“That giant jetted tub.” He nods toward the corner where the enormous tub sits, unused. “Criminal waste of hotel amenities.”
“We’ve been busy.”
His hands skim up my sides. “Tonight. After the wedding. You, me, bubbles, and a bottle of champagne we’re going to steal from the reception.”
“That’s your plan?”
“It’s a great plan.” His mouth finds a spot behind my ear and he presses his lips against it. “Unless you have a better one?”
I really don’t.
He takes my hand and pulls me back toward the bed. I follow because my body hasn’t figured out how to say no to him yet.
“We don’t have time for this.”
“JuJu.” He sits on the edge and pulls me between his legs, looking up at me. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then come here.”
He guides me onto his lap so I’m straddling him, resting his hands on my waist and I can feel the warmth of them through my thin t-shirt .
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
We sit there for a moment. Just looking at each other. His hair is still sticking up. He needs to shave. There’s a crease on his cheek from the pillow.
I lean down and kiss him.
His fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt and I make a sound I’d be embarrassed about if I could think clearly. His fingertips are callused from hockey or lifting weights or whatever he does and they catch slightly on my skin as he moves them higher.
This is different from yesterday. Different from every other time this week because we’re not performing. This is just us.
His thumbs brush the underside of my ribs and I arch into the touch. My fingers thread through his hair, tugging slightly, and he makes a sound low in his throat.
“JuJu,” he breathes against my mouth.
“Yeah?”
He pauses. “Can I—is this okay?”
“Yes. Don’t stop.”
So he doesn’t.
At some point my shirt comes off. Then his. We’re skin against skin and his chest is solid and warm under my palms. His mouth moves to my neck, my collarbone, lower.
His hand slides down and pauses at the waistband of my shorts. His fingers tuck just underneath but he doesn’t go further. He’s looking up at me, breathing hard.
“We should—we need to slow down.” He murmurs, but his mouth is still on my skin.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to rush this. Because you matter too much.” He stops and swallows hard. “Because when we—I want to do this right.”
“Oh, but I thought you wanted to. I mean?—”
