Chapter 4 Rory
Chapter four
Rory
Ifollow Tabitha down the hallway, tearing my gaze from her sexy curves to take in her bedroom once we step inside. It isn’t large, but it’s packed with life in a way that makes my chest tight.
Books are stacked on every surface. The nightstand has two paperbacks with dog-eared pages. The quilt she draws back looks handmade, all mismatched squares in shades of blue and cream.
Everything here screams permanence. Roots. A life built in one place over years.
My hotel room from the wedding had white sheets that smelled like industrial detergent and art that came in bulk orders. Interchangeable. Forgettable.
Maybe, that’s why this feels different.
Neutral territory would’ve been smarter. Maybe, I should’ve insisted we head to my hotel. Although farther than here, it would've felt like a repeat. And even if Tabitha would have slipped out again before morning, at least, we wouldn’t have gotten too comfortable.
She climbs onto the bed, and the sight of her against worn blue flannel sheets, with snowflakes on them, does something to me I’m not ready to examine.
I strip off my shoes then my shirt, watching her eyes track the movement.
My jeans follow, and I’m hyperaware of her gaze on me in a way I wasn’t at the hotel.
There, we were both drunk on champagne and chemistry.
Even after a couple of beers, I feel stone-cold sober now, and the weight of what we’re doing feels heavier somehow.
I pull a condom from my jeans pocket before tossing the pants aside.
A teasing smile transforms her face. “Planning to get lucky tonight, or are you always prepared?”
“Let’s just say I was hopeful.” I roll it down my length. Her eyes darken as she watches. “But you’re far from a sure thing.”
“Is that right?” She shifts on the bed, spreading her legs, and my brain short-circuits.
I climb onto her, settling between her thighs as my elbows rest on either side of her body. The mattress dips under my weight. It’s definitely more giving than the firm hotel beds I’m used to. “You made me work for this.”
“I did not.” Her voice is all innocence, but her eyes are pure challenge. “All it took was a dropped hint about you needing a ride.”
The heat of her core against my length makes coherent thought difficult.
“Sure, but all throughout dinner, and then the drive over—” I lean down, capturing her mouth in a kiss that’s meant to be teasing but turns hungry the second our lips meet.
“You knew exactly what you were doing. Driving me wild.”
Her hands slide up my back, nails dragging lightly against my skin. “I didn’t mean to distract you from your putting game.”
I pause at her entrance, my tip lined up as I grit my teeth to hold back. “You’ve been a distraction since I saw you walk down the aisle.”
“Oh.” The hitch in her breath tells me she wasn’t expecting that.
“You sure about this?” I ask quickly, regretting the confession I hadn’t planned to share. But also because this—sleeping together again—couldn’t be more different from our hotel hookup.
And we both know it.
Her legs wrap around my waist, drawing me closer. “Don’t you even think about stopping now.”
I capture her nipple in my mouth, sucking hard as I slide into her in one smooth thrust, filling her completely. Her gasp is everything.
“God, you feel incredible.” I start moving in slow, controlled strokes that let me feel every inch of her wrapped around me. It’s intense in a way the first time wasn’t. More deliberate. As if we’re taking our time, paying attention to every sensation instead of racing toward the finish.
The thought sends a thread of unease up my spine. I shove it down hard. Different location. That’s all this is.
“Harder,” she whispers, and the need in her voice shoots straight through me. “Please.”
I adjust the angle, thrusting deeper, faster. “Like that?”
“Yes.” She meets me stroke for stroke, her body moving with mine as if we’ve done this a hundred times instead of three times in the hotel room that night as it blended into morning. “Just like that.”
I capture her mouth again, swallowing her moans, and I can taste the chocolate from dessert. Her tongue slides against mine, and I’m drowning in sensory overload in the best possible way. The tight heat of her body, the clench of her thighs, the way she moans my name like a prayer.
When I break the kiss to trail my mouth down her neck, I catch sight of us in the mirror on her dresser. Her dark hair spread across the pillow, my body covering hers, the dim glow from the light on the nightstand falling across our skin.
It looks like something out of a movie. Something romantic and permanent and nothing like what this is supposed to be.
I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the physical. The way her body cinches around me. The way my balls draw up tight. The way she rolls her hips to meet my thrusts. The undeniable pressure building at the base of my spine.
“You feel so good,” I growl against her. It’s true but also safe. Physical appreciation. Nothing deeper.
Her body tightens, every muscle tensing as her breath comes faster. “Close. So close.”
I shift my weight to one elbow and slide my other hand between us, finding her clit with practiced precision. I circle it once, twice, matching the rhythm of my thrusts.
She comes with my name on her lips, her whole body convulsing, and the sensation of her pulsing around me drags me over the edge.
I bury my face in her neck as I follow, groaning through my release.
And for one unguarded moment, I let myself feel all of it—the pleasure, the connection, the rightness of being here with her.
Before reality crashes back.
I collapse beside her, grabbing a tissue to dispose of the condom quickly before pulling her into my arms. It’s automatic, instinctive, and I realize too late I’ve just made things more intimate instead of less.
She fits perfectly against my side, her head on my chest, one arm draped across my ribs. I’m hyperaware of every point of contact. The weight of her. The warmth. The way our breathing has fallen into sync.
I stare up at her ceiling, focusing on the small water stain in the corner, ignoring the way my brain wants to catalog everything about this moment as if to preserve it.
To capture the fleeting sensations and every inch of the woman at my side with routines and holiday rituals and town roots that run deep.
Everything I don’t have.
Everything I’ve never wanted.
“That was…” she starts then trails off.
“Yeah,” I agree because I don’t know how to finish that sentence either. “It was.”
The silence stretches. Outside, the wind howls, and a tree branch scrapes against the building, dragging back and forth. The storm I thought was bad before is now at full force.
She glances toward the window, and I follow her gaze. Snow is coming down so thick nothing is visible save for the flakes blowing horizontally in the wind.
“You might be stuck here for a while,” she murmurs. “Looks like they were right about that nor’easter.”
The words hit hard. Stuck? Here? With her?
“When’s your flight?” she asks, her voice carefully neutral.
“Day after tomorrow.”
She nods against my chest but says nothing.
“How long do these storms usually last?” My voice has an edge I can’t quite hide.
There’s a long pause before she responds carefully. “A day or two maybe more. Depends on how fast it moves through.”
A day or two. Maybe more? Snowed in together, in her small apartment above her bookstore, in this small town where the walls feel as if they’re closing in?
Not because of the storm. I’ve been through worse weather. The hurricane in Miami during the Honda Classic. The tornado that tore through Dallas right before the Byron Nelson.
It’s the domesticity of it all. The intimacy. The way her finger is absently tracing patterns on my chest, and the fact I don’t want her to stop.
This was supposed to be simple. Round two to get each other out of our systems. Physical release, mutual satisfaction, then back to our separate lives.
But lying here in her bed, with her handmade quilt and her books and her life surrounding me, nothing feels simple anymore. Especially not when I have to stay.
Because I don’t stay. I don’t do complicated. I don’t get tangled up in someone else’s life. That’s the deal. That’s always been my deal.
I tighten my arm around her, pulling her closer, despite the warning bells going off in my head. Her body molds to mine, soft and warm and perfect, and I tell myself it’s just for tonight. Just until the storm passes.
Just until I can get my head straight and remember why I don’t do this.