Security gave them free and easy access to the hotel. He trailed behind Evie, eyes on her arse, on the heavy messenger bag over her shoulder that bumped on her hip with every step. She hesitated for a moment at the door to one of the rooms. There was a beast of a bike parked outside, but the motel lot was otherwise deserted. There was a pile of old mattresses and flattened cardboard boxes stacked near a dumpster which was promising. His scalp pricked, déjà vu making him shake his head. They’d gotten the last available room that first night, so it wasn’t that.
He took the key from her hand and jiggled it in the sticky lock, the tumbler spinning before it caught. “Was it this room?”
She laughed. “I was wondering the same thing. This is cheesy. We don’t have to stay.”
He shouldered the door open, kicked it closed and reached for her, so fucking needy he was dizzy with it, so close to kissing her properly on the mouth that he stumbled as he pulled her inside, his calves hitting the bed, momentum dropping them both to its surface, which was surprisingly firm and bounce free.
“New bed.” She slipped free of her bag and patted the cover. “Costco’s best linen.”
He held her by the hips, nicely mashed against his cock. “We got lucky.” Everything else in the room looked worn and knocked about, not dirty exactly but used up. How lucky could he be?
“Haven’t changed your mind about the rules?”
She rocked against him. “Have you?”
He choked a groan back, but it ratted him out by rumbling in his throat. “I don’t remember you being such a fucking tease.” That could get him into trouble. This, whatever they were, was unstable, volatile and not to be trusted.
She flexed her pelvis, a rolling motion that emptied him of any last-minute concerns. “I don’t remember you being such a god on stage,” she said, pushing on his chest to sit across his hips. “You are a genuine fucking big deal and I might be a little in awe.” She slowed the grind, but the pressure was more intense from her direct weight. He needed out of these clothes, yesterday.
She read his mind, going for his jeans button, opening the zip, thrusting her chest out and lifting her chin. “I’m not changing my mind. I hate myself for it.”
Nothing like a dash of hate to spice up a hand job. Jesus suffering fuck. Evie’s hand was hot and her grip firm and when she pushed up his shirt and bit his chest he knew he wouldn’t last. She used his own pre-cum and a lewd lick of her palm to jerk him to a jarring, vision-spangled finish on his chest, looking godawful smug when he unstuck his closed eyes and squinted at her.
They hadn’t gotten to turning lights on. She sat over his thighs, backlit by the glare of the motel sign through filmy curtains and slats, hair all pulled out and mussed. He must’ve done that to her. Her eyes were dark wells of mystery and her smile was monster-killer happy.
“You okay down there, rock star?”
He pushed up on his elbows and dragged his shirt over his head. He should be kissing her, mouth to mouth in the pleasure drift. “You have no idea.”
&n
bsp; “Oh, I have an idea.” She twirled a finger through his splodge. “You needed that.”
He needed her. Naked. Squirming. Pulling his hair. Coming on his tongue.
“Give me five minutes to shower and I’ll show you what I need.”
He took six to wash off the show and the orgasm and dry himself with a towel that wasn’t anyone’s best, and it was too long. She’d turned down the bed and curled up on top of the sheet wearing only a tiny pair of undies and a skimpy top.
Relaxed in sleep, she might have been his Evie from ten years ago and he might’ve been that out-of-his-depth boy who was starstruck by her fire, her fearlessness and her fierce belief in him when everyone else thought he was a try-hard who didn’t have the goods.
That first night he’d been excited beyond words and terrified of hurting her. Of not having the skill, the control to make their time together good enough. The responsibility of being her first had almost done for him mentally even when he was physically fit to burst.
She’d kissed the reticence out of him, replaced it with trust and he’d known he wouldn’t fail. If he’d known then he’d fail her in the end, would it all be different?
He scrubbed the water out of his hair, crawled onto the bed and curled beside her, tucking his thighs under hers and fitting his chest to her back. He was still a little dizzy. It was probably dehydration, but it could be the sense that with Evie in his arms he’d finally come home and no longer needed to apologize for what he’d done and who he’d made himself into. He’d found the only form of forgiveness that mattered.
The enormity of that fluttered in his chest, vice-clamped his voice box and made his eyes ache until he blinked tears into them. When she stirred, he tucked his face into her neck, pulled her closer and let her warmth soothe that rough realization.
“Mmm.” She put her hand to his head and played with the damp strands. “I’m not asleep.”
“I woke you.”
She went rigid. It wasn’t what he said. She’d heard the crackle of vocal fry he couldn’t disguise, like the emotion driving it. “Jay?”
She’d have turned, but he held her still, kissed her neck, going for her ear and that hoop and flicking it with his tongue, not ready to be seen.
“Something is wrong.”