Her touch, her taste

Lucius practically dragged Layla out of the bar after paying the bill. "Let go of me, Lucius. My feet hurt. I'll walk slowly, like a tortoise," she mumbled.

He stared at her, stunned. They weren't walking anywhere; they were just waiting for a taxi. He noticed her flushed cheeks and sighed. 'What in the world did she drink this time?'

"Damn it! I should've kept an eye on her," he muttered, pulling her closer into his embrace. "No one's walking, Layla. Your head's spinning," he said softly, tightening his hold around her. When the taxi finally arrived, Lucius helped her into the car.

Once they reached the cottage, Lucius carried her inside, cradling her in his arms like a bride, while she continued to ramble on about random things.

"Are you leaving me?" Layla asked as he gently set her down on the bed.

"No," Lucius replied, kneeling to remove her sneakers.