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My half-hard cock stiffened further when he climbed in and tilted his face under the spray, letting the water stream over his hair and turn it a deeper gold. He grinned when I got into the shower with him, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer for a kiss, which made my dick jerk against his thigh.

I wasn’t remotely surprised when, just a couple minutes later, I was stroking our pinned cocks in a soapy fist while Crossbody sagged against the shower wall, moaning breathlessly. His hips jutted forward, and his hooded eyes were locked on his cock pressed tight to mine as he clutched my sides, thighs quaking.

I watched him hungrily as his head tipped back against the wall, lips parted around his fast breaths and eyes closing as his brows pinched. He was so ridiculously beautiful, his features delicate but masculine, with high cheekbones and long lashes and a proud, straight nose.

With a shudder, he moaned low as his cock flexed against mine and spurted cum between us. It dripped over my hand, slicking my cockhead and making me stiffen as my fingers pressed harder against the shower wall beside his head. A grunt left me as I followed him over, pumping my fist up and down to spread both our releases all over us. Crossbody sighed in pleasure, his hips twitching as his frame relaxed against the wall.

Breathing hard, I released him, but only to wash the cum off my hand so I could run it over his softening cock, cleaning him while he lazily smoothed his palms up my sides. When I leaned in to kiss him, he smiled against my mouth and straightened from the wall with a groan.

We finished washing up in easy, comfortable silence and climbed out. I chuckled as Crossbody reluctantly and gingerly dried himself with one of the motel towels, trying to keep its contact with his skin light and brief.

“Too scratchy for you, your highness?” I said teasingly, swiping my own towel over my torso.

“Yes,” he admitted with a self-deprecating shrug. I laughed again as I dropped my towel over the edge of the bath and finger-combed my hair.

He was still peering into the mirror and trying to make his own hair look presentable when I went back into the bedroom and got dressed. By the time I was pulling my sweater on, he still hadn’t emerged.

“If you take much longer, I’ll make you return the room key and see the incubus,” I called, smirking to myself. “He’ll have lots of questions.”

“I don’t mind questions,” Crossbody said from the bathroom.

My brow rose. “No? Gonna give him a play-by-play?”

He finally walked back into the bedroom, still fiddling with his hair. “He did seem very… enamoured. He referred to you as the ‘sexy ghoul.’”

I laughed, watching him tug his briefs up his long legs. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. But I’m the one who spent the night with you, so…” He shrugged, pulling on his pants and buttoning them as he looked over at me with a smug smile. “Maybe I want to go rub it in a little.”

Damn. That kind of made me want to puff out my chest in pride.

With a stupid grin on my face, I shrugged and shoved my wallet and phone into my pockets. “Be my guest.”

“Shall I meet you at the diner?” He walked closer, buttoning his shirt.

“Sure. I’ll get us a table.” It felt as natural as breathing to lean in and kiss him before I turned for the door. Almost like this was our routine, easy and familiar. Which it kind of was. Or at least, that was what it was becoming.

Except if and when we did this again, I kind of wanted to go to his place. See what his house was like. I’d always pictured a big, stupid mansion, but now that I knew he was doing this all on his own, without his mother’s support, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

“See you there,” I said, kissing him again before heading for the door.

The day was already miserable and rainy when I stepped outside, but I was smiling.

—

Twenty minutes later, Crossbody and I were digging into our breakfasts at a booth in David’s Diner, legs tangled under the table.

The same ghoul waitress as before was working, but I didn’t know if she recognised us. Crossbody’s hair wasn’t a tangled mess this time, and he was wearing clothes that actually fit, whereas I wasn’t in a crumpled, twisted shirt that smelled like sweat.

I’d reluctantly washed that shirt toward the end of last week, but I hadn’t offered to return it. For some reason, I didn’t want to.

He hadn’t returned my sweater either.

I wolfed down my food much faster than him and sipped my coffee as I watched him with fond amusement. He ate so neatly, almost methodically. While I liked to shove a bit of everything into my mouth at the same time, he focused on clearing the scrambled eggs from his plate before moving on to the bacon.

The waitress came over to refill our cups when he finally sat back with a sigh, his plate empty. He gave her a polite smile in thanks and pulled his cup closer, looking relaxed and much more comfortable than the last time we were here.

He’d just taken a sip of coffee when I heard myself blurt, “So do you want to keep doing this?”