The tug on his hair was enough to draw Jamie's attention elsewhere, and he pulled back from Layla with a gasp, his face flushed, and his eyes dark. He didn't go very far, nor did he stay away for long, already pressing hurried, wet kisses to her neck. His hand slipped from her back and down under the waistband of her pajamas -- under, even, the flimsy material of her panties -- to grab her, greedily.

"Layla?" he said, his voice lilting in a pleading question, half muffled in the press of his mouth to hers. It was only her name, but it was clear enough what he was asking for -- permission, direction.