Claiming Serenity(32)

“Me? What about you, princess?”

“I was fine, jackass.” Donovan didn’t flinch when Layla jabbed him in the ribs. He knew this game, it felt like foreplay and shit was Layla good at foreplay. “What’s your excuse?” she asked, stepping up to him like she loved taunting him, urging him to snap back. Yeah. She was good.

Donovan was better.

“I was fine.”

Stray strands loosened from her hair and Layla fidgeted with them, brushed them behind her ear as though she needed a distraction from how closely Donovan stood next to her. He could just make out a shake in her voice when she said, “You just didn’t do it for me last night.”

“Funny how you moaned and clawed at me like I did.” He stepped forward, smirking when she didn’t budge. He loved how she challenged him, how she was rude and brave and ready to give as good as she got.

That long, frustrated sigh she released had Donovan withholding his amusement, not really eager to have her pull away from him again. But when the expression on her face shifted, when she curled her arms over her chest, defensive, shamed, Donovan frowned, worried that she’d tell him something he was sure he had no desire hearing. Layla turned away from him, took her long hair between her fingers, pulled the pony tail over her shoulder as though she wanted to prevent Donovan from touching it again. When she spoke, it was to the window, to the faceless crowd, to her best friend and ex-boyfriend who hadn’t noticed them looking through the glass. “I just feel… not right when I leave your place.”

“Guilt?” He didn’t get that. He wanted Layla to feel good. He knew that she did if her moans, her reactions when they were together were any indication. Donovan would never understand why women placed so much emphasis on emotion when sex was concerned, anyway. Why couldn’t they just let it be what it was: necessary, fun, pleasurable? “Why?”

Layla turned her head, but didn’t move her gaze to Donovan and he thought she might move away from the window, give him her full attention, but then the Rent-a-Cop stepped closer, one turn and he’d be in their line of sight and Layla jerked back, leaned against the wall next to the window to avoid Walter. Donovan didn’t move, barely glanced at the guy when he squinted over the window, disregarding Donovan as soon as he saw him as just another cafeteria worker. He could feel Layla watching him, felt the quick flash of heat even as she shot him a scrutinizing glance, so he moved his eyes to the right, cocking that side of his mouth up as if to say “continue”.

“You wouldn’t understand.” She said it flippantly, more to herself than to him as she ran her boot heel against the baseboard at her feet.

“Why not?”

“Because, Donovan…” She pushed off of the wall, came to his side but stood far enough away that the heat he felt from her disappeared completely. “You don’t have any shame whatsoever.”

He could only manage to stare at her. She cut him so low sometimes. She always had and, yeah, sure, most of the time she was only defending herself, reacting to the shit he gave her. But this time, her words bit into his skin, enraging him, frustrating him because they were true. Because she knew him better than he wanted her to. “Do you always have to talk to me like you think I’m a piece of shit?”

“Stop being so sensitive.”

He surged toward her, slamming the pantry door shut when she tried walking through it. “Stop being such a bitch.”

That stopped her quick, he knew it would. Layla hated being called a bitch almost as much as Donovan being told to fuck off. But her anger only made her skin seem brighter and the heaving of her chest had Donovan itching to touch her. That frown though, the quick scowl jerking her top lip up, told Donovan she didn’t want that from him, that she likely didn’t want a damn thing from him. “God, I can’t stand you. You’re a vile, annoying, entitled asshole.”

“Say what you want, Layla, but I know the truth.” He beat her to the door, holding it closed when she huffed out a breath and reached for the doorknob and that huff became of moan as he curled his fingers around her small waist.

“I know where you live, sweetheart.” He moved her tiny body so that she was staring back out of the window with Donovan nestled behind her. “Those moans, the way you touch me, you can’t fake that shit. I’ve seen you like nobody else has, Layla and I’m getting damn tired of you pretending you don’t like me.”

“I don’t.” She bristled at his words, threw her elbow back into his stomach. “I hate you.”

“Yeah? Funny how you don’t say that when I’m inside you, making you scream.”