I grab her thigh, hooking it around my hip without asking, grinding into her, letting her feel exactly how hard I am. I drawl against her lips, my voice thick with need, "Damn, I missed the way you fit me, sugar."
She barely gets out between kisses, "How am I supposed to be smart when you kiss me like this?"
I chuckle, then say, "You're not. So stop trying."
She softly laughs, then kisses me back with a new ferocity, gripping my shirt tighter.
When I finally tear my lips from hers, I'm out of breath. I keep my face close, warning, "No matter what's happened in the past, you're mine. Deep down, you know it."
She blinks several times, her eyes glistening in the holiday lights.
With my pulse pounding between my ears, I move her to the passenger seat, peck her on the forehead, and order, "Get in, sugar."
She doesn't resist. She never could when I kissed her like that.
I shut her door, hurry around the truck, and get in. I start the engine and pull away from the curb.
Thick silence crackles with tension during the short ride to the motel. My fingers flex around the steering wheel, and I steal glances at her every few seconds.
She chews her bottom lip, staring out the window, but it's frosted over. The only thing visible is the blurred glow of the lights on the buildings.
Knots pull tighter in my gut. My pulse is louder than the rumbling engine. I squeeze her hand and assert, "Stop trying to figure out how to get rid of me tonight."
She slowly turns and meets my eyes.
I tease, "I know you don't want to have to beg me for a New Year's Eve kiss."
She breaks into a smile, and laughs. "You wish."
I kiss the back of her hand, then refocus on the white road. After several miles, the run-down motel finally comes into view. I park near the front office, and leave the engine on.
I clear my throat, forcing a grin to mask my fear. "Stay put. And don't go making a run for it. I ain't chasing you through snow in cowboy boots."
She smirks. "That might be fun to watch with your limp."
I warn, "Don't test me, sugar." I climb out and head into the office. My nerves gnaw my insides.
The same clerk from years ago is still behind the desk. He's greasier than a plate of fairground fries, but he doesn't ask questions. He never did.
I hand him cash, sign the form, and pocket the key to room number eight. It's the same room we used to sneak off to when neither of us wanted to be found.
I return to the truck, park farther down, and nod toward the row of doors. "Secured good old room number eight. The lobby still smells like smoke and bad decisions. Just like we left it." I wink.
Nerves stamp across her face, flaring hotter.
I lower my voice, coaxing, "Relax, sugar."
Her gaze darts to the room, then back to me. "Maybe we shouldn't relive bad decisions."
"We weren't a bad decision," I firmly state, my heart racing faster.
"Weren't we?" she questions.
"No," I assert.
Pressure swells in my chest, seizing my breath until it's sharp. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek, and declare, "I'm going inside. Nothing bad ever happened there. No matter what choices we made in the past, that room was always filled with love."
She blinks hard and scrunches her forehead.
