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“I had the biggest crush on you, too, Lala.”
Oh God. I had the craziest urge to lean in and kiss him. My attraction was so intense, stronger than ever. My breath came out in small pants, and I started to fear that if I didn’t rein things in, I might do something stupid. So I feigned a giant yawn, stretching my arms over my head and all.
“Man, I’m so tired all of a sudden. I should get some sleep.” Without waiting for a response, I flipped over, putting my back to him. “’Night, Holden.”
He waited a few heartbeats before responding. “Goodnight, Lala.”
I’m not sure how long it took me to fall asleep, but it was definitely a few hours. And when I woke up the next morning, Holden was…spooning me.
I could feel his dick against the crack of my ass.
Oh.
My.
God.
His gentle snore told me it wasn’t intentional, but that didn’t stop my body from reacting. My nipples hardened, and I felt myself swell and grow wet, as if getting ready for action to come.
What if I pushed back? Rubbed myself up and down the length of him, just once. He wouldn’t even have to know.
Then again, I would know. And I’d probably wind up with a rash every day from stressing over what I’d done. So instead, I forced myself to slip out of the bed. Morning sun was already streaming in through the windows, and a cold shower was in order, for sure.
Inside the bathroom, I turned the water on and undressed. Just as I put one foot into the shower, something buzzed loudly from the other room.
Shit. My phone! That was probably my alarm going off.
Not wanting to wake Holden, I grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapped it around me, and rushed out of the bathroom. But in my haste, I ran smack into Holden standing outside the bathroom door. And he had a massive hard-on bulging from his boxers.
Seeing my eyes grow wide, Holden looked down. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t realize. I was just bringing you your phone.” He held my phone out, and Warren’s name flashed between us like a lighted billboard in Times Square.
Welp, that worked better than a cold shower…
CHAPTER 8
Holden
Lala disappeared into the bathroom to talk to Warren in private, right after she’d ogled my morning wood, which didn’t help my predicament one single bit.
Why did it fucking piss me off that she was talking to her fiancé?
Was I pissed, or was I guilty? It was probably both. I didn’t feel guilty because of him. I felt guilty because I knew I’d put her in a position where she experienced guilt.
I slipped my pants on while listening to the muffled sound of her conversation, struggling to make out what she was saying over the fan she’d turned on in the bathroom.
I walked over to the window and opened the curtain, letting some of the morning sun into our hotel room. As I looked down at our parking lot view, I thought about the way she’d backed into me last night.
Lala had drifted off to sleep before I had. I’d stayed awake for hours, struggling with my thoughts and the fact that my body was on fire despite my best efforts to remain neutral while lying next to her. And then at one point, her ass had shifted back toward me, positioned directly on my dick. I’d wanted to freaking explode. I didn’t think she knew what she’d done because I’d heard little snores at almost the same moment. But my dick, which had already been struggling, had risen to full staff.
Aching for more, I’d done the opposite of what felt natural—I’d moved the comforter to act as a barrier for my cock before pushing my hips back. Then I’d reached out and wrapped my arms around her instead, because I couldn’t help it. That was a lot more innocent than grinding my cock against her ass, which was what I’d really wanted to do.
It had been physically painful to move back. I’d ended up falling asleep with my arms around her. Not sure what my dick or my body had decided to do while I was sleeping, but I figured I couldn’t be responsible for anything if I was unconscious.
Lala’s face was red when she emerged from the bathroom. She also had what looked like a rash all over her neck.
My eyes widened. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “He was just checking in since he hadn’t heard from me.”
“What did you tell him?”
She sighed. “I told him you came to help me, but I lied and told him that we were in separate rooms. And I feel terrible for doing that. I know we didn’t do anything wrong, but—”
“Fuck no, we didn’t, and you shouldn’t feel guilty.” I stepped toward her. “But I can understand why you couldn’t tell him we shared a bed.” I looked down at her neck. “You’re breaking out from stress. Stop beating yourself up about it.”
