19. One Bed Trope
ONE BED TROPE
AUbrEY
My backpack bounces on the single queen bed.
“I swear I thought it had two beds.” I lie.
I totally knew it was only a queen, but I’m never going to admit that to him.
Does that make me worse than a man? I briefly wonder before waving it off. He can tell me no if he wants. But I know he won’t.
“It’s not like we haven’t slept together before,” he says with a simple shrug, but I can see the amusement dancing in his eyes. I don’t think he’s upset with the sleeping arrangements like I’m pretending to be.
“I know, but you wanted to take things slow,” I shoot back at him, kicking off my snow-covered boots before crawling into the bed.
He leans against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets. Damn, why is it so attractive when men do that?
“Trust me,” he says with quiet emphasis. “I don’t want to take things slow.” He takes a step forward. “I don’t want to keep my hands to myself.”
I swallow thickly.
“I want to make you forget all about that seven inches of snow.”
My eyes flicker down right to his groin, where I can see physical evidence of his claim.
“But—” he utters as he slowly peels off his shirt. My breath catches in my throat even though I’ve seen him shirtless countless times before. “I want to do things right this time. To prove to you that I’ve changed. That I can be the person you need—not just the man you want.”
And, damn, do I wish I had a chaser to wash down his words with.
I shake my head because I’m not ready to hear his words. Not in this stupid hotel. Not when I haven’t been as honest with him as he has with me.
But he takes a few steps back, moving toward the bathroom as he peels off his pants. Then, before I can look away, he’s slipping off his briefs, and my mouth dries as his erection is on full display.
I heave a heavy breath, having to force my eyes up and away from his evident want. He takes his hands and strokes himself just once. His eyes never once leaving mine.
“I want you so bad, I can’t think straight.” Liam drops his hold on himself, holding his hands up like he’s innocent of some nameless act.
Fuck—I can’t believe we have been in this hotel for all of like two minutes and his dick is already out.
“But I want you more, Aubs.”
Then he backs away, disappearing into the bathroom, and I hear the shower turn on.
I lay on the bed breathless, staring at the space he once filled. I straighten myself, trying to find my dignity and force myself to stay on this mattress.
But then I’m standing, moving across the room.
I try to steady myself, but I’m spinning out of control, one thought tripping on the heels of the next.
I push the bathroom door open.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
And yet, I am.
Watching through the shower’s glass, I study Liam as he stands in the water’s path.
He’s leaned against the shower’s wall, his head tilted back, letting the water pound his face like he wants it to clear his thoughts physically.
He jumps a little when he finds me watching him.
But he opens the shower door, his hand reaching for me.
I walk closer, completely unconcerned that I’m still in my clothes. I take his hand and step in.
The water is warm against my skin, plastering my hair to my face.
I feel so heavy, weighed down with guilt and the truth separating us. I stare at him—honesty dancing on my tongue. It’s right there—ready for him.
The shower head is behind me, the water soaking me through, but I don’t care.
“I want you, too,” And while it is a truth, it’s not the one I should be telling him.
Tears bead in my eyes.
Liam repeats my words, tentatively—as if testing them out, “You want me?”
I nod, biting my lip as I look away. I gulp down hard, hot tears slipping down my cheeks. Or maybe it’s just a drop of water. I can’t tell. Nor do I care.
We stand in silence for several heartbeats, the prolonged anticipation almost unbearable.
I feel his eyes raking boldly over me, the water and my clothes clinging to my form.
My body is aching, with the need for him, for the courage to spill every truth I’ve ever kept from him.
I find the nerve to turn my stare toward him. His golden hair plastered to his forehead as he watches me. He looks like a God caught in a rainstorm, all rigid muscle and perfect lines.
“Liam—” I call out.
But I never get the chance to finish my thought before it’s my turn to be pressed against the shower’s surface, as Liam’s lips crash over mine.
A shudder passes over me as his hands reach behind my neck, tilting my face up. His tongue finds mine, exploring the recesses of my mouth. His lips are warm and wet as the water sprays us.
