The air in Layla's bedroom was thick with the scent of rain and a tension that felt like a physical weight. Jade's hands were a sudden, searing heat as they slid beneath the hem of her dress, his fingers finding the silk of her underwear. Layla gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs as he began to rub her clit through the fabric, his movements rhythmic and demanding.
She leaned into him, a moan building in her throat, but Jade was faster. He pressed a hand firmly over her mouth, muffling the sound as he backed her against the wall with a dull thud. The proximity was intoxicating; the knowledge that her mother was just down the hall, perhaps turning a page in a book or sipping tea, made every nerve ending in Layla's body scream.
Jade didn't wait. He hooked a finger under the elastic of her panties and drove his index finger inside her. He was aggressive, his pace frantic and deep, pinning her body to the wall with his own. Layla's eyes drifted shut, her head lolling back as she melted into the sensation. Every thrust of his finger was a reminder of why she couldn't walk away.
"Quiet," he hissed against her ear, his voice a jagged edge of desire. "Don't let her hear you."
The risk only fueled the fire. Layla gripped his forearms, her nails digging into his skin as the climax hit her with the force of a tidal wave. She trembled against him, her breath coming in jagged hitches against his palm until she finally went limp.
Jade pulled back slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "That," he whispered, "was my apology."
The next day felt like a hollow echo. Layla moved through the motions of helping Sarah prepare for the party, her body still humming with the memory of Jade's touch. When she saw him in the driveway or passing in the hallway at school, he didn't look at her. They hadn't spoken since he climbed back out her window.
The confusion was a dull ache. One minute he was claiming her body with a ferocity that felt like ownership; the next, they were strangers again. She felt like a line of code caught in an infinite loop, no clear direction, just a constant, dizzying repetition.
By the time they arrived at Liam's place, everything was perfect. The lights were dimmed, the music was a low, sophisticated hum, and the "15 person" rule was being strictly enforced. Liam looked impressed, a rare, genuine smile breaking across his face as he surveyed the room. For a moment, Layla allowed herself to feel proud. She had built something stable here.
Layla was a vision in a short, sleeveless purple dress that clung to her curves, her hair tossed into a messy bun that highlighted the flushed glow of her cheeks. She had kept the makeup minimal, but her eyes were bright with a mixture of vodka and adrenaline.
Around 10:30 PM, she retreated to the mini-bar to fix herself a drink. Liam was already there, leaning against the counter with a bottle of vodka in hand.
"We're gonna do shots," he said, his voice steadier than she expected. He hesitated, looking at her with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Thank you for this, Layla. Seriously. I'm actually enjoying myself. It was a great idea."
"Come here," Layla said, a playful grin spreading across her face as she opened her arms.
The hug was brief, but she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her chest. When he pulled away, he didn't let go of her hands.
"Grant me a wish," Liam said, his voice dropping an octave.
"It's your birthday," Layla chuckled, feeling the buzz of the alcohol warming her limbs. "You're the boss tonight."
Liam leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from her ear. "Go on another date with me." He leaned back, his gaze searching hers. "No pressure. But think about it. Don't forget... it's my birthday."
He gave her a final, knowing look before walking away with the bottle, leaving Layla standing by the bar with a head full of questions and a heart that was starting to feel very crowded.
By 11:00 PM, the room was spinning just enough that Layla knew it was time to go. She found Sarah and Liam, shouted her goodbyes through the haze of the music, and stepped out into the cool night air.
The street was quiet, the Montreal fog rolling in low over the pavement. Layla stumbled slightly, the purple silk of her dress fluttering in the wind. Then, she saw it.
Across the street, leaning against his car with a cigarette between his lips, was Jade.
Layla stopped, blinking hard. I'm hallucinating, she thought. The vodka is finally talking back.
But the hallucination moved. Jade flicked the cigarette onto the asphalt and walked toward her, his face a mask of shadows. He didn't say a word as he reached her. He simply took off his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders, the heavy scent of him immediately grounding her.
"Get in the car," he said softly.
He drove in silence, the city lights blurring into long streaks of neon. Layla leaned her head against the window, the warmth of the jacket and the hum of the heater pulling her into a dream-like state. When they pulled into her driveway, she realized with a foggy sense of relief that her mother's car was gone, night shift at the hospital.
Jade didn't just drop her at the door. He walked her inside, his arm around her waist to keep her steady. He led her up the stairs and into her room, the same room he had invaded the night before. He gently pushed her onto the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.
"Sleep, Layla," he murmured.
As he turned to leave, Layla reached out, her fingers brushing his sleeve. "Jade?"
"Go to sleep," he repeated, his voice surprisingly soft.
She closed her eyes, falling into a deep, alcohol-heavy slumber, convinced that the boy who had just tucked her in was a ghost, a dream, or a glitch she never wanted to fix.