Page 25 of What She Deserves
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Rashad exited the bathroom into the bedroom. Noting Layla’s still body under the navy-blue sheets, he smiled to himself. No doubt, he’d put her ass to sleep. She always wanted to sleep after they made love.
So much for your no-spending-the-night rule, he thought with a silent chuckle.
He slipped under the cool top sheet and carefully placed an arm across her waist. A beat later she stiffened and eased away.
So, she wasn’t asleep.
Layla sat up on the mattress and threaded her fingers though her rumpled tresses. Rashad caught his breath, eyes glued to her. All her lipstick was gone, leaving only bare lips, slightly swollen from his amorous kisses, and her hair tumbled around her shoulders in a halo of midnight strands against her tawny-gold skin. Damn, she was gorgeous.
She tucked the sheet under her arms to protect her breasts from exposure. “It’s late,” she said, covering a yawn with one hand.
Rashad reclined with his arms folded behind his head. “Yeah, it is.”
Layla flung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. At first he thought she might be headed to the bathroom, but then she picked up her jeans from the floor.
He lifted onto his elbows. “What are you doing?”
“Getting dressed. I’m going home,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.
He sat all the way up. “You’re leavingnow?”
“Yep.” Her flippant tone landed like a slap in the face, and when she went into the bathroom with her purse and the rest of her clothes bundled in her arms, his eyes followed her in disbelief.
What the hell?
Layla couldn’t seriously be planning to leave his bed in the middle of the goddamn night. Granted she’d said no spending the night at each other’s place, but come on. When they first dated, he’d fallen asleep and woken up plenty of times with her in his arms. Leaving at—he glanced at the clock—almost midnight was ridiculous.
Rashad swung his legs over the side of the bed and waited for her to exit the bathroom. Minutes later, she came out fully dressed, hair brushed into a polished ponytail and her lipstick freshened.
“Listen, I know we had an agreement we wouldn’t spend the night at each other’s place,” he began, “but you don’t have to rush out. Relax. You hungry? I could make us something to eat or order in.”
“It’s late, and I ate earlier. Thank you for tonight, though. The sex was amazing. Exactly as I remembered.”
A soft, almost benevolent smile touched the corners of her mouth and irritated the hell out of him. She was treating him like a charity case. Layla walked over and pecked him on the mouth, but his lips firmed, refusing to yield to hers.
She stepped back, a frown of surprise marring her forehead. “Something wrong?”
Yes! She rolled out of his bed in the middle of the night after ‘amazing’ sex. Everything was wrong.
“Nothing’s wrong. Let me grab my robe, and I’ll walk you out,” Rashad muttered, standing.
He didn’t have a stitch of clothing on, and she bit her bottom lip, her admiring gaze crawling down his naked body. “I’m so tempted to slide back into bed with you and go another round, but I better get out of here if I plan to get up at a decent hour in the morning.” She lifted her Chanel purse onto her shoulder. “No need to walk me out. Call when you want to hook up again. Bye!”
She waved and stepped across the carpet in sky high stilettoes, hips swinging, stride confident—and dare he say it—a bounce in her step.
Rashad stared at the now empty doorway. Disoriented. Speechless.
Layla was in a helluva good mood, and considering he just had mind-blowing sex with her, he should be too. Instead, he was grumpy. Cranky. Annoyed. He rubbed his brow to ward off a headache and climbed back into bed.
With his back against the padded headboard, he sat in the dimly lit room and pondered what had occurred between them minutes before, unable to adequately define the odd sensation in his chest. All he knew was that having her rush out so soon after they made love left a bitter taste in his mouth. Layla had treated him as if he were simply an object for her sexual gratification. A dick to ride when she was horny, but she didn’t need him for anything else.
He picked up his phone from the bedside table. Layla used to send him videos all the time. Sometimes to simply check in and say hello. Other times to update him on her day’s activities. He had dozens of videos, which could be as simple as thirty seconds of her excited whispers about a delicious meal, to asking his opinion about new makeup she was trying from her friend, Tamika, who owned TamCam Cosmetics.
One of his favorites was a video of her wearing a white bandeau top and beige wide-legged linen pants. He clicked on the image.
“Hey, baby,” Layla said in the video. “I know you’re busy, so that’s why I didn’t call. Hopefully, you’ll get a chance to see this and give me your opinion. I bought this outfit for the weekend in Miami with my sisters. What do you think?” She wrinkled her nose. “I like it, but I’m not sure.” She and her sisters were going to Miami to celebrate her older sister’s birthday and take advantage of a weekend she had without her husband and kids.
