And through the haze, I hear him follow. A low, ragged groan as he finds his release, his hips slowing until he gently collapses, the weight of his body comforting and right as it settles on top of mine.
3
We stay like that for a long moment, until our warm, sweat-slicked skin begins to cool. When we untangle our limbs, there’s a bit of awkwardness, and I watch his lust-drunk expression fade, uncertainty taking its place as he withdraws.
He glances at the door, then back at me, and something shrivels in my chest.
“I’m going to use the restroom,” I blurt out, sliding out from under him.
“Yeah. All right. I’ll just take care of this,” he says, gesturing below, at the condom, “and then—”
But I don’t hear the rest of what he says. I take the coward’s way out and shut the bathroom door.
This is the end of the night. The end of our assignation. Once we complete our post-sex practicalities, he’ll sneak out the door. Probably while I’m still in here, so we don’t have to do the strained smiles and uncomfortable goodbyes.
I brace myself for it when I exit the bathroom, only to find himstill here. He’s propped against the headboard, his legs stretched out on top of the comforter—he must have remade the bed—and he’s put his glasses back on, and his pants. I follow his lead, grabbing my shirt from the floor and slipping it over my head.
He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. His chest is bare, his skin glistening in the light, and a familiar warmth spreads through me. Dangerous and tempting.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, flipping a room service menu in his hands.
“Maybe,” I say, scooting across the bed to join him. I lean over his shoulder to read the menu, and he lifts an arm around me, tucking me against his side. “That jeely piece from before wasn’t exactly filling.”
He laughs, the sound husky and deep, and I feel it vibrating through him everywhere his body touches mine. “Don’t go insulting my jeely piece.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I say. “I just think I could use something a little more substantial.”
He pulls back a bit to look at me, his brown eyes sparkling. “If that wasn’t enough to satisfy you, I’d be more than happy to try again.”
A low hum of desire starts within me. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. There’s an entire menu of options. I’m sure we can find something you like.” He picks up a water bottle off the nightstand, drinking directly from it. He offers it to me, his lips wet and shining, and the sight brings back images from just a little while ago. His head in between my thighs, the way he looked up at me, hungry and determined all at once.
I shift, my legs suddenly restless, my mouth dry. I take the water from him, gulping it down.
“I am serious about ordering food if you want some,” he says as I drink. “And I am serious about…you know, going again—”
I sputter.
“If you want that,” he says quickly. “If you don’t, or if you want me to leave, that’s fine too. I wasn’t sure if that was—if you wanted me to go right, uh, after, but if you want me to, I can.”
He flushes, and it’s endearing.He’sendearing. Straightforward, but respectful, and slightly bashful, and the combination is a heady cocktail. “Do you want to stay?” I ask.
His eyes grow soft, and his voice is low and sincere when he says, “Yes.”
“I’d like that too,” I tell him.
We peruse the menu, and I quickly discover this man has a sweet tooth (which isn’t much of a surprise, considering his favorite meal is jam and bread). He orders cranachan, and I get a Caesar salad and a side of fries.
“You could order that anywhere,” he says, mock disapproval on his face.
“That’s part of the appeal,” I say. “It’s my standard room service meal. I get it at least once no matter where I go.”
He cocks his head. “I thought you were an adventurous eater. Didn’t you say you liked trying new things?”
“I do,” I say. “But there’s something about ordering the same meal in different places. It’s like…a touchstone. Something familiar, a constant, even when everything else is new. And it’s not like it tastes the same everywhere. The dressing varies from place to place, the cheese sometimes changes, whether it’s crumbled or grated or sliced.” I lift a shoulder. “My boss kind of does the same thing, except for her it’s KFC. She insists on going to one in every country we visit, because the menu always changes, but there are some things that stay the same. Like, it’s new, but still comforting in a way.”
“And do you—” He hesitates a moment, something flickering in his eyes.
