21. Reed
reed
. . .
Iglance sideways at Layla curled up in the corner of my couch, her legs tucked underneath her, the hem of her sweatpants brushing the cushion as she shifts.
She leaves tomorrow.
I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t want her to go; fuck, I really don’t want her to leave. Every time she quietly laughs at something on the screen, I feel the weight of the impending silence grow heavier.
My mind keeps looping back to the exact moment from earlier; her fingertips gently smoothing over my worst scars, not with pity or hesitation, but with a care so soft it shattered something I didn’t realize was still fragile.
She touched what I hate most about myself and looked at me as if I were someone worth seeing, as if I were more than just my scars.
I try not to appear obvious by staring at her, but she catches me regardless. Her eyes meet mine in the flickering light, bright and distractingly beautiful.
“I’m boreddd,” she declares, dragging out the words with a sigh as she stretches her arms overhead.
I blink, pulled from my spiral. “Bored? We’re watching a classic.”
“It’s a horror movie,” she says. “Everything is a classic to you.”
I try not to roll my eyes. “It’s good.”
“It’s slow,” she counters, nudging my leg with her foot. “And you aren’t even watching it.”
She’s not wrong. I turn down the volume with the remote and place it on the coffee table, resting my arm over the back of the couch. “Alright,” I say. “What do you want to do?”
She sits up a little straighter, a mischievous smile forming. “Truth or dare.”
My eyebrows raise. “We’re not twelve.”
She grins wider, leaning in closer until I can smell the faint vanilla of her lotion. “That’s not a no.”
I let out a laugh because resisting her is becoming impossible. “Fine. You go first.”
She taps her chin thoughtfully before asking, “Truth. What’s the strangest thing you’ve seen at Boots I feel my dick hardening beneath my sweats. It’s been years since a woman has touched me.
“I’m not scared of your scars,” she says softly, voice trembling with emotion.
My throat tightens. I grab her hips instinctively, steadying myself, because if I let myself fall into that line too quickly, I won’t find my way back up for air.
“Layla…”
She leans in again, brushing her lips against my map of scarred skin, slow enough that my eyes flutter shut. “You’re more than them, I want you to know that,” she whispers against my skin.
Her mouth lifts upward, reconnecting with mine; a gentle kiss that quickly turns ravenous, her hands threading into my hair, pulling just hard enough to draw a growl from deep within my chest.
I kiss her back with everything I’ve been trying not to feel; her lips parting for me, our bodies pressed tightly, a slow grind of her center on the thick line of my cock that’s driving me wild.
She breathes against my mouth, “Don’t stop.”
And God help me, stopping is the last thing I want.
But I force myself to, barely holding back, though every cell in my body screams to keep going. My forehead rests against hers again, chests heaving, trying to catch my breath and regain sanity.
“If we don’t slow down…” My voice breaks. I swallow hard. “I’m not gonna be able to.”
She cups my jaw as her thumb brushes my lower lip, swollen from her kisses. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”
“Fuck, Layla.”
A shiver goes through me, desire and terror clashing.
“You don’t get it,” I breathe out. “Once I have you... I won’t ever fucking let you go.”
Her eyes widen at my sheer honesty.
“Reed, don’t let me go.”
I hold onto the back of the couch because touching her again would break every boundary remaining.
“You leave tomorrow,” I remind her, pain weaving through my words.
She swallows, her hands still tangled in my hair. “But tonight…” Her lips ghost mine again. “…I’m here.”
My restraint manifests differently; not to take, but to hold.
I wrap my arms around her and pull her into a fierce, bone-deep embrace, my lips pressed against her temple, breathing her in.
She melts into me without resistance, burying her face in my neck. Neither of us moves for a long time.
Her breathing evens out, and her voice vibrates against my skin.
“I don’t want this to be goodbye.”
I take in a deep breath, closing my eyes.
My heart answers before my mouth does.
“Then don’t go.”
She doesn’t answer, her hands lightly fisted in the fabric of my shirt. I smooth my palms over her hips once and gently tap her thigh.
“Come on,” I say, my voice a little rough from everything we just held back.
Her gaze flicks up to meet mine, nerves and hope battling behind her eyes. She nods, the movement small but steady, and I hold her waist as she shifts off my lap.
The warmth she leaves behind is immediate and irritating.
I stand, offering her my hand, and she takes it without hesitation.