LAYLA’S POV
Heat floods my face so fast I have no chance of stopping it.
I look away.
“You’re just saying that,” I mumble toward the wall, “to get what you want.”
His hands release mine and his fingers find my chin, tilting my face back toward him.
When I finally meet his eyes, he’s watching me with this gaze that does significantly more damage than the kissing does.
“Am I?”
“Edward, we really should—”
His lips crash into mine, hot and demanding, swallowing the rest of my protest.
“Wait, mmph—” I try to pull back. Try to find enough space to form a word, a coherent thought, anything. He doesn’t give me the space.
For a few stubborn seconds, I keep protesting, hands pushing weakly at his chest, words turning into incoherent sounds that vibrate between our lips. But the fight drai
