Over and Over

JAY

EL-BAAZ MANSOR
LAYLA'S POv

I barely had a moment to collect myself before the soft click of the door behind me made me freeze. My pulse spiked—he was still there.

"Layla..." Hakeem's voice was low, deliberate, sending shivers down my spine.

I turned, my veil still clutched tightly in my hands, trying to summon composure. But composure seemed a distant memory whenever he was near.

He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne wrapping around me like a warm, dangerous embrace. "Do you know how long I've wanted to be this close to you?" His words were velvet, each syllable heavy with promise.

Before I could reply, his hand gently lifted a stray strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. The touch was soft, intimate, almost unbearably deliberate. My breath hitched.

"You're... beautiful," he murmured, his eyes dark, smoldering, devouring every inch of me. My cheeks flushed, my lips tingling from the memory of his kiss earlier.

He closed the distance between us, and my veil slipped, brushing against his chest. His fingers grazed my arm, firm yet electric, sending a wave of heat through me. I tried to step back, but his hand cupped my jaw, tilting my face toward him.

"I can't stop looking at you," he confessed, voice low and rough. "Every time I do, I..." He swallowed hard, then brushed his lips against mine—not a full kiss, just a tantalizing whisper, a tease.

My fingers trembled against his chest as he leaned in again, closer, the warmth of his body pressing into mine. His hands moved with careful boldness, tracing the curve of my waist, pulling me into him just slightly, enough to make my knees weak.

"Don't fight me," he whispered against my lips. His breath was hot, sending sparks along my skin. "I can't... I won't..."

His hands roamed just enough to make my body betray me, but not enough to cross the line. My veil fell completely to the floor, forgotten, as he gently brushed his fingers through my hair, tilting my head to capture my lips again in a soft, searing kiss.

The corridor seemed to vanish. All I could feel was him—his hands, his lips, the heat of his body, the slow, deliberate pressure of him holding me like I was fragile, like I was his world. My own hands found his shoulders, gripping him tightly, my heart hammering against my ribs as he lingered just a fraction too close, testing boundaries we both knew we shouldn't cross.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. His chest heaved, breaths shallow and uneven. "Layla..." His voice was rough with need and something softer, deeper, vulnerability I hadn't seen before. "You make me forget everything. Every rule. Every restraint. You make me want to lose control."

I could only stare, breathless, heart racing, my veil forgotten at our feet. The air between us crackled, dangerous and intoxicating, leaving me dizzy, shaking, and yet wanting more.

"Sarkin kofa," he called out, his deep voice reverberating in the quiet corridor.

The guard appeared instantly, bowing low in respect.

"Please escort her to the other chamber," Hakeem instructed with a calm authority. "Make sure her maid is with her."

I tried to shield my face with my veil, hoping to avoid the intensity of his gaze, but his next words froze me in place.

"Good night," he said softly, leaning down until his eyes met mine.

And then, with one last lingering look, he stepped back, his hand brushing mine, a light, teasing promise, and disappeared down the corridor, leaving me trembling, flushed, and utterly undone.