After leaving the rest stop, I booked us a room online while Aiden drove. Instead of reserving two beds, I chose a king. It doesn’t feel presumptuous to assume we’ll be sleeping together tonight.
About thirty minutes later, we arrive in Dayton, Illinois, off I-80. We’ve been hand-in-hand the whole time, sneaking flirtatious glances, and desire building between us like wildfire.
When we arrive at the hotel, I check us in while Aiden unloads the van. After getting the keys, I take our bags from him, follow him down the hall, then open the door to the room and hold it open while Aiden wrangles the cat’s carrier and portable litter box.
I kick off my shoes and set our bags down by the bathroom door while he places the cat carrier in the corner and opens the latch.
Maisy rushes out first, her tail flicking back and forth, already exploring the corners. Daisy comes out more cautiously, sniffing around, deciding whether to trust another new place.
Aiden turns around, wiping his hands on his pants, and freezes when he sees the single bed. His eyes flick to mine, and one brow lifts as he gives me a heated look.
“Thinking you’re gonna get lucky, baby?” he winks, nodding toward the bed.
“I was hoping so,” I tease, my voice already lower than it was a minute ago.
“Oh, I can guarantee with absolute certainty, you’re going to get lucky… and then some.”
We close the distance, finally surrendering to the magnetism that pulls us together with undeniable force. He grips my hips, pulling me flush against him, and kisses me deeply. No hesitation, no slow buildup.
I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as I grind against him, need pulsing through me like a live wire. I’m riding a hair-trigger here, and if I don’t calm myself down, this is going to be over before it starts.
“God, I want you so bad,” Aiden murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, then trailing down my jaw.
I arch my neck, offering him everything. And he finds it—thatspot—just below my ear, the one that short-circuits my brain and makes my pulse spike.
“Oh, fuck, that’s the spot,” I gasp, trembling as he sucks gently on my skin.
“This spot?” he whispers, flicking his tongue along the sensitive curve of my neck. “I remember this spot.” Another kiss, a lick, a scrape of his teeth. “This is my spot, right?”
“It’salwaysbeen yours,“ I breathe. “Never anyone else’s. I swear. Only yours.”
A low, possessive growl vibrates against my skin as he pulls me even closer, claiming me in all the ways I’ve been starving for.
His hands slide up my sides, his fingertips brushing along my ribs, making me shiver.
This isn’t just sex; it’s our history. It’s pouring every ounce of want we’ve been carrying—the longing, the love, the ache of being apart—into the most intimate way two people can say I’m yours.
With everything we’ve been through, everything we are… I want to savor this.
“Baby, I need your skin on me,” he mutters, his voice rough with need as his hands find the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head.
His comes off just as fast, flung somewhere toward the bed.
I barely glimpse his glorious sculpted chest before our mouths crash together again, and everything else disappears.
The fronts of our bodies meet in an exquisite slide of skin on skin. Every inch of him is heat and muscle. I want to touch every part of him that I can reach. My hands move instinctively, roaming, grabbing, trying to memorize him all over again.
His back is smooth and warm under my palms, his chest dusted with soft hair that prickles against my fingertips, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I can feel a shiver run through him. It’s intoxicating.
He pulls back just enough to look down, his eyes dark and wild as they trace over me, my bare skin, flushed chest, the hard line of need straining through my sweats.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes locking on mine. “You’re my goddamn wet dream.”
I can’t even fathom how he could think that. I want to believe him, but the insecure part of me still struggles. After everything,why me? I’m average, at best. But he’s here. He’s choosing me, and he’s with me right now. I have to keep reminding myself of that.
We’re still standing in the middle of the hotel room. We haven’t even made it to the bed. And neither of us seems to care.
His lips trail down my neck, across my collarbone. Between kisses, he inhales deeply, like he’s trying to memorize my scent, cataloging every inch of me.
