EPISODE 3- Last Meal
(Layla's POV)
The taste of him was still on my lips. Sandalwood and mint and something darker, something uniquely Ethan. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, my fingers tracing the slight, tender swell of my bottom lip. The girl staring back had wild, sleep-tousled hair and eyes that held a secret I could still feel throbbing between my legs. A secret that smelled like leather seats and cool night air.
A frantic knocking jolted me from the memory. "Layla! Mail came! It's thick!" My mother's voice, a mixture of excitement and barely-contained anxiety, echoed from the other side of the door.
I pulled my robe tighter, the fabric rough against my oversensitive skin. Avalon University. The envelope sat on the kitchen table, a pristine white rectangle that held my entire future. My mother hovered, her hands wringing a dish towel. Her eyes, so like mine but etched with years of cautious living, darted from the letter to my face.
"Well? Open it!"
My hands trembled as I tore the flap. The words "Congratulations" and "We are pleased to offer you admission" blurred for a second before snapping into devastating clarity. A sound halfway between a sob and a laugh escaped me. "I'm in. Mom, I got in."
She pulled me into a fierce hug, her relief a palpable force. "Oh, sweetheart! I knew it! Your father would be so…" She trailed off, the old grief momentarily dimming her joy. She pulled back, her gaze sharpening, studying me. "You were out late. Everything okay? You seemed… distracted this morning."
The ghost of Ethan's hands on my hips, his demanding mouth, the way he'd groaned my name against my skin—it all flashed before my eyes. Distracted. That was one word for it. "Just prom stuff. You know. Loud music. Too much punch." The lie tasted ash in my mouth.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, a mother's uncanny radar pinging. But the victory of the acceptance letter was too big. She let it go. "We'll celebrate tonight. I'll make your favorite." She bustled off, leaving me alone with the letter and the echoes of the night before.
The following weeks were a blur of ceremonies and goodbyes. Graduation caps tossed into a humid sky, each one a promise of a new beginning. I stood in my robe, the polyester scratchy in the heat, and let the speeches wash over me. Future. Potential. Destiny. Empty words. My future felt like it was already tied to the backseat of a black Audi, my destiny to the feel of a certain pair of piercing blue eyes on me.
And then I felt them.
A prickle raced up my spine, a primal awareness that had nothing to do with the sun beating down on my shoulders. I turned my head, scanning the crowd of families and graduates.
There.
He stood apart from the throng, leaning against an ancient oak tree as if the entire ceremony was beneath him. Ethan. He wasn't wearing a cap and gown, just dark jeans and a simple black tee that stretched across the broad plane of his chest. His arms were crossed, his gaze locked directly on me. It wasn't a casual look. It was a predator's stare, intense, possessive, and it stripped away the graduation robe, the crowd, the heat, until it felt like it was just him and me and the memory of what we'd done.
My breath hitched. My skin flushed, a wave of heat that had nothing to do with the summer sun and everything to do with the way his eyes darkened as they traveled slowly, deliberately, down my body. He'd seen every inch of me. He knew what sounds I made when I fell apart. And he was reminding me.
Chloe followed my gaze and elbowed me. "Whoa. Marshall alert. He's staring at you like you're his last meal. Again." She lowered her voice. "You never did give me the full parking lot details. Spill. Was it… life-altering?"
Life-altering. The words were too small. There were no words for the raw, shocking rightness of him inside me, the way my body had convulsed around his, the guttural sound he made when he came. "It was something," I whispered, my voice hoarse.
The ceremony ended in a cacophony of cheers and airhorns. A sea of people surged forward, parents finding graduates, friends hugging. I lost sight of him for a moment, pulled into a hug by my beaming mother. When I looked back, he was gone. A sharp, unexpected pang of disappointment lanced through me.
Then my phone buzzed in the pocket of my robe.
A single, stark line from an unknown number. A number I knew by heart now.
> > The parking lot. Now. Same car.
My heart slammed against my ribs. He was here. He'd come for me. The acceptance letter, my mother's pride, my carefully planned future—it all faded into static. There was only this pulse, this throbbing, desperate need he'd awoken in me.
"Mom, I, uh… Chloe and I are going to grab a coffee. To celebrate," I lied, the words tumbling out too fast.
She smiled, misty-eyed. "Of course, honey. Be home for dinner."
I didn't run. I walked, my legs carrying me on autopilot through the dispersing crowd, my graduation gown feeling like a costume I was shedding. I pushed through the gates and into the senior parking lot. It was mostly empty now, the earlier chaos gone.
There it was. The black Audi. And him, leaning against the driver's side door, waiting. His eyes tracked my every step, a silent, powerful magnet pulling me in.
I stopped a foot away, my body humming with a tension so acute it was painful. The air between us crackled.
He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He simply reached out, his fingers hooking into the belt of my robe. A single, firm tug brought me flush against him. I gasped at the contact, the hard heat of his body a shock through the thin layers of cloth.
His free hand came up, his thumb brushing my lower lip, a mirror of that first night. His eyes were black with hunger. "I can't stop thinking about it," he growled, his voice low and rough. "The way you felt. The way you taste."
His words were a match to gasoline. My hands found his arms, gripping the solid muscle there. "Ethan…"
"Tell me you want it again." His command was absolute, leaving no room for doubt.
I was done fighting it. Done thinking. My body knew the only answer. "Yes."
A feral grin touched his lips. In one fluid motion, he yanked open the back door of the Audi and guided me inside, his body following, crowding me in the dim, leather-scented space. The door slammed shut, plunging us into a intimate twilight.
He was on me instantly, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss that was all possession and no preamble. It was deeper, hungrier than the first time, laced with the frustration of weeks apart. His tongue plunged into my mouth, and I met him with a desperation I didn't recognize in myself. My cap tumbled off, my robe was pushed from my shoulders. His hands were under my dress, hiking the cheap polyester up my thighs.
"I need to be inside you," he breathed against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "Now."
His fingers found the waistband of my panties and pulled, the fabric tearing with a faint sound that made me moan. He fumbled with his own jeans, the rasp of his zipper loud in the quiet car. Then his hands were on my hips, lifting me, positioning me. The cold leather of the seat was a shock against my bare skin.
He paused, his cock pressing against my entrance, a promise of the exquisite friction to come. His eyes burned into mine. "Look at me."
I did. I drowned in the stormy blue of his gaze.
With a single, powerful thrust, he sheathed himself fully inside me. I cried out, my head falling back against the seat as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure-pain tore through me. He was so deep, filling me completely, stretching me in a way that felt impossibly right.
He held still for a heartbeat, buried to the hilt, his body trembling with the effort of control. A low groan rumbled in his chest. "God, Layla. You feel even better than I remembered."
Then he began to move.
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