Page 87 of Masked Sins
Layla leans against the back wall of the kitchen, watching me with an open expression. A pensive shimmer passes behind hereyes, and I drink in her outfit—black yoga shorts and a brick-red tank top that matches the shade of her hair. Her glasses are perched on her nose, and her long hair is thrown up into a loose bun.
She becomes increasingly uneasy under my scrutiny, awkwardly clearing her throat before pushing off the wall.
“S-sorry about earlier,” she says while looking at the floor.
I finish drying my hands on the towel before slowly walking over to where she’s standing. She squirms—visibly—and my eyes clock the way her throat bobs, the way she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. I keep my expression neutral as I get closer, as Irelishin the way she begins to blush after her eyes flick to my sweatpants.
I’m fucking addicted to this version of her—of the stammering, unsure, shy,arousedversion of her.
I am so fucked.
“I got turned around, and I didn’t realize I’d stumbled into your room until—until?—”
Her voice is small, almost feeble. The corners of my mouth quirk up as I stop a foot away from her, arms crossed.
“Until what?” I ask, fully smirking now.
“I didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t?—”
I reach out and place a finger under her chin. “Are you saying it was an accident?” I ask, my voice a low purr.
She swallows as her eyes flick between mine, trying to ascertain my mood.
Tell me it was an accident,I want to tell her.Tell me you didn’t mean to watch me. Tell me you didn’t take a cold shower or wish you could have been in that shower with me as I pumped into your cunt.
I dare you.
“Layla?” I ask, eyes on her lips as she opens and closes her mouth.
She has such a pretty fucking mouth.
“Of course it was an accident,” she rushes out, cheeks red. “Anyway, I’m sorry, and it will never happen again.”
My ears ring, and I can’t help but think back to the day of her audition. For some reason, her eyes have that same cloud of resolve around them, and it terrifies me.
I don’t ever want to see you again.
I shut down.
I have to.
This was a terrible idea. How did I ever think I could face rejection from her again after what happened? After she rejected me twice before?
I drop my hand as disappointment fills me. “Of course,” I answer, my voice cold. “Breakfast is ready. Take a seat.”
“I’m not?—”
“Sit down now,” I practically growl. Her eyes go wide, and I pull my emotions close, feeling guilty for lashing out. “You’re hungry. So eat.”
Her eyes flash briefly before they flick downward. “Okay.”
I walk back over to my kitchen island and pull a stool out for her to sit on, and she sits without saying anything else. I slide a plate of waffles over to her, topped with strawberries, syrup, and powdered sugar. Once she realizes what’s in front of her, those gorgeous hazel eyes snap back to mine.
“You made waffles.”
I dip my chin and walk my plate over to the chair next to her. “I remembered that you used to like them.” Sitting down, I begin to eat, and Layla stabs a strawberry with her fork before looking up at me.
“They’re my favorite,” she says, chewing.
