32. The Morning After

Layla hadn’t meant to fall asleep after Jackson had left the room, but she must have because the next thing she saw was Jackson walking back into the room with blood all over his body.

Or maybe she was still dreaming. Her eyelids felt too heavy, and she was still drained after their activities last night. Heat spread through her body when she remembered what Jackson had done to her. What she had done to Jackson.

She covered her face and groaned.

“Get a grip, Layla,” she scolded herself.

Last night had been an unending wave of pleasure. She’d been desperate for Jackson—his touch, his kiss. She wasn’t a prude, but she would never have had sex outside if she’d been in her right mind. And she would never have allowed him to do any of the things he had done once he’d brought her to his room. Everything had been so desperate, and part of her felt like she would die if she didn’t have him.

She had to avoid Diedre and her drug shots from now on. She was on a roller coaster with her emotio