Never have I felt so wanted before. I have touched myself a few times, but it was anticlimactic. Between that and what those other dates had said, I started to worry that maybe I just didn’t have that fire inside of me. I was wrong; you just need the right person to light it.
I touch myself without thinking, still sensitive, still aching in a way I’ve never ached before. He ruined me. One night with him and I’m already ruined for anyone else.
The hurt is immediate and sharp at that realization, a knot forming in my chest that I want to ignore. He and I are only a fling, and I don’t think I will ever meet anyone like him again. A person that seems to see me more than most people. I have only ever felt that my best friend, Truly, could see it.
I sit up, pulling the sheet around me. I’m past the point of return. I’m here to have fun, and that’s what I’m going to do. The suite is quiet. I grab the hotel robe from the bathroom door and wrap it around myself, tying it tightly, and pad out into the living room.
He’s there, standing by the window, phone to his ear. He’s wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips, and I can see the muscles in his back working as he talks in a low voice. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I don’t move, wanting to watch him without him knowing, but he catches me in the reflection of the glass and ends the call immediately, setting his phone face down on the table.
“You’re awake.” He turns, and the smile that spreads across his face is so warm and genuine, making the knot in my chest loosen. “I was hoping to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”
He crosses the room in three strides, cupping my face in his hands, and kisses me like we’ve been torn apart for years and finally found each other again. Desperate lovers. Like he didn’t just have me twice last night. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I melt into him, my hands finding his bare chest. I run them up and wrap them around his neck, interlocking my fingers. I have to stand on my tiptoes to manage it.
“I can still bring you breakfast in bed,” he murmurs against my lips, his hands gripping my waist to lift me off my feet. I wrap my legs around him. “Or I can eat you right here.” Caldwell sets me down on the edge of the table.
“You need real food,” I laugh. Does he really only want to go down on me? I mean, I don’t want to complain, but I want to see more of him too.
“I only need you.” He kisses me again, softer this time, his thumb tracing my jaw. “But I’ll feed you first. You’re going to need your strength.” He nips my bottom lip, his eyes dropping to my chest, and I watch them darken. My robe gapes open in the front.
“You’re not wearing anything under this,” he says, his voice rough.
“I didn’t have time to get dressed.”
“Good.” His hands slide up my thighs, pushing the robe wider. “Keep it open. Let me look at you.”
I should feel exposed. I should feel shy. But the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—makes me feel powerful. I let the robe fall open, my hands braced behind me on the table. I am supposed to do whatever he tells me, after all. I know he did that to make me relax. That I have this safety button I could push if I’m not comfortable with something. I have no plans on using that word. I’m embracing this, loving the freedom of it.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes roaming over me. “I know I keep saying it, but you’re perfect.” He shakes his head. “Perfect isn’t even a good enough word.” Caldwell almost sounds like he’s talking to himself there at the end.
There’s a knock at the door, making me tense. I’m guessing it’s room service.
He doesn’t move. His hands stay on my thighs, his thumbs tracing circles on my inner skin, dangerously close to where I’m already wet and aching for him.
“Caldwell,” I whisper. “The door.”
“Let them wait,” he says, leaning in and kissing my throat, my collarbone, and the top of my breast. “I want to taste you again.”
“They’ll hear,” I protest, but I’m arching into his mouth, my fingers tangling in his hair. He groans loudly against my skin, a sound of pure frustration, and pulls back.
“Don’t move. I want to look at you while I eat.” I fight a small laugh. Does he really want to watch me naked over breakfast?
He opens the door, and I hear a male voice. “Room service for Prince?—”
“Thank you,” Caldwell cuts him off, taking the cart. But I barely register the words because I’m looking at his phone, still on the coffee table where he left it.
The screen lit up with a text. Just for a second. Long enough for me to see the name.
Cordelia.
And the preview:Are we still on for tonight? Can’t wait to see you in your tux.
My heart sinks. The blood drains from my face. Cordelia. The wedding. His date. He lied.
I pull the robe closed, my hands shaking, and slip off the table. I start to head back for the bedroom when Caldwell wheels in the cart. He must be able to read my expression because he instantly knows something is wrong.
His eyes narrow, searching my face. Then he looks at the table. At his phone.
“Shit,” he mutters.
