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“I could’ve told you that,” I grumble.
Lyndsey laughs. “Are you jealous?”
I shrug. “Nah, I get you all to myself tonight,” I whisper.
Lyndsey lets me hold her instead of thinking of a joke. I like this side of her: softer, almost, her jibes have transformed into observations rather than deliberate attempts to keep me at bay.Still, most of the time, I can’t untangle the knot of worry I can feel forming in her brain. I wish she’d let me.
I’ve never dated someone so complicated before. Priya can keep a secret for approximately five minutes. And I can’t recall the details of two decades’ worth of groupies, except for the occasional mole on someone’s tits or the odd glee people possess when they tell me we’re fucking in their hometown. Lyndsey’s different: there’s a whole world behind her eyes. I want to see it all.
She kisses me, and I grip her hair, tugging at it. She flashes me a smile and offers me her hand as we walk to the car waiting for us to take us to the hotel. I grab her hand, and our fingers intertwine effortlessly.
She flips Apollo off when he makes a gagging noise. We slide into the backseat, and she rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her and pull her close.
In the lobby of a pristine yet bland hotel, with another jug of cucumber water waiting for us, Lyndsey doles out the rest of the key cards. She confirmed that we get an early check-out time with the front desk.
After tonight, we booked it to Detroit International Airport to finally go home. I’ve been trying to convince Lyndsey to crash with me instead of at her mom’s place. I want to show her what I’m like when we’re not crammed into a bunk like sardines.
“Come home with me, please,” I whisper when we enter the elevator.
Lyndsey hums. “I’m considering it. Crashing in my childhood bedroom isn’t exactly glamorous,” Lyndsey says.
“Exactly. Come and see me! You can still visit your mom; Laurel Canyon can’t be more than an hour away from Pasadena.
In the elevator, Lyndsey hooks her fingers through the belt loops of my pants, and our hips crash together.
“This is our floor!” Henry blurts as he, Priya, and Apollo depart.
Lyndsey and I get off to the next floor. Already, I’ve captured her lips. I’m ravenous for her. We stumble to our room, unable to bear apart from each other for a moment. I pin her up against the wall by her wrists, and she instinctively tilts her pelvis toward me.
“Give it five minutes,” she hisses as she fishes the key card out of her pocket.
“Too long,” I insist, kissing her neck and toying with the waistband of her jeans as she slips the key card into the slot and opens the door.
We stumble to the bed as Lyndsey fumbles for the light switch. She reaches down to peel off her tank top, and I grab it for her, casting it onto the floor as she grabs my tank top and whips it off. Her hands roam my chest, squeezing my pecs before looping together behind my neck.
Thanks to the power of modern medicine, Lyndsey’s IUD, and a clean STI panel, we’ve been fucking like rabbits. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of hearing her scream my name or the feeling of her miraculously sculpted thighs squeezing the sides of my face.
She moves over to the bed and pulls me down with her. I move down and take one of her breasts in my mouth, sucking as the nipple pebbles. Lyndsey whimpers and tilts her pelvis upward so she can peel off her jeans. I help her peel off her jeans and free myself from my pants. I’m already rock-hard.
She reaches down and grabs my cock, working her hand upward along the shaft. I groan in pleasure as she slips her tongue into my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip. With her other hand, she reaches to turn off the lamp with a frantic motion. Then she stops.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Lyndsey grins sheepishly as she holds up a pair of handcuffs.
“Did you pack those?” I ask dumbly.
“No! Why would I? They were just here.” She fumbles around the tiny bedside table, retrieving a small silver key.
“Either housekeeping’s slutty, or they missed something,” I say.
Lyndsey studies the handcuffs and turns her head to the side. “Shall we?” she asks, her eyes glinting with mischief I haven’t seen.
“Now?” I ask.
“I mean, I’ve never. I understand if that’s not something you’re into—" Lyndsey starts, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
“No, no. Yes. Let’s.” The idea of Lyndsey in handcuffs has reduced me to a pre-verbal state. Hell, I’d let her handcuff me up any day.
