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Layla Dalton’s hand slides up my side under my shirt, his rough, calloused hand smoothing over my skin. I shiver against his touch, my eyes fluttering closed. “Come with me,” he whispers against my neck, sucking the delicate skin hard enough to leave a bruise. I’ll follow him anywhere. That’s how I know I’m in deep, drowning in him, actually. I’ll follow him to hell if he asks. Maybe I’m already there. A gentle scratching noise sounds overhead as he guides me into the bathroom, his eyes locked on mine, dark and full of primal heat. Desire. Excitement. I look up at the ceiling as the scratching sound gets louder, like something is scurrying back and forth right above us. “Eyes on me,” he whispers, and I look back at him, nodding as if in a trace. He shuts the bathroom door be