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It takes every bit of restraint I have to resist inviting him in.
I take a long, hot shower and collapse on the hotel bed. The room is cool and dark, the bed is comfortable, the covers are encompassing but, still, I can't sleep.
My brain refuses to slow. It's fixed on the feeling of Ethan's hand on my side, of his lips on my lips, of his hard chest against my palm.
I close my eyes and let my mind fill with beautiful mental images—Ethan stripping out of his jeans and pressing his hard, sweaty body against mine. Ethan undoing the buttons of my jeans, pushing them off my hips, and pressing his palm against me. Ethan sliding his tongue into my mouth, pulling my panties aside, and stroking me to an orgasm.
My body wakes up. Hell, it's on fire. Sleep, what sleep? This bed is no place for sleep. This bed is a place for Ethan to strip off his clothes. Then mine. Then his hands—those strong, nimble guitarist's hands—can be on every inch of my skin. And my hands can be wrapped around his cock, and I can be the one making his blue eyes fill with pleasure. And then he can be inside me, pinning me to the bed, sinking his teeth into my neck, and the two of us can come together again and again and again-
I push my boxers off my hips and slide my hand below my belly button. I think of Ethan and me together, here, our bodies erasing all the hurt between us.
It only takes a few minutes for pleasure to fill my body. Tension knots inside me, then it's unfurling. Every part of me feels good, but I'm not satisfied. I'm only hungrier for him.
Maybe I should go again.
Maybe…
I contemplate the matter for long enough to drift into that half-asleep, half-awake state.
A knock on the door pulls me out of my fantasies.
"Hey, Vi, you up?" Ethan's voice is soft.
Sleep isn't happening. But I can't invite him into my bed. Not yet. "Yeah. Give me two minutes." I go to the bathroom to wash my hands and brush my teeth.
I'm not wearing any makeup. My hair is a mess. It's not that I'm vain. Makeup is my shield. Without it, I feel naked and vulnerable. I'm not ready to feel like that with Ethan. Not yet.
He knocks again.
"One more minute." I grab my concealer and apply it. Then eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. There. That's better. I go to the door and pull it open.
He's smiling that same I'm happy just to see you smile. He hands me a take-out coffee cup. "Your unsweetened matcha latte."
I take it. "Thank you."
"Don't worry. It's with almond milk."
"I wasn't worried." Okay, my brow is a little furrowed. It's unsettling how well Ethan remembers everything. It doesn't make sense—he remembers all these little details about me, about us, but he also goes around nailing strangers every ni
ght.
Maybe that's his way of coping. Fine. I can live with that.
But he threw me away. How can he be so happy to see me now? How can he remember my drink order?
Why is he looking at me like he's still in love with me?
I take a long sip to keep from touching him. It also spares me the trouble of forming a response. I appreciate the drink but I'd rather have you in my mouth is not what I want to say here.
"Thank you. It's perfect." I hold his gaze. Somehow, I manage to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground too.
"I'll let you get to work." He takes a step backwards. "Unless you want to head to lunch now?"
I look back into my room to check the time. Lunch is reasonable and my stomach is growling at the thought of food. Say eggs with avocado, or a sandwich with extra avocado, or a giant bowl of guacamole and a spoon.
Ethan laughs. "Let me guess—you want tacos with extra guacamole?"
I admit nothing. "We should try the tea place."
