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“Wanna tell me about it?” I breathe against her hair.
She shakes her head again, but she draws a breath like a sob and starts talking. “You were tied in the basement, and I was there, but nobody could see me but you. And they were killing you. Slowly. Blow by blow. You were covered in blood, you were calling for me, and…” Another sob. “And I did nothing.”
“That’s not true,” I said, my chest tightening. “You did so much, Lay. You saved my life.”
“In the dream, you said… You said, I can’t do this, Layla.”
Shit. No way am I telling her what I decided, not now. And I can’t bear seeing her like this. It’s fucking breaking me apart.
I hug her closer. “It’ll be okay, Lay. You’ll see.”
***
She quiets as I rub circles over her back. She’s also half-naked, plastered over me, and her tits press into my chest. The robe has fallen over one pale shoulder, revealing the soft curve of her breast.
My dick is swelling fast in my pants, and now is not the right time, dammit.
“Did the pills the doctor give you help?” I ask quietly, stroking her hair. “With the nausea?”
She nods. “I think so.”
Good. How can I help her? I mean, if one of the guys was sick and in a funk, I’d put them a nice action movie on TV and endure their crappy mood throughout until they got better.
But Layla is a girl. Unknown species.
I’ve never had sisters to get to know how the female mind works. And since I grew up enough to know where to put my dick, I’ve focused on the female body. Studied it. Worshipped it.
But that isn’t helping Layla. She’s so emotional right now I don’t know what the hell to do.
I could ask Raylin. She’s a girl. She’s definitely a girl. She might have some fucking advice. What if I asked someone about this? It grates to admit it, but I’m lost at sea.
“Just remember we have a date. An official date,” I remind her, “after all this is over.”
“With candles?” she whispers.
“Lots of candles. And music.”
“What sort?” She sounds doubtful.
“Whatever you like.”
She’s silent for a long moment. Then her hand slips under my T-shirt, tickling my abs. “Hawk?”
“Hm?”
She swallows, moving her hand lower, and fuck, it lands on my dick.
My very hard dick.
And she moans.
“Lay…”
“Want you,” she whispers, and hell if my dick doesn’t twitch and throb in reply.
God, what is she doing to me? Without another thought, I bend my head and crush my mouth to hers, thrusting my tongue between her lips.
Oh fuck, yes. Her hands are on my chest, at the waistband of my pants, and I push the robe off her. I helpfully tear my T-shirt off and push down my pants, and her hand is again on my dick, and hell, yeah.
