"Patience."
"I don't have patience. I have never once in my life had patience."
He laughs against my ribs. Rough. Low. His fingers don't stop.
"That's true."
I come on his hand with my teeth in my bottom lip, thighs clamped around his wrist, and he works me through it until I'm shaking.
The condom comes from his wallet. Same wallet. He rolls it on while I watch, propped on my elbows, breathing hard.
"Come here."
He settles between my thighs. Presses forward. My head tips back into the pillow.
Full. Completely full. He holds there, buried to the hilt, forearms braced on either side of my head, forehead to mine.
"Look at me," he says.
My eyes find his.
He starts to move. Deep, rolling strokes that build slow. His hips grind against my clit on every push, and my legs wrap around him, pulling him deeper.
"Harder."
He braces one hand on the headboard. The bed protests. The whole frame shudders with every thrust, and the cheap hotel wall thumps, and I don't care. My nails drag down his back. He groans into my neck, picks up the pace, drives into me hard enough that my body slides on the sheets.
"Paige." Ragged. Against my throat.
"Right here." I cup his face. Pull him up to look at me. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Say it again."
"I love you."
He buries himself deep. Holds. His whole body shakes as he comes, and I clench around him, pulling him through it, my own orgasm cresting a breath behind his.
We breathe.
The AC hums. The parking lot lights glow through the curtain.
He doesn't pull away. Stays inside me, heavy, warm, his face pressed to my neck, one hand tangled in my hair that came loose from the braid an hour ago.
"Paige."
"Hm."
"When we get home."
"Yeah?"
"I'd like to meet your mama."
My chest goes so full it hurts.
"She already told me to bring you. She's making the good chili."
"The good chili?"
