Post-nut clarity hits like a bucket of ice water as I lean against her bare breast, still panting.
“Shit.”
Christine gives a low, smug chuckle that flashes her fangs, then stands and sets me on my feet. I wobble for a moment,and she hands me her jacket as she tugs her top back over her breasts.
I tie the jacket around my waist, slinking after her as she returns to her room.
“Lucky timing,” she says coolly. “What were you going to do if I’d already left for the day?”
“Shut up,” I grumble, pushing past her as soon as the door is open. I stride to the bathroom, locking it behind me.
My shorts are…fuck, I didn’t know it was even possible to produce this much, let alone so quickly.
I scrub myself roughly in a stream of frigid water, rinse out my shorts, then wring them out as well as I can. Next, I grab the hair dryer, getting myself and my shorts as dry as possible.
As I emerge, I see a fresh set of black athletic clothes sitting on the floor just outside the door, and I ignore them. I don’t need her coddling.
I join Christine in the kitchenette where she leans against the counter, sipping from a travel mug. She’s also wearing different clothes than she was a moment ago—which I only know because I can smell the lingering whiff of detergent still clinging to these. I never fully registered her outfit before.
Her gaze travels down my body, clocking my decision, but she doesn’t comment on it.
“Give me your phone,” she says.
“Excuse me?”
She holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
Resisting her commands feels like dragging my nails down a chalkboard, and I glare and shudder for a moment before handing my phone to her. It’s not like she can do anything without my passcode.
She pulls out her phone and taps the two devices together. Mine chirps as her contact appears on the screen, and she accepts the prompt.
Christine holds my phone out toward me with a sweet smile. “Was that so hard?”
“It was pointless,” I mutter. “This won’t be happening again.” I snatch my phone back and shove it into my pocket. As long as Lana doesn’t add to the schedule, there are less than forty-eight hours left before wrap. Surely I can keep myself together that long.
She just smirks. “Ready to get to work?”
“Obviously.”
I follow her out of the hotel room, and she takes a half step toward the stairs before hesitating and redirecting to the elevator. Both places hold memories I’d rather forget, but the elevator at least won’t smell like fresh sex. Christine must’ve reached the same conclusion.
I settle my backpack over my shoulder, feeling grounded again. “I don’t get why people talk about it like it’s such a big deal.”
The elevator doors slide open, and we step inside.
“Like what’s a big deal?” she asks.
“Heat. I can still work a full-time job.” I stare at the panel of buttons, uninterested in looking at Christine right now.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah. I’ll be fine through dinner. I mean, maybe it’s better if I find you in the afternoon, just to be safe…”
“Mylo, you’re not…reallyin heat yet. Not properly.”
I scoff, finally looking up at her. “Says who? Like you’d know anything about that.”
“I can smell?—”
