Whatever sent her running last night, she’d let go of it by the time we woke up in the middle of the night, and gave herself over to me.
I need to find out what went wrong at the bar, because I want more of her. I want to spend the rest of this trip exploring each other.
A branch drags against the window, waking Rose. She yawns, makes a cute little mewling sound, stretching her body. I kiss her forehead, then hop out of bed and peer out the window. The beach chairs, which they’d carelessly left out, are scattered across the lot, some in the pool. It’s dark and gray, and aside from the cars, there’s not a soul in sight. I’d wanted to keep her in bed a little longer, but we need to get out of here. Grabbing my phone, I pull up the weather app.
My shoulders drop in relief. “Storm’s shifting. Still coming, but the worst of it is south of the island. Rainy and windy, but we’ve only got a few hours of driving left—we’ll make it in time. The ceremony tomorrow will have to move inside, though.”
I look down at Rose, grinning. She stares back at me with open suspicion, like she’s bracing for something to go wrong between us, as it usually does.
She pulls the blanket up to cover her chest, and I frown.
“Everything okay?”
She nods slowly, still eyeing me, then says carefully, “Yes. You?”
“I’m great.” And I mean it. I’m not stressed or pissed off. I’m not irritated or dreading the day ahead.
Maybe I just needed to get laid. But then I look at her—braids half-undone, loose tendrils falling across her face, olive skin still flushed, lips full. She’s a fucking knockout. No. I needed her specifically, neededthis.
I crawl back onto the bed and bracket her with my arms. She squeaks and shoves at my chest. “What is wrong with you?”
I didn’t kiss her last night. The second she sank down on me, I lost all cognitive function. It was late, and the whole thing came as a surprise. One I’d wanted, but hadn’t thought I’d ever get with her. I wasn’t thinking straight.
Now, my lips find hers, and she exhales a little in surprise. I work the seam of her mouth open with my tongue.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” she murmurs, trying to keep closed.
“I don’t care. Kiss me.” She shakes her head, but I can see the corner of her mouth pulling up in a smile, but her eyes are still suspicious. I tilt my head.
“Everything okay?” I ask again.
She nods, then lets out a breath. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be...”
“Oh. I see. You’re used to fuckboys who play games.”
“I mean, you’re not wrong.”
I lean back and pull her up to a seat. The blanket falls from her chest, and I don’t look away. I didn’t get to ravage her gorgeous tits like I’ve wanted to for years, but there’s time for that later. I keep staring at them, the perfect weight of them. Round and full, tipped in dusty rose nipples, hardened against the cool air. My mouth is watering, train of thought derailing completely. I’m still staring when I catch her eyebrow arching at me, and I clear my throat. Fucking lizard brain.
“We’ve got a few more days together. I’d like to spend them with you. Like this.”
She smiles shyly and bites her lip. Her lashes flutter, and she looks down, shaking her head slowly. “You… want to keep having sex with me?”
I find it odd she’s even asking after last night, but nod patiently. “Yes, Rose. I would like to keep fucking you.”
Her eyes sparkle, cheeks burning into a smile. She opens her mouth, eyes working as she arranges her words. But then something shifts. A shadow falls across her face, and it’s like I can see her retreating, just like last night. Her eyes go distant.
A gust of wind drags the tree against the building, a long scraping sound that fills the silence between us. She pulls the covers back without a word, climbs out of bed, and walks stark naked across the room. The bathroom door clicks shut.
I sit there for a moment. Okay. Maybe I was too forward.
She comes out a minute later, then kneels by her bag and gets dressed. She pulls on a different white t-shirt that’s tight to her frame, and the same pair of painted-on jeans she’s been wearing for two days. I get dressed too, watching her from the corner of my eye, waiting for something—a word, a look—but she gives me nothing. We check out of the motel in silence. I reach for her hand in the parking lot, and she not only lets me take it but squeezes back, and that small pressure is somehow worse than if she’d pulled away. The mixed signals are fucking with my head.
We get on the road. I keep stealing glances. Her jaw is set, eyes fixed on the window, watching the hurricane batter the landscape as if she’s looking for answers in it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m not sure how to do this, Logan.”
