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
