𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝘿𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂

𝐂𝐀𝐈𝐍 [ 𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐧 ]

Cain would do almost anything for Layla.

However, he did find himself checking his watch more often than not while Layla swept in and out of the racks of expensive looking clothes. He wasn't worried about the cost, money didn't mean anything to him. He wondered if that made him a pretentious asshole.

Probably.

"Look at this." Layla thrust a black tank top his way. "Do you like it? It's like yours but my size. Should I get it? I think I might. It'll be useful for missions. I don't want my boobs hanging out when I kill someone."

He spluttered, hand pausing as he was reaching for the top clutched in her hands. He gave her an unimpressed look.

"You didn't have to tell me that."

She looked up at his silence, shrugging unashamedly.

"What?" She said defensively. "It's happened before. I mean, I wasn't embarrassed because they look really good, just so you know, but it was still annoying. And then I had to tuck them back in after the fight, which was the actual embarrassing part."

"I didn't need to know that." Cain said under his breath, covering his face in exasperation.

It was also an excellent cover for hiding the blush that scattered across his nose. The thought of her-

No.

"I think you should get it." Cain tried again. "If you want it, put it in the basket."

She examined it again, scanning it with scrutiny. Apparently it was up to her standards, for she chucked it into the basket he held in his hand.

"I'll get one in white as well." She nodded. "I look good in white."

Layla threw another top in and scampered off to the underwear aisle. Cain examined the clothes already piled in the basket. She really did intend to rob him.

He didn't mind though. It filled him with a sick send of satisfaction that he was buying her things she would be wearing.

Layla came back, clutching multiple bras and things. He spied a flash of lace and silk before it was dumped into the basket. He felt slightly faint as he stared at the skimpy materials.

"Is that all?" He said, voice rough and hoarse.

"Absolutely not." Layla said, looking disgusted. "We still have a lot more to get through."

Cain scowled as he lifted up a lavender, lace bra, as if the object itself was offensive. It was rather pretty, intricate and soft between his fingers.

"You sure you don't want to get something more practical?" He let it slip off his finger and drop back into the basket.

"Once again, we will get to it." Layla emphasised. "Now stop rushing me, you're acting weird."

"I'm not being weird." He flared his nostrils.

"Yeah you are." She replied matter-of-factly as she stroked a finger down an expensive looking pair of boots. "You're being weird and nervous. It's making me nervous too. What are you stressed about?"

He gazed at her heart rate quickening at the caring tone of her last sentence. In that moment, Cain wanted nothing more than to pull her tight to his body. He wanted to feel each contour of her body against his, wanted to ball her up and lock her up, so that no one but him could even look at her. Only an artist such as himself could appreciate the masterpiece she was.

"I'm not stressed." He said gruffly. "Now hurry up so we can go ho-"

Cain cut himself off, almost saying home. He ignored the rush of embarrassment and continued on.