Layla's POV.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft patterns across the bed where I lay tangled in the sheets.
I hadn’t slept much. My mind had raced all night between fear and filthy need, replaying Marcus’s honest words, the way his fingers had brought me to orgasm while I cried, and the terrifying comfort of his hand resting on my belly.
Now, as I watched him sleep beside me, his broad chest rising and falling, one muscular arm draped possessively over my waist, the decision felt both heavier and clearer.
I wanted to stop... I needed to stop.
At least that’s what I told myself as I carefully slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom. I stared at my reflection: flushed cheeks, messy auburn hair, faint love bites on my neck and breasts from the night before. Be
