22. Layla
layla
. . .
My suitcase finally thunks onto the baggage carousel. The carousel grumbles and shudders as it moves, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. I wrap my fingers around the handle, tugging it free, wheels clattering against the tile.
I reach into my pocket for my phone, because I already know who’s waiting.
One new message.
Reed
You on the ground?
Warmth floods my chest so fast it almost hurts.
Layla
Just grabbed my enormous suitcase
The typing bubbles pop up instantly.
He must still be awake, still thinking of me.
Reed
Good.
I miss you already.
I grip the suitcase handle tighter.
Layla
I miss you too
I head toward the automatic doors, the late-night chill sweeping in from outside.
My sneakers shuffle against the concrete of the parking garage ramp as I drag my luggage toward P6. The echo of each step bounces back at me, reminding me how alone I am now.
And how alone I was before Reed.
I press the unlock button on my key fob, and my car chirps, its headlights blinking. The sound is too loud in the cavernous garage; I flinch anyway.
Lifting my suitcase into the trunk, my arms straining, as my breath shortens, I finally slide into the driver’s seat.
My fingers hesitate before starting the car.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Reed
Text me when you’re home.
My heart squeezes.
Layla
I will. Promise.
I notice my reflection in the rearview mirror; my eyes are still a little swollen from trying not to cry on the plane, and my makeup is smudged just a bit from sleeping against Reed’s chest earlier this morning.
God, he held me.
I swallow the ache rising in my throat.
The engine roars to life as I pull away from the space, winding up the ramp toward fresh air. The exit gate ejects me onto the main road, airport chaos fading into the monotony of the freeway.
Taillights cast red reflections on the wet asphalt. A plane rumbles above, vanishing into clouds I long to follow.
Santa Monica greets me with palm trees swaying in the night breeze, and the ocean’s salty breath caressing my windshield, but nothing feels warm about being back home.
Driving into the underground garage of our building, the same spot I’ve parked at a thousand times, but tonight it feels like I’m driving into a cage.
Taking a deep breath before I get out of my car, I say a silent prayer for myself, hoping Brian is in a good mood. Once I exhale, I get out, slamming the door shut, and grab my suitcase from the trunk before heading up.
The elevator ride up is quiet enough that I hear my pulse in my ears.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Home, or what once felt like home.
I take a deep breath that doesn’t ease my nerves and unlock the front door to my apartment.
Brian stands in the middle of the living room, his posture stiff, arms crossed and jaw clenched so tightly it could crack teeth.
The TV flickers behind him, but he’s not watching it; he’s watching me.
His eyes scan every inch of me as if he’s searching for a lie beneath my skin.
“Well,” he says, voice dripping with sour disappointment, “look who finally decided to show up.”
My suitcase handle digs painfully into my palm, but I keep my tone steady.
“I told you it was for a brand deal,” I say, nudging the door closed with my heel. “Work. You knew that.”
He approaches with slow steps, the kind that sends a chill down your spine and makes nerves swirl low in my gut.
“Uh-huh, I’m sure.” His lip curls. “Work. Work. Work,” his words dripping with sarcasm.
I back up until the entry table presses against my hip, its wood digging into my bone.
“You think I’m stupid?” he asks quietly, which is worse than shouting. “You think I don’t notice when my fiancé can’t wait to get away from me?”
His hand snaps out, gripping my collar, as his fingers dig into the skin just below my throat. He yanks the fabric down, exposing the faint, healing bruise he left.
A sick smile stretches across his face.
“There she is.”
Like he’s proud of the mark.
Something inside me recoils so violently that my knees lock to keep me upright.
He finally lets me go and walks away, tossing himself onto the couch as if the conversation bored him.
“Is my baby hungry?” he asks, picking up his phone. “Didn’t cook.”
Whiplash. Always. Whiplash.
My own phone buzzes in my palm. I quickly look as Brian is distracted.
Reed
Sleep well tonight, sunshine.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes. I squeeze my phone in my palm before quickly sliding it into my pocket.
His gaze cuts to me, a questioning look etched on his face. “Who was that?”
“No one,” I whisper.
“Layla,” he says, “don’t forget, you’re mine.”
