He didn’t want her not to sleep.
He knew tomorrow—today, he guessed—was important.
But also.
Important not to hurt her.
Not ever again.
He took a breath and stepped beside the bed. Listened to her deep, even breathing.
He’d say it nice. He’d say—
“Layla,” he murmured softly, before he’d worked it out.
Her name sounded like a prayer to him.
“Mmf,” came the reply, from beneath the blanket. He almost smiled. That was about the extent of the response he felt like he’d gotten to prayers, anytime he’d ever tried them.
But his smile faded when he remembered what he was trying to wake her for. Some nice way to say,You’d be better off in your own room.
He leaned an arm across her, gently pushed a hank of hair that had fallen over her eyes out of the way.
She repeated her muffled acknowledgment of his presence, but otherwise didn’t move.
“Layla,” he said again, trying to make it sound less like a whispered devotional. More like an actual attempt to wake her.
Her eyelids slitted open, her long black lashes looking weighted. He should’ve gone to the fucking couch. This was a dumb move.
Now he had to face it head on.
“I don’t want to bother you,” he said, which wasn’t much of an explanation.
Her lips lifted into a sleepy smile. “Not bothering.”
Like that, she was out again.
He furrowed his brow, a pang of worry needling him. All right, they’d had a long day, and then he’d fucked her hard, twice, plus made her come a couple other times. But should she be this conked out already? He hadn’t been in the bathroomthatlong.
He lifted his hand, stroked the back of his fingers down her cheek. Smooth and perfect. She turned into the touch.
He should not start this, touching her again.
“Don’t,” she said, confirming it, and he pulled his hand away.
But she reached up, took his wrist in a grip that belied her sleepy state. Put his palm back on her face.
“Don’tgo,” she said grumpily. It was fucking cute.
“You’re in my room,” he said, smiling.
She stirred in earnest then, her lashes lifting more determinedly, her body moving in a sinuous stretch beneath the covers. His cock twitched.
Not helpful.
She lifted her head like it weighed a thousand pounds, then propped herself on her elbow, both movements looking like they were the most challenging thing in the world.
Well, fuck it. He’d go to the couch.
