Layla Miller

They'd done slow. Of course, there was nothing inherently wrong with slow -- if he'd found her a couple of drinks ago, slow would have been perfectly fine. As it was, though, he'd just about had it with slow. His fingers slid further into her hair, sliding towards the nape of her neck, unmindful of the bun. The other hand, he snaked back around her waist, drawing her flush against him with no lack of intent. All of a sudden, he really regretted having led them so far away from the wall.

It probably wouldn't be his last regret.