I grip the handle of my suitcase and push myself down the hallway toward our bedroom, refusing to show fear even though my legs tremble.
Behind me, he calls out lazily. “You can run all you want, baby. You’ll always end up right back here.”
The worst part?
He used to be right.
I roll my suitcase into my bedroom and turn on the soft lamp beside the bed.
Lifting my suitcase onto my bed, I stand by, folding a shirt with more care than it deserves, hoping that if I stay quiet enough, he’ll leave me alone tonight.
The sounds from the living room fall silent, and all I hear are footsteps echoing off the wooden floors.
He crawls straight into my space, his expensive cologne burning my nostrils, as his fingers already roam my waist.
“So,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the back of my neck, “how about you show me how happy you are to see me.”
His hand moves lower, cupping my ass, squeezing, as he moans against the back of my neck, making me feel sick.
“No,” I say immediately.
He freezes, only for a second, then laughs, a single, mocking puff of air against my skin.
“You’ve been gone for two days,” he scoffs. “And you come home, not wanting to get on your knees for me?”
I push myself away from him and step back. “I said no, Brian. I’m tired.”
“Right,” he snaps, jaw ticking. “Because you’re always tired when I want something.”
He stalks closer, pointing his finger straight into my face. “But God forbid you want something, then we gotta pause the world and make Layla happy.”
His voice deepens into a sneer, words spitting out like venom. “You think you can leave me horny for days? Are you fucking serious?”
I hold my ground even though my knees wobble.
“You can go f—”
He cuts me off with a harsh laugh and shoves my shoulder, hard enough that I stumble backward into the dresser.
“Spare me,” he snaps. “You’re useless to me if you can’t even—”
He stops just short of saying the word.
But he doesn’t need to finish his sentence; I already knew what he was going to say.
He turns his back, pulling his phone out from his back pocket, already scrolling, already over it.
“Forget it. I’ll handle it myself,” he mutters, dropping onto the bed.
The clacking of his keyboard echoes from our bedroom, punctuated by bursts of laughter through his headset as he yells into the mic at his friends.
He hasn’t said a word to me in an hour.
Which is... honestly a relief.
I’m curled up on the living room couch with my laptop balanced on my knees, headphones half-on, half-off. My latest video timeline is open, the one from Boots pouring drinks with that lazy wrist flick, leaning in whenever a customer laughs, his smile soft, but his eyes sharp.
My audience is going to eat. this. up.
If this video does well, I’ll be able to escape, do what I want, and have my own creative freedom with my content without Brian.
Just the thought sends a spark of hope skittering through my chest.
My phone vibrates beside me.
I tap the side button just enough to light up the preview.
Reed
What are you doing?
A smile spreads before I can stop it.
I slide fully into the corner of the couch, tucking one leg under me as my fingers dance across the screen.
Layla
Working. Trying to make the Boots we’re not even sexting, but I ache for his lips on mine again. I ache for his fingers sliding between my legs and pleasuring me.
Layla
Dangerous how?
There’s a longer pause this time.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Reed
Because I can’t stop thinking about you, and the things I’d do to you.
Reed
And I’m trying really hard not to want something I shouldn’t want.
My hand flies up to my mouth, letting out a gasp. The last thing I need is for Brian to hear me.
Layla
Maybe we both want the same thing.
Oh God, oh God, oh Godddd.
Reed
Say it.
I stare at his words, my pussy throbbing, aching to be touched.
Layla
I want you, Reed. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.
My pulse rockets.
A notification comes through instantly.
Reed
Fuck, Layla.
Don’t say that, not right now.
Layla
Why not? It’s the truth.
I hit send and immediately regret how vulnerable it sounds, but it’s true.
Our kiss replays relentlessly. Every time I close my eyes, I see my fingers in his hair, the rough scrape of his mustache, and the way he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine and breathe me in like I was something worth memorizing.
Dots appear. Stay. Disappear. Appear again.
Reed
I shouldn’t have kissed you.
But I don’t fucking regret it.
Layla
Then why do you sound like you’re punishing yourself?
Reed
Because I am.
Every time I close my eyes, I see your mouth on mine. I feel the little hitch in your breath when I pulled you closer.
