Layla

I bring my hand up to her cheek. “I’m good,” I say, brushing my thumb over her mouth. “There’s just a rock or something digging into my back.” I roll her over so that I’m looking down at her now. “Maybe we can finish this later tonight. In our bed.”

She smiles. “Or right now in our bed.” She pushes me off her and then stands up. She’s wobbly when she’s on her feet, so I stand up and steady her. She brings a hand to her forehead. “Wow. I am so drunk.”

I help her back to the house, hoping she’s too drunk to want to continue this upstairs.

She doesn’t forget, though.

She starts kissing me as soon as we’re inside the house. She tucks her hands into my jeans and tugs me toward the Grand Room. “Let’s just do it on the couch,” she says.

I pause, wondering where Willow is right now. It feels weird, knowing she can see this.

I don’t want to fuck Layla in the Grand Room. I don’t want to fuck Layla at all right now. It feels awkward, knowing someone else is in this house with us. Layla is loud during sex when she thinks we’re alone. And yes, technically we’re alone, but we’re not.

Our vacation here isn’t over, though, and I can’t avoid having sex with her for the remainder of our trip. She’ll know something is up. She’ll take it personal. And the last thing I want is for her to start feeling like I made her feel in the airplane bathroom.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I say, pulling her away from the door to the Grand Room and toward the staircase. She pouts, but lets me take her hand. She holds on to the railing all the way up the stairs. I hold on to her because I don’t want her to fall.

When we get to the bedroom, I close the door, confident that Willow remained downstairs.

Layla takes off her jeans and kicks them toward the bed. She pulls her shirt off, but gets caught up in it and almost falls. I help her out of her shirt. She’s laughing when I toss it to the floor.

That’s when Layla gets my full attention. She’s in a good mood. She’s laughing. She’s drunk and carefree in this moment. It’s very rare that Layla lets loose like this anymore. I can count on one hand the times I’ve heard her giggle since her surgery.

I like it. I miss it.

Maybe this house and this vacation really are helping us.

I kiss her this time, and I’m relieved when I do, because all the want is back inside me. I force Willow out of my mind and focus on Layla as much as I possibly can. She wrestles my shirt off me, and we’re still standing next to the bed when I unfasten her bra. She presses her body against mine, and we kiss until I can feel her becoming unbalanced, her body leaning to the right.

She gasps as I spin her around and bend her over the mattress. Her gasp is followed by a giggle, and my God, I love that sound so much. I don’t even remove her panties. I just pull them aside and then shove myself into her like I’m afraid this feeling will pass if I don’t rush it.

She moans, and it’s loud, and I don’t want her to be loud tonight. I reach around and cover her mouth with my hand as I fuck her. All the noises she makes remain stifled against the palm of my hand.

I don’t make a single noise when I come.

And then when I roll her onto her back and reach between her legs, I kiss her the whole time I’m touching her.

Willow may be in the back of my mind, but that means she’s still in my mind, and for whatever reason, I don’t want her hearing this right now.

When we’re finished, I fall on top of her, breathing heavily. Layla is running her fingernails down my back, but my eyes are closed, my face pressed into the mattress.

I should be satiated, but I’m full of impatience, even still.

I want to go downstairs and talk to Willow.

I think about that—how I brought Layla back to this place so I could focus on her, but that focus is beginning to blur.

Layla has a right to know what’s going on in this house around her. She’s ignorant of Willow’s presence. Ignorant of Willow’s use of her body at night. Ignorant of my culpability in the situation.

Yet I do nothing to change any of that.

Layla shoves against my chest until I roll onto my back. She walks to the bathroom to clean herself up. I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling, wondering how long it’ll be before Layla goes to sleep. It’s not very late. Four margaritas would normally be enough to ensure she calls it an early night, but she slept until eleven this morning.