Worry about it

Ethan decides to worry about it. Sitting up slightly, putting a precious few inches between him and Layla, he tries to firm up his resolve rather than his dick. "No. What did you mean by that?"

Layla stops, her blue eyes twitching. Sighing, she pulls herself back, seating herself still very close to Ethan without climbing on top of him. "Ah, um..." she rubs her shoulder sheepishly, the older woman suddenly feeling quite young. "The truth then... Oh boy... I'm not even sure where to start."

Ethan fights the urge to say 'at the start', but manages to keep his mouth closed. Layla's body language continues to shift, and Ethan finds himself stuck on that just as much as her words. She seems to him to be almost worried.

Averting her eyes, Layla starts. "It didn't start out... I wasn't trying for it, I swear but..." she sighs, shaking her head. "One thing led to another, and I think we sort of tip our hands more than we intended..."

Ethan raises his brow, thoroughly confused.

Layla lets out a soft snort, then turns and reaches towards her coffee table. Following her movements with his eyes, Ethan watches her pick up her cell phone, something he hadn't noticed sitting there. But with a view like Layla, missing it isn't too shamefully.

"I think it's best I show you..." she fiddles with her phone then lifts herself up to her feet. "I'll be upstairs in my bedroom... if you don't like what you see, leave my phone behind and, well, I'm sure you'll see yourself out... But if you are interested..." she shrugs slightly, then holds out her phone. "I'm sorry, Ethan."

Ethan watches her leave, her hips having a notable amount less than their normal sway to them. Turning his attention to the phone in his hand, Ethan feels bewildered. What exactly is going on?