Over and Over

Lust

WEYMOUTH STREET HOSPITAL,
LONDON,
UNITED KINGDOM.

NARRATORS POV

Layla didn't know what was worse—the fact that her hands still tingled from touching him, or the fact that he was still watching her, his gaze heavy, unreadable.

The room felt warmer now, like the air had thickened around them, pressing in, making it impossible to ignore what had just happened.

She swallowed, forcing herself to move, to create some distance before she did something reckless. "I'll go call the nurse—"

"Layla."

His voice stopped her.

Deep. Low. Dangerous.

She turned back slowly, already regretting it, because the moment their eyes met, she felt it again—that slow, burning tension curling between them, thick and unrelenting.

Hakeem's expression was unreadable, his jaw tight, but his eyes... his eyes were darker now, filled with something she didn't want to name.

"You should leave," he said.

Layla's fingers clenched at her sides. "Excuse me?"

His throat bobbed slightly. "Before—" He exhaled sharply, his head falling back against the pillows, eyes closing for half a second before he looked at her again. "Before you do something you'll regret."

Layla's breath caught.

Something I'll regret?

She stepped closer without thinking, her heart hammering. "What exactly do you think I'm going to do, Hakeem?"

His lips twitched like he wanted to smirk, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. "You tell me."

Layla hated the way her pulse betrayed her. Hated the way his voice sent something hot and unwelcome down her spine.

She should leave.

She shouldn't be standing this close, staring at his mouth, remembering the way his breath had hitched when her fingers brushed his skin.

But she was.

She was standing here, inches from him, his scent—clean, warm, him—curling around her, making her forget every single reason why this was a bad idea.

His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a second. But she saw it.

Felt it.

The shift. The quiet, dangerous understanding that if she leaned in just an inch more—if she let herself break just once—there would be no going back.

Layla's breath was unsteady. "You're so full of yourself."

Hakeem smirked, slow, lazy. "And yet, you're still here."

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Because he was right.

She was still here.

And the worst part?

She didn't want to leave.

Because Hakeem was still looking at her like that—like she was something dangerous, something tempting. Like she was the only thing keeping him anchored in this moment.

His smirk had faded, replaced by something else. Something raw.

"You like making my life difficult, don't you?" His voice was quiet, rough around the edges.