A voice in the back of his mind wondered what the point was, but he didn't need telling twice in spite of the pervasive sense of doubt that kept wondering if she was going to follow through with anything, her rejection from Mardi Gras hard to forget even now. Feet planted on the floor, he leaned back against her, lifting his hips off up the mattress just long enough to push his pants down to the floor, kicking them off to the side. His underwear -- black boxer-briefs which should've really surprised no one -- stayed where they were for the time being, though they weren't hiding much.

On a whim, Jamie turned to look over his shoulder, his lips grazing her cheekbone as he tried to keep his breaths measured. It was more difficult than he'd anticipated, Layla as frustrating in this context as in any other. It was part of her charm.