I’m alight with anticipation.
“Hands and knees,” he says, and I obey, arching my back, offering myself as he climbs onto the bed behind me.
Hands on my thighs, my hips. One rough thumb brushing past my clit and I move my hips backward with a gasp, practically begging. I know what he must think but I don’t care.
Then he’s at my entrance and his fingers sink into my hips and my fists clench in anticipation and I hold my breath, waiting, waiting.
He bottoms out with one hard stroke, and I groan. My toes curl and my face is somehow buried in the hotel bed comforter, hands fisted around the ugly floral pattern. Seth uses my hips as leverage and on the next hard, fast stroke I swear he sinks even deeper and then even deeper and I’m rocking back against him, moaning and whimpering and God, I missed him.
It doesn’t last long. I come at near-lightning speed, still shouting into the comforter, and he’s right behind me, burying himself deep and growling so fucking good goddamn while he comes inside me.
He rolls off. We clean up. We don’t get dressed, but we do turn on the lights.
Twenty minutes later, we do it again.For nearly forty-eight hours, we don’t leave the room. I put on the robe to accept room service a few times, but it’s the most clothing I wear the whole weekend.
If think about this too much, I know I’ll feel guilty, so I try not to think. I know what people would say if they knew that practically the second I filed for divorce, I was in bed with my ex. I’ve got a feeling that if Nolan, my almost-ex-husband found out, he’d use it as grounds to drag this out a little longer.
Six months, my lawyer said. We were only married for twenty. We should’ve been married for zero.
“I should head back tonight,” Seth says from the other side of the bed, propped on three different pillows. “I’ve got work tomorrow and they might have reported me as a missing person already.”
“They?” I ask, lazily, lying flat on no pillows, staring up at the ceiling.
“My brothers,” he says, pushing himself to sitting. “I left somewhat abruptly, and my phone ran outta juice last night.”
“My charger’s on the desk,” I say, pointing. “You can unplug mine.”
“Thanks.”
He stands, walks to the desk, plugs in his phone. He’s completely and utterly naked, moving as if he’s never heard the word modesty in his life, running a hand through his messy hair, tossing his phone onto the desk, scratching his chest while it boots back up.
I just watch, because Seth is beautiful. He looks pretty much the same as the last time I saw him naked — tall, wide shoulders, tapered waist, hint of a six-pack, muscled thighs, huge dick — though maybe a little bigger in the arms and shoulders, like he’s been working out.
The tattoo is still there, the only one he’s got: the constellation Scorpio on his left arm. I’m surprised. I know he and his brothers all got star tattoos at the same time, I just thought he’d have covered up my astrological sign with something else.
“All right,” he finally says, lazily. “Be right back.”
He pads to the bathroom, closes the door. I wonder when I should go join him. If I should go join him. Sitting for two hours on the car ride back home, to the apartment I got two weeks ago in downtown Leesburg, is already going to be an adventure in discomfort.
But then again, I do remember saying fuck me so hard I walk funny, so whose fault is that?
I’m still debating a nice shower fuck when Seth’s phone buzzes on the desk. I look down at it, past my toes, vaguely wondering if it’s important and if I should at least see what it says, and then it buzzes again.
And again. And again.
Damn, Seth’s phone is blowing up. Maybe his family really did report him missing.
I take a deep breath and lever myself to sitting. I yawn. Tentatively, I pat my hands over my hair, then decide not to find out yet. Semen leaks out of me as I stand and walk over to the desk, grab my own phone, and glance down at Seth’s.
Daniel wants to know where he is. His mom wants to know where he is. Levi wants to know where he is. Caleb’s texting that everyone is worried, what’s going on? Eli says he just woke up to a hundred texts and would someone please tell him what’s going on.
In the bathroom, the shower goes on, and I lean against the desk, still naked. I tap one fingernail against the wood-veneer surface, run my tongue over my front teeth as I think.
Then, despite knowing better, I reach out and scroll down Seth’s notifications with one finger.