My palm spans the curve of her lower back, guiding her into me until there’s no space left between us. I cup her ass and hold her against me, exactly where I want her.
“Come here,” I murmur, pulling her even tighter. “I’m not done holding you yet.”
I press a kiss to her forehead, inhaling her floral scent. “I just need a minute and then we’ll shower, and I’ll clean you up.”
“You don’t?—”
“I want to take care of you. It’s my mess that I made all over you. Besides, a shower sounds nice.”
“With me?”
“Yes, with you,” I state. “We have all night in this hotel room, and I refuse to waist a second of it.”
“Okay.” She snuggles her head into my chest like she’s trying to hide her face.
I smile. Normally, I would never do this. I’m not one to cuddle post-sex and I definitely don’t get off on seeing someone wearing the proof of what I did to them. But with Madeline, instead of wanting to pull away, I need to hold her closer.
Because I like how it feels.
And damn it, I like her.
TWENTY-ONE
Madeline
I’m already dressed, suitcase packed, hair pulled back in a half-composed attempt to look like someone who didn’t spend the night being absolutely ruined in her hotel bed when a frantic knock rattles the hotel room door. It’s sharp enough to jolt my heart into my throat.
“Did you order room service?” Jesse asks, walking out of the bathroom, shirtless, hair still damp, looking like sin and trouble. Last night hits me in a rush so vivid I suck in a breath.
The way he took control, murmuring things in my ear I didn’t even know I needed to hear until he said them. Calling me his good girl, telling me to look at him, begging me to come for him. And he looked incredible without his clothes—all lean muscle and tanned skin. I can still feel the weight of his body over mine, the way he held my hips in place, the way he watched me fall apart on his cock like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Then afterward, when we finally made it to the shower, he was gentle. He washed me like I was something precious, tracing soap over my shoulders, down my arms, over my stomach.Kissing my forehead when I leaned into him, his thumb brushing my cheek when my eyes fluttered closed.
No one has ever touched me like that. No one has ever made me feel that seen. We fell asleep tangled in the sheets as soon as our heads hit the pillows.
“No,” I respond, almost forgetting he asked me a question. “I have no idea who it could be.”
The knock comes again. He shoots me a side-eye before crossing the room and peers through the peephole. When he turns back to face me, meeting my gaze, my body freezes.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s your parents.”
My eyes widen. “Here? Why?—”
I don’t have time to form a complete thought before Jesse’s opening the door. My mother sweeps in first—crisp suit, perfect hair, rigid posture, and a look that could stop a wildfire. My father lingers behind her, looking serious, composed, and holding his phone like he’s been checking it relentlessly.
My mother stops in her tracks when she sees the room. Her gaze skims over my packed bags, the destroyed bed, and a very shirtless, very damp-from-the-shower Jesse Winters standing six feet away.
Her polite, political smile doesn’t budge but her eyes sharpen.
“Madeline,” she says, voice sweet in the fakest way possible. “You didn’t answer our calls this morning.”
“I’m sorry, my ringer was off,” I answer, gaze flicking to Jesse, who is tossing his T-shirt over his head. “How did you find out my room number?”
“I told the front desk that it was an emergency,” she says breezily, adding, “Of course, they know who your father is.”
“Pretty sure that’s illegal, Mom,” I reply, arms crossing instinctively.
