I only managed to nod in agreement before I was walking right next to him on our way to the elevators. He had two keycards in his hand with the duffel pulled over a shoulder like a purse and his other hand was wrapped around my suitcase handle. "Do we have two different rooms?" I asked him, before I even realized that the words were on my lips. I had thought we were sharing a room.
Green eyes bore into mine while we waited for the doors to open up. "No, we're sharing one," he said, and a thick shiver of pleasure ran through my body. My whole being noticed that he didn't ask me if it was okay that we were sharing one, or even made excuses as to why we weren't in two different rooms. He was just telling me and I fucking loved it.
I was sure my face turned a shade of pink only found in nature on roses, but I could care less; my smile probably rivaled that of a person in a mental institution. "Okay."
The smile on his face that he gave me in return wasn't remotely friendly, I could tell by the look in his eyes and it made my armpits start to sweat. The elevator doors opened up that instant, breaking me out of the trance I was in as a result of that indecipherable smile. Moments later, he swiped the keycard and pushed the door open to reveal a spacious room with a king-sized bed set against the opposite wall with a big screen television facing it. The hotel was much nicer than any of the budget hotels I'd been used to staying at in the past, so I was happy.
"I'm going to jump in the shower," he said, dropping his bag onto the floor by the television and heading to the door across from the bed, which I could only assume to be the bathroom.
The door shut but didn't lock, and I opened up my suitcase to pull out my pajamas so I could shower once he was done. My skin had this super gross feeling from the airplane. I'd always believed that the recycled air in planes left residue on my skin, but I tended to imagine things sometimes, so I tried not to think too much of it. I realized seconds later that there was a problem— my pajamas were missing. The rest of my clothes were neatly packed away courtesy of Nicole, but the shorts, tank top, and sports bra I had set aside were gone. I don't know why I looked through my suitcase again, like the items would magically appear if I pulled everything out the second time but nothing was in there.
My phone was out and pressed against my ear faster than I could physically say, "Nicole," in my worst impression of a growl.
Two rings later, the sultry voice I recognized belonging to my favorite blonde was on the other line. "Hey asshole, what's up?"
"Did you forget to pack something in my bag?" I whispered into the phone.
The bitch laughed in response. "Oh, I didn't forget. Trust me, babe."
I groaned into the phone, looking through my suitcase once more. "Damn it, Nikki. Fine, I'll call you later."
A throaty chuckle answered me before she said, "Love you, Kat. Have fun."
I powered off my phone before I heard the dial tone. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There weren't any tank tops or sports bras in my bag. This was a disaster. I couldn't sleep with a normal bra on or anything with tight sleeves. Call me claustrophobic or whatever you will, but it was one of the few things I was picky about. Everything in my suitcase was too dressy to sleep in, so I was going to have to resort to asking Tristan to borrow one of his shirts and letting the girls hang out overnight.
"Were you on the phone?" Tristan's voice rasped from the doorway to bathroom.
I looked up and immediately wished that I hadn't.
I sucked in a breath so deep I was surprised there was any oxygen left in the room.
He stood leaning against the doorframe with a towel wrapped around his slim hips and nothing else… unless you counted the hundreds of water droplets that were coating the surface of his perfect, borderline pale body. How the hell was he so ripped? Why didn't he have the courtesy to dry off? Damn. I couldn't remember ever hearing him mention going to exercise at all, and there was no way that body wasthat goodout of the result of just good genes. If it was, the world and higher beings were totally unfair. My eyes focused in on the deep V-shape of muscle that started high on his hips before disappearing underneath the wrap of white around him.
"Do you work out?" I spit out stupidly.
He laughed deep from within his chest, causing his abs to contract in a way that made them look impossibly better. "Everyday before work," he huffed out, grinning.
I nodded, because I didn't trust myself to respond with appropriate words and stood up quickly remembering my shower and pajama issue. "Hey, can I borrow a shirt or something to sleep in? I guess I, uh, left my pajamas at home."
He quirked an eyebrow but nodded. "Sure," he turned and dropped to his haunches to look through his bag.
A pair of black boxer briefs flew onto the bed and then a soft, old white t-shirt appeared being flung in my direction. I wanted to say something about the fact that he'd chosen a white shirt out of all the colored ones he'd brought with him, but I didn't and just smirked. His cheeks and ears blossomed into a light pink color at my expression like he knew I caught onto his bullshit, but he turned back toward his bag immediately while I headed into the bathroom.
The water was hot and relaxing while I washed and shaved away the nasty feeling on me from the plane ride. I slipped on Tristan's shirt to see that it was loose and long enough to barely cover my ass cheeks. Sure you could have seen my nipples through the material if you stared, but I'd already gotten undressed in front of him before so it wasn't a big deal. Right? After I pulled on my hot pink boyshorts, brushed out my hair and then teeth, I opened the door and walked into the room to find him sprawled underneath the covers of the bed watching the television. The room was lit only by the lamp next to him. His chest was still bare above where the comforter lay pulled up to pecs.
I smiled at him and walked toward the other side of the bed, slipping under the covers so that a good two or three feet of mattress separated the two of us. His dark head of hair lulled to the side to look at me. "Are you ready to go to bed so we can get up early?"
"Sure," I told him.
He turned off the television and reached over to turn off the lamp on the side table before the darkness engulfed the room. Only the noises we caused shifting under the covers sounded before his husky voice cleared. "Goodnight, Kat."
"Night," I mumbled out, rolling over so that I faced his side of the bed.
I closed my eyes and immediately envisioned Tristan's sopping wet body against the doorframe again while I fell asleep. It seemed that almost immediately once my eyes were closed, I was dreaming of Tristan possibly for the first time. He was leaning over me, like he had been the day before when we were talking about the reasons why he quit, but he was whispering dirty things into my ear and grinding against me. I kept calling his name with each dry thrust and even in my dream it felt amazing.
At some point, my mind started to wake up when the rubbing felt a little too real.
Just like at the end of my hot yoga classes, it seemed like every inch of my body slowly awakened, every nerve heightened to the heat and the cold that lapped against it. It started from the cold tips of my toes and slowly ran up my exposed calves and then thighs, which were pressed from behind by muscle, hair, andoh my god,something thick, hard, and long rubbing gently against my bottom. The blanket was kicked to the end of the bed so the cold air of the room washed over me, or technically us, I guessed, but it only caused me to revel in the warmth behind me that much more.