I tell myself it was a mistake. That I should stay the fuck away.
But I keep coming back to it. Keep wanting more.
I let out a shaky breath. Fuck.
Layla
I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if we hadn’t stopped.
I would’ve let you.
Reed
Layla…
The screen stays lit on my name while the seconds stretch.
I stare at his message, my chest tight, as my thumb hovers over the call button.
My thighs are still pressed together from that one involuntary squeeze, the ache between them now a steady, insistent pulse.
I don’t think as I tap the phone icon next to his name. It rings for less than a second before he answers.
“Layla.” His voice is rough and gravelly. I can hear the restraint in his voice from our messages.
I swallow. My mouth suddenly goes dry. “Hey.”
A beat of silence, until a soft exhale, almost a laugh, but pained. “Don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”
“Reed.” I shift on the couch, pulling my knees up again, letting my hoodie slip off one shoulder. “I couldn’t just… keep typing. I needed to hear you, please.”
He lets out a half-groan, half-curse. “Fuck, your voice. It’s worse than the texts.”
Heat floods my face, spreading everywhere. I let my free hand slide down my stomach, resting it on my lower abdomen. “Tell me why it’s worse.”
“Because I can hear how turned on you are.” His words come more slowly now. “That little hitch in your breath, the way you’re trying to stay quiet, is turning me on.”
I bite my lip. “Talk to me, Reed, please.”
He lets out another rough exhale and a groan that will damn near make me fall to my knees.
I can picture him, probably lying back on his bed with his arm over his eyes, as his phone pressed to his ear, a faint smile stretching across his lips.
“Let go, for me.”
Holy shit.
My fingers twitch against the lace of my panties. I part my legs a fraction, sliding my fingers lower. “Reed, I—I want you.”
“Fuck.” His voice cracks on the word. “Are you wet for me, baby?”
“Soaked.” I slide two fingers down, parting myself just enough to feel how wet I am. “From thinking about that night on your couch. About how you kissed me like you were drowning, then just… stopped.”
“I stopped because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have let you leave.” His breathing is heavier now. “I would’ve taken you right there, pushed your shorts down, spread you across my lap, and made you ride me until you couldn’t remember why you’d ever said yes to him.”
A whimper slips out before I can stop it. I press my fingers inside my pussy slowly as my hips lift off the cushion.
“Reed…”
“Touch yourself for me,” he says, and I hear the creak in his bed as he shifts. “Tell me exactly what you’re doing, sunshine.”
I push my fingers deeper, curling them against my sensitive spot. “I’m fingering myself, wishing it was your mouth.”
He groans. “Good girl. Keep going. Imagine it’s me. My fingers stretching you open.”
My breath hitches. I add a third finger, stretching my cunt, quickening the pace. “God, Reed, I’m so close already.”
“Fuck, I love hearing you, baby. You sound so pretty when you’re about to fall apart for me.”
My thumb grinds harder against my clit. “Reed, fuck, I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” he commands. “Let me hear you. But be quiet, baby, loud enough that I can only hear your pretty moan.”
I bury my face in the crook of my elbow, biting down on my hoodie sleeve as my orgasm crashes through me.
My thighs clamp around my hand, hips jerking, wetness flooding my knuckles as I pulse against my fingers.
A muffled, broken moan escapes anyway, his name, barely audible.
“You okay?”
I laugh weakly, still trembling. “Better than okay.”
“Good,” he says gently. “Get some sleep now, sunshine.”
“I will.” I pull my fingers free, wiping them with the napkin lying on the coffee table. “And Reed?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t pull away next time, I dare you.”
He exhales, almost a sigh of relief. “Never again.”
I end the call and set the phone face down on the cushion.
Brian bangs his fist on the desk and howls at the game, and I jump instinctively.
I sink into the couch cushions, forcing my breathing to slow, pretending to be asleep.
Across the apartment, the front door buzzes as a food delivery arrives, not for me, not for us, but for him.
He didn’t ask if I wanted anything. He didn’t look my way as he walked up to the door, grabbed his food, paid for it with the money I’ve earned, and surely doesn’t care about me anymore.
But my mind won’t let me think about that right now. I just had phone sex with Reed Hayes.
FUCK.