocery store.”

His face is covered in a sheen of perspiration, and I want to run my hands through his light-brown hair. His full lips twitch a little as he looks down at me.

“Why?” I ask.

He drops his tool bag and snatches me by the waist, pulling me flush to him before his mouth crashes down on mine.

I want to resist him. I want to fight him and tell him to stop. But I can’t. This is Jake Parsons, my first love, and nobody has ever been able to touch me or kiss me like he has since I left this godforsaken town.

I wrap my arms around his neck and arch my body into his. He backs me up until I hit the wall, my head bumping into a framed photo and not caring.

His hand caresses my back, moving down to grab my ass as he squeezes. He presses his hard cock into me and I whimper, wanting nothing more for him to take me to my room and rock my whole entire world.

He finally breaks the kiss, chest heaving, blue eyes wild with lust. “Fuck, Layla. Fuck .”

I nod. “I know.”

“Why did we break up again?” he asks.

I grin, wiping my mouth with my thumb. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He grips my hair at the back of my head and makes me look at him. “You’re not an idiot. But please tell me you’ll stay. Please tell me you want to be with me.”

My eyes dart back and forth between his, a million unsaid words a hurricane in my brain. “I don’t know what the future holds, Jake. But we have right now.”

That seems to be good enough for him, because his lips crush mine once more. Before I know it, my hands are lifting his shirt off and snapping the button of his dusty Wranglers, wanting nothing more than to feel him loving me again.

He picks me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and he carries me down the hall. He knows the way to my bedroom; he’s been there plenty of times before.

After setting me down, he slips my tee off over my head and I kick out of my boots while he does the same. My pants fly down, exposing me in only a bra and panties, while he wriggles out of his jeans, flinging them to the side. His dick his straining and ready for me, and I want to whimper at how much I need him.

He shoves me by the shoulders onto the bed, then climbs up to me like a hungry animal. He lifts my bra and presses his hot mouth to my nipples and I cry out.

“Jake, please,” I murmur.

“Please what, Layla? You want me to fuck you?”

I gasp, forgetting about how much I loved his filthy bedroom mouth. “Yes. Fuck me.”

He rips my panties off with one swipe of his large hand and lines up his cock. “You want this? You want me inside you, Layla?”

I nod, thankful I’m on the pill because we don’t have time to have the conversation and I surely don’t have any condoms here. “Yes,” I demand. “Now, Jake.”

With one slide, he’s inside me, and we both groan in relief. He wraps one arm around my neck, the other propping himself up for control.

“Your pussy is so tight, baby.”

I moan, staring up at him, his body so hard I want to lick him. I roll my hips in time with his.

“I want you to come,” he mutters in my ear. “I want you to squirt all over my cock.”

My eyes roll back at his filthy talk I love so much. I raise my hips to meet his, his dick hitting the right spot.

He removes his arm from under me and leans down to put his mouth on my breast, sucking a nipple into his mouth. Hard.

That does it. I instantly climax, clawing at his back as I lose control, a tidal wave of ecstasy washing over me, making me see stars. “Jake!” I cry.

His cock stiffens and he grunts, stilling his thrusts and coming hard inside me as I ride out my wave.

We’re both breathing hard, sweaty and clutching each other as if for dear life. Like we’ve missed this with each other.

“Damn,” he mutters into my neck. “I have missed you, Clapton.”

I chuckle because I’m on a post-coital euphoretic high. “I’ve missed you, too.”