Emily.
“Get off of me,” she demanded, attempting to slide away from Leo as he gripped her thigh beneath her night gown and robe. Finally, she managed to free herself from him. She stood up, pointing at the door.
“Get out!” she yelled.
“Now! I swear to god, I’ll call the cops.”
Her voice was shaky, uneven, and not at all authoritative. Leo could tell just by looking at her that she was all bluff, which is why he didn’t move.
“I mean it!” she bellowed as Leo stood up, inching towards her. He grabbed her hand tightly, pulling her petite frame against his much larger one and pressing a hand over her mouth.
“Shh,” he whispered into her dark red hair. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Emily cowered beneath his grip, her green eyes wild and afraid. She wasn’t sure what Leo was capable of. He might have been the father of her daughter, but Emily barely knew him. All she knew was that actions spoke louder than words, and Leo’s actions were making it quite clear that he was up to no good.
“Please,” she begged, her voice muffled by Leo’s large calloused hand.
In one quick motion, he picked Emily up, heaving her over his broad shoulders as she kicked and tensed beneath him. She hit his back, her tiny fists balled tight with anger, but the impact barely affected him.
Once inside Emily’s bedroom, he tossed her on her unmade bed, locking the door behind himself. She scrambled to stand up, but Leo approached her, slowly pushing her back down.
“Why are you doing this?” Emily begged, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She looked over at the picture sitting on her bedside table. It was one Emily had taken with Stephen months ago, during one of their random vacations. He was one of Emily’s oldest clients and the man Emily wanted to believe was Layla’s father.
Then, Leo came crashing back into her life, forcing Emily to come to terms with her bitter reality. The father of her only child was a dirt poor biker who, while incredibly handsome in his own right, had nothing to offer her. He wasn’t the wealthy, all-American doctor Emily was embracing in the photograph – the only client Emily had ever developed actual feelings for. What they had wasn’t a relationship, but it was something. For the past twenty years, Emily had been meeting with Stephen on a monthly basis, but it had stopped being about the money a long time ago.
“Who is the guy?” Leo asked, interjecting Emily’s train of thought. She pulled her eyes away from the picture, swallowing hard.
“No one,” Emily whispered. She looked at the wilted roses on the table beside the photograph. Stephen had given them to her before they last parted ways, but they had long sense faded, drooping in discouragement – a dull shadow of what they had once been.
Tired of talking, Leo grabbed Emily by the wrist, pushing her down onto the bed. She tried her best to fight him off, but it was no use. He had all of the control. Breathing hard, Leo slipped Emily’s silk robe down her shoulders, his fingertips lingering over the curve of her bare neckline. He groaned. She looked so much like Layla. The reality of who she was to Leo still felt like salt being sprinkled on a fresh wound, but regardless, he couldn’t help the way he felt.
It didn’t occur to Leo that what he was doing to Emily constituted as assault. He simply needed a release – one he couldn’t bring himself to find in Layla. She might not have known the truth, but Leo did, and that was enough. The had committed the ultimate sin once already and regardless of how much Leo might have wanted to, he wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
Leo knew that Layla had been coming to his cabin for months. That she was using it as a place to escape. Often times he would watch her through the dusty windows, never coming inside. He wasn’t ready to come face to face with her yet. Not after what they had done. But he let her stay, never seeing a reason to object.
Then came the
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