Over and Over

Love

MALÉ,
MALDIVES.

NARRATORS POV

Layla awoke to the scent of something warm and sweet filling the air.

Her lashes fluttered open, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

The room was quiet, save for the distant sound of birds outside and the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore.

For a moment, she just lay there, her body sinking into the plush bedding, her mind hazy with sleep. And then—

The scent of honey.

And coffee.

And something else.

She turned her head—and froze.

Hakeem stood at the foot of the bed, holding a tray.

A breakfast tray.

Layla blinked.

He was out of his sling. The cast was gone. His arm was free, moving easily as he set the tray down on the small table beside her.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said, his voice smooth, teasing. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep the entire honeymoon away."

Layla pushed herself up slightly, and slightly screamed.

Her body protested immediately, a deep, unfamiliar soreness settling into her muscles, pulling a soft gasp from her lips before she could stop it.

Hakeem noticed at once.

"Easy," he said, already moving closer.

Before she could insist she was fine, his hands were on her, warm, steady, one arm sliding behind her back, the other bracing her carefully as he helped her sit up. His touch was unhurried, practiced, almost reverent, as though he knew exactly where she might ache.

She became painfully aware of two things at the same time.

One, how much she needed the support.

And two, khe was shirtless.

Her eyes flicked down despite herself.

Smooth skin. Defined muscle. The slow, lazy stretch of his shoulders as he adjusted his hold on her.

Oh no.

Her cheeks burned instantly, and she looked away, mortified.

Hakeem, of course, noticed.

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips.

"Sore?" he asked innocently.

Layla cleared her throat, refusing to meet his gaze. "I—I'm fine."

"Mmm," he hummed, unconvinced. He reached for the tray and picked up a small glass of water and two tablets. "Just in case," he added, pressing them gently into her palm. "Painkillers."

Her fingers brushed his.

The contact sent an unwelcome reminder through her body, and she froze again.

His smile widened, absolutely shameless now.

"You know," he said lightly, "for someone who pretends to be so composed, you were very... expressive last night."

"HAKEEM."

She turned to glare at him, horrified, mortification flooding her entire face. "Why would you say that?!"

He laughed softly, deeply pleased, leaning closer, elbows resting on his knees as he studied her flushed expression. "Relax," he teased. "I'm just appreciating my wife."