If Layla loved him, he couldn't let her go like that

When he reached the front door of his apartment, he stood staring at it in confusion, certainly not where he was. When he finally realized, in fact, that he was at his apartment, that he had walked a few miles to get here, he fumbled in his pocket for his keys.

The apartment was quiet and smelled musty when he entered, without any sweetness to welcome the presence. Layla was never here, and it showed. He suffered just enough to spend any time here. It was empty darkness, like a tomb, and he was incapable of bringing any light to it. The only light he'd ever known was Layla's light, and he'd shared it too short, then chased her away with unbridled desire. He had never been able to keep his hands off hers. He'd made love to her more than he'd ever thought possible, the man inside him rising unbelievably with sweetness mired inside her and tightening his body to hers. . He got her pregnant and because of it he lost her.

What would he do without her? He couldn't function, couldn't find it in himself for a curse about contracts, or work being done or not.

Even as he went through his work days, he always knew that she was waiting for him. Because the work was so hard, even if it had separated him from her, he would have been able to take care of her and surely she would never have to do anything. Every time he opened up the equity portfolio he'd created specifically for her, he felt an intense joy. Maybe he thought that those diligent efforts would keep her with him, that they would show her that she was better to him, than to anyone other than herself.

He couldn't allow himself to think forever, even for a moment, that she might stay with him, solely because he was establishing her financial security. If he thought that to Layla, then the truth was he had no reason to leave her. No, he always knew that she didn't like that in their arrangement.

There's no reason for her to stay... If she doesn't love him.

For the first time, he allowed himself to think about what she said. It was too much for him to take in then, but now the words hovered tentatively in his consciousness, like fragile birds afraid of the light.

She loved him.

He sat in the quiet apartment for the rest of the day and walked into the darkness, too far away to withdraw into himself the sense of need for light or noise, and sometimes during long hours in the dark, he had encountered an inner barrier. He felt as if he were pinning reckless hopes on slim chances, as if he were letting go of the odds, but he was faced with the cold, gray truth and he couldn't do it. something else.

If Layla loved him, he couldn't let her go like that.

Layla had a bad night. She couldn't sleep even though she didn't expect it to get any better, nor did she expect to lie awake for hours, staring at the dark ceiling and pain in the empty space beside her. She had spent many nights without him before because of business trips, and she always managed to sleep. This, however, is different, a state of emptiness of the soul as well as of space. She knew it would be hard, but she didn't know it left a gnawing, gnawing pain inside. Despite her best efforts, she cried until her head started pounding, not even being able to stop. It was completely exhausting and eventually ended in tears, but not pain. It stayed with her, unrelenting, through the long hours of darkness.

If this was similar to the future, she didn't know she could bear it, even with the child. She thought it was his child, infinitely precious, that would be the consolation in his absence, and though that might be in the future, it was an empty comfort for now. She couldn't hold the baby in her arms right now, and it would be five long months before she could.

She wakes up at dawn without any sleep, and makes a decaffeinated pot of coffee. Today was one of those days when she needed the caffeine donation, but the pregnancy forbade it. Anyway she made the coffee, hoping the custom would fool her mind and sanity, then she sat down at the kitchen table with her thick coat draped in comfort while she sat down at the kitchen table. she sipped hot liquid

The rain trickled silently down the glass of the porch doors and for a moment splashed on the soaked rocks. As beautiful as it was yesterday, the fickle April weather has turned cold and wet. If Kelvin were here, they would spend the morning in bed, snuggled together in the warmth of blankets, lazily exploring the limits of pleasure.

She swallowed painfully, then lowered her head to the table as the pain flooded once more. Although the eyes felt dry from crying, it still seemed to have tears in them, still unable to soothe the pain.

She didn't hear the door open, but the sound of footsteps on the floor jolted her to her feet, hastily wiping her face with her hands. Kelvin was standing in front of her. His sad face was blank and exhausted with fatigue. She saw that he was still wearing yesterday's clothes, though he had put on a leather jacket to keep out the rain. He was clearly walking, for his dark hair was soaked with water and made a small stream down his face.

“Stop crying,” he said in a rough, unnatural voice.

She was confused because he had caught her crying. She always suppressed her pain to hide any emotional outbursts from him, knowing they would make him uncomfortable. But she didn't do well either, for with her eyes puffy and wet, her hair was still disheveled from a restless night, and was wrapped from neck to toe in a thick cloak. A lover needs to be groomed, she thought wryly and almost burst into tears again.

Without moving his gaze to hers, he took off his cloak and hung it over the back of the chair. "I didn't know you stayed," he said, the tension still evident in his voice. “I hope you stay, but…” Then, suddenly, he moved with amazing speed, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her quickly into the bedroom.

After a small startled scream, Layla gripped his shoulder, moving the same way for the first time, as if all his intense emotions were straining behind the restraint and finally the restraint was gone. concessions. He snatched her away on her feet and set her down on the office floor with almost no movement, then descended on her before her surprise could give way to rapture. She reached for him in a longing that rose quickly to match his, and it was hours before he let go of her.

Now she felt the same way in his fierce embrace as he laid her on the bed and leaned over her, loosening the cloak and stretching it wide. Underneath she wore a thin silk nightgown, but even that was clearly too much. She stared silently into his attentive face as he lifted her from her cloak, then tugged her nightgown over her head. Her breathing ragged as she lay naked in front of him, and she felt her breasts tighten under his gaze, as hot as any touch. A fusion of warm, intense sensations began to burn in her body.

He opened her thighs and knelt between them, watching passionately over her body as he groped her belt and unzipped it, lowering her trousers. Then his green gaze rose to meet her velvet brown gaze. "If you don't want this, say it now"

She couldn't refuse him, and herself more than she could willingly stop breathing. She lifted her slender arms in invitation, and he leaned forward in acceptance, stabbing her both body and grip with one motion. He groaned, not only from unbelievable amusement, but from the pain that had ended. Now, her slender body was securely held beneath him, and he himself was held securely inside her, without any distance between them.

Layla writhed under the sway of an intense sensual pleasure. The shock of his cold, wet clothes on her warm bare body made her feel more naked than she'd ever been before. The lone point of contact of bare flesh between her legs, making her more sexual, making her painfully aware of his masculinity, as he moved inside her. . It was too overwhelming to sustain, and she had bent her sexual climax so soon, she just wanted it to last forever.

He was still holding himself deep inside her, giving her pleasure, holding her face and placing lingering kisses on it. "Don't cry," he whispered, and she didn't know the tears had welled up in her eyes. "Stop crying. Now that won't have to end.”

She cried louder, she realized, it spoke of despair.