Liam lifts me, my back supported by the wall as my legs wrap around his center. I can feel his erection pressing into me even through the sodden fabric of my clothes, and I’m suddenly desperate to peel the layers off.
Raising his mouth from mine, he gazes into my eyes, a question of silent consent as I whisper, “Yes.”
Then his lips are trailing down my neck, kissing the pulsing hollow at the base of my throat.
I suck in a breath, frantically finding the edge of my shirt, pulling it over my head, and letting it thud heavily on the shower’s floor.
His hands slide up the skin of my exposed back, unclasping my bra with an ease that makes me remember just how many women Liam Anderson has been with before me.
But damn it if I won’t be the last.
My bra falls away, and his mouth is ready to take its place.
His lips find my nipple, tantalizing it with a possessiveness that my lower half quickly becomes jealous of.
Heat pools, and suddenly, I want every last bit of fabric off my body.
Liam seems to read my thoughts as my feet hit the ground, and then he’s kneeling before me, yanking my skin-tight leggings down with a force so hard I think they might tear. I help him rip at them, like two crazed people desperate for each other.
My thong slides down with my leggings as I’m finally freed.
When he tosses them to the side, he looks up at me through water-soaked eyelashes, and I think I might come just from the look on his face.
Liam cups the back of my thighs, lifting me upward, creating enough space so he can tuck his head between my thighs.
On instinct, my legs wrap around his neck as my back rests against the shower wall.
I’m not sure how long he can hold me like this, but I don’t object when my fingers find his hair and his tongue presses against my center.
He licks slow circles right over my bundle of nerves, sending a shock wave of ecstasy through me. I know he won’t have to hold me here much longer because just the feel of his mouth has me nearly ready to explode already.
He pulls his head back for a second, just long enough to look at me before I protest.
Then he is right back, his tongue hot over my wetness. Liam keeps his momentum, indulging on me as the shower begins to turn cold. But then he whispers my name, a muffled tone as his face is buried between my legs. And that ignites me, my toes curling, as I’m set on fire.
My orgasm ripples through me, my legs squeezing together against his face, my hands tugging on his hair as I moan his name over and over.
Liam drops me, rising from where he was kneeling.
His dick presses against me, and I’m all too aware of where every spot of his skin touches mine. Legs shaking, my body attempts to recover from the shockwave of pleasure as I try to catch my breath.
Just as I’m about to drop to my own knees, desperate for the taste of him, he presses a quick kiss to my mouth and turns the water off. He steps out, grabs a towel, wraps it around his hips—and walks away.
I stand in the shower, suddenly so cold from the lack of hot water and his body heat.
I blink, still trying to catch my breath.
What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened?
When I finally walk out of the bathroom, finding the courage to face him, I’m greeted with an empty room.
I pull on a clean pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt.
He may have gone to the lobby to get me a snack or something to drink. But I search there for several minutes and come up short.
I check the parking lot next, but his Jeep is gone.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I suddenly feel so cold, wishing I had grabbed my jacket as the temperature seems to have plummeted.
My breath quickens, my cheeks warming even in the cold as I run back inside. When I’m back in the room, I throw myself on the bed, covering my face in the pillows as I choke back on cries. Tears turn into breathless rage.
I shake my head, my mind swimming with confusion.
Suddenly I can’t breathe.
I look around the room, and my vision is disoriented.
My breaths are coming far too quickly, one bleeding into the next.
Pulling my knees to my chest, I know I’m moments away from another panic attack. A flood of emotions torments me as I hyperventilate on the mattress. Deep sobs rack my insides as I weep aloud, allowing the tears to fall uncontrollably. I’m not even sure why I’m crying.
His rejection? The thought of him leaving again?
But part of me knows it’s tears of anger, tears of regret for allowing myself to take things too far when he wanted so badly to move slowly—guilt claws at my chest as hot tears fall with frustration. I shouldn’t have gotten in that shower. I should have given him the space he wanted.
But the real issue is: I should have told him the truth.
And then he would’ve had a real reason to leave me.