Taming the Storm (The Storm #3)(73)
Author: Samantha Towle

“I love your dick,” she murmurs, taking me in her hand, she starts jacking me off. “So fucking big. I can’t wait to have it inside me. I love your band. I have for years. I’ve seen you in concert twice. I can’t believe I’m here with you. That I have your dick in my hand, and real soon, we’re gonna be fucking.” Her eyes lift to mine. “You’ve got a condom on you, right? Because I don’t have any.”

Of course I have—

No, I don’t.

I don’t have one single condom on me because I stopped buying them when Lyla and I started going clean.

When she let me have more of her.

And last night…she let me have all of her.

My head starts to spin.

I press my hand to the wall for support. The bass pumps through the bricks, echoing the mournful tune into my body. Billie Joe Armstrong’s somber voice feeds the bleak lyrics into my mind.

I close my eyes, trying to shut it all out…but all I can see is Lyla.

The way she looked lying in my bed. My belt tied around her wrists. Washing her in the shower. Her washing me. Kissing her. How breathtaking she was down on her knees in front of me, her beautiful blues gazing back up at me. Moving inside her…having deep, slow sex. Staying inside her until she fell asleep. Holding her in my arms because I couldn’t bring myself to let her go. Unable to sleep because I didn’t want to miss a moment of the time I had left with her, knowing I would eventually have to let her go.

I let her go.

A pain lances across my chest. I can’t fucking breathe.

I need…I need to leave.

No, I can do this. I can fuck this chick.

This is what I do. This is what I’m good at.

We’re in a public restroom. They should have a condom machine in here. I’ll just buy a pack, fuck her, and then go home.

The blow job clearly isn’t working. It isn’t getting Lyla out of my head. But covering the memory of the last time Lyla and I were together by being inside someone else will.

It has to.

I open my eyes and look down…but instead of seeing the brunette, all I see is Lyla staring back up at me.

What the fuck?

Lyla’s big blues blinking up at me. Her gorgeous mouth smiling at me in that sweet way she does.

Panic hits me. A panic I haven’t felt since that day when I was thirteen years old, and my life changed forever.

The day I lost everything. The day I stood by powerless to stop what was happening.

I can’t do this. I need to get the fuck out of here. Now.

“I can’t do this.”

I try to move, but the brunette doesn’t hear me, and she tries to put my cock back in her mouth.

“No.” Hands firm on her shoulders, I push her away. “We have to stop.”

She stares up at me, confusion on her face. “Did I…did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Sidestepping her, I tuck my cock back in my jeans and quickly fasten them up. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I suck in a breath, the feeling of guilt and a whole shit load of other emotions I can’t even begin to contend with hitting me. “I did.”

I yank open the door and practically run out of there, leaving behind the confused brunette still on her knees.

I can barely see straight as I try to make my way out of the bar.

Finally, I make it to the door. Pushing it open, air hits my lungs with force, leaving me gasping. The pressure on my chest is so intense I feel like I’m going to explode.

Lyla’s broken me.

She fucking broke me!

She got inside my head and screwed everything up.

I care about her. More than care about her. I lo—

No.

I can’t do this. I can’t feel like this.

I need to…Christ! What do I need?

Time.

I need time. That’s all.

I tried to jump back into my old life too soon.

I’ll just take a few days to sort my head out.

Get out of the pussy state of mind I’ve let myself fall into with Lyla.

I liked the life I had before—no, I fucking loved it. Before I started making promises, trying to think I could change to help Jake. But that was bullshit. And Tru and Jake are fine now.

I kept my promise. I did what I said.

But things need to go back to the way they were.

Easy. No complications. No expectations.

Nobody telling me they love me.

And me…I go back to not lo—

Caring about anyone but myself.

I go back to the life I had before. It worked. It kept all my crap at bay.

But since Lyla, all I’ve done is feel every day.

Feel her.

I’ve become the man I never wanted to be.

Weak.

I can’t be weak. I can’t care about her. I can’t risk turning into him.

I can’t ever risk becoming my father.

And to not become him means I have to go back to being the man I was before, no matter how much it might hurt to let Lyla go.

Two Weeks Later—A Shoe Store, Robertson Boulevard, LA

It’s funny how time stands still when your heart is broken.

Like somehow, your heart has control of the ticking clock called life.

Time stilled when Dex broke my heart.

And now…after Tom…well, time and everything in between has ceased to move. I’m just drifting through the days. Nothing matters.

There’s just a gaping hole in my life where Tom was.

He came barreling into my world and knocked away every defensive wall I’d built up. I was stupid to think it wouldn’t affect me…he wouldn’t affect me. That he wouldn’t work into my affections. I know the kind of girl I am. I attach feelings to sex. I was naïve to think I could do the whole fuck-buddy thing with Tom and walk away clean.

And now, I’m in love with Tom and he’s out of my life. I’m broken, defenseless, and weak, and I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t seem to fix the void he’s left in my life. No matter how much I throw myself into band stuff and try to keep busy, nothing is helping.

His absence is always here. Every minute of every goddamn day.

I miss talking to him. Laughing with him. Fighting with him. Loving him.

I have this constant ache, like I’ve lost a limb. I’m just trying to figure out how he embedded himself so deeply within me in such a short space of time. Wondering if I will ever feel whole again.

“Have you called him yet?”

My eyes move from the spot on the wall of the shoe store to look down at Shannon, who’s crouched before me while fitting a pair of shoes to my feet. They have about a hundred tiny fastenings on them. If you ask me, I think they look like hooker shoes, but Shannon seems to think they’ll go with the dress we just bought for a magazine photo shoot I have to attend with the guys in a few days.