29. Valentina
— ? —
Valentina
The shower in my motel room has terrible water pressure.
I’ve complained about it a hundred times. Threatened to call the front desk. Never actually done it because what’s the point? I’m leaving soon anyway. Eric asked me to move in last week and I said I’d think about it and we both knew I was going to say yes.
But tonight, the terrible water pressure doesn’t matter.
Tonight, I’m standing under the lukewarm spray, washing my hair, and I feel lighter than I have in years.
New job starting tomorrow. Real paycheck coming. Divorce leverage secured. Eric is mine.
A knock at the door.
I freeze. Turn off the water. Listen.
Another knock.
I grab a towel, wrap it around myself, hair still dripping, skin still wet. Pad across the carpet and look through the peephole.
Eric.
Holding flowers.
I open the door.
He takes one look at me, water running down my collarbones, towel barely holding, and the flowers almost hit the floor.
“Congratulations,” he says. His voice is rough. “Marketing executive. Again.”
“Thank you. Well, technically a junior strategist, but that’s close enough. Come in.”
He steps inside. Kicks the door shut behind him.
For a moment, we just look at each other. The flowers hang forgotten at his side. His eyes are moving over me, over the droplets on my skin, the place where the towel is slipping.
“You’re dripping on the carpet,” he says.
“I was in the shower.”
“I noticed.”
“You could have called first.”
“I could have.” He sets the flowers on the dresser. Moves closer. “But then I wouldn’t have caught you like this.”
His hand reaches out. Tugs at the towel.
It falls to the floor.
I’m naked in front of him, wet and bare, and instead of feeling vulnerable, I feel powerful. The way he’s looking at me, like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, like he can’t believe I’m real.
“Eric.”
“I want you,” he says. “I want you so much it’s making me crazy.”
“Then take me.”
He moves.
His hands are on my waist, lifting me, and my back hits the door. His mouth finds mine, hungry and desperate, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he presses me against the wood.
“Here?” I gasp.
“Here. Then everywhere else.”
He undoes his pants with one hand. The other is holding me up like I weigh nothing. I feel him hot and hard against me, and then he’s pushing inside, filling me in one long stroke.
We both groan.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel so good.”
He moves. Hard. Fast. Each thrust pins me against the door, drives the breath from my lungs. The angle is perfect, hitting something deep inside me that makes me see stars.
“More,” I gasp. “Harder.”
He gives me harder. Gives me everything. His mouth is on my neck, my shoulder, my collarbone. His hands are gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.
“You’re mine,” he says against my skin. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Eric. I’m yours.”
He groans. Pulls out. Carries me to the bed.
“On your knees.”
I flip over. Feel him behind me, his hands on my hips, positioning me.
When he pushes back in, I cry out.
This angle is deeper. More intense. I can feel every inch of him, feel the way he stretches me, fills me. His hand slides around to find my clit, circling it as he moves.
“I’m going to make you come,” he says. “And then I’m going to make you come again. And then I’m going to take you against every surface in this room until neither of us can walk.”
“Promises, promises.”
He laughs. Thrusts harder.
I shatter.
The orgasm tears through me, and I’m screaming into the pillow, clenching around him, my whole body shaking. He follows seconds later, groaning my name, spilling inside me.
We collapse onto the mattress.
My legs are jelly. My heart is racing. The flowers are crushed somewhere on the floor, petals scattered across the ugly carpet.
“That was…” I can’t find words.
“Yeah.” He’s tracing patterns on my spine. “It was.”
Silence. Comfortable. Full of things we don’t need to say.
Then he shifts. Looks around the room. The water stain on the ceiling. The rattling AC. The single window with its view of the parking lot.
His jaw tightens.
“You deserve better than this place,” he says quietly.
I know what he means. I don’t answer.
He doesn’t push. Just kisses my shoulder and pulls me closer.
I fall asleep on his chest, smelling crushed flowers and him.
When I wake up in the morning, he’s gone.
But there’s a key on the pillow.
And a note.
When you’re ready. No pressure. - E
I hold the key in my palm for a long time.
Then I start packing.