When we had left the hotel that morning, he’d asked if he could negotiate some terms with me. I’d told him that it was our trip, not just mine, and negotiations weren’t needed. He had three requests: (1) an endless supply of lollipops, (2) we drive for only two hours at a time before stopping, and (3) we drive no more than six hours a day.
We found somewhere to stay a few hours away. I didn’t exactly know where we were, and it didn’t really matter. Where he was—that was where I wanted to be.
The first thing he did when we walked into the room was look for the balcony doors. He slid them open and stepped outside. I made us coffee and followed after him. His legs were already kicked out, and he was waiting for me take my spot on his lap. He smiled sadly when I did.
“Are you okay, Blake?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You always get sad at the end of the day.”
“I’m that obvious, huh?”
I turned to face him. “Is something wrong? Are you homesick?”
He laughed. “No. I’m not homesick. It’s just another day over. That’s all. I hate it—counting them down and knowing our days are limited.”
“I know.” I forced a smile. “So what do we do?”
“Nothing,” he sighed. “I’m just being grumpy.” He positioned me so I sat sideways on him. “And this is gonna sound really stupid, but I miss you.”
I chuckled. “You miss me? How? I’m with you all the time.”
“I know! I told you it would sound dumb, but I do miss you. We’re always in the car or eating somewhere. And I feel like I’m sharing you with The Road, and I just want you all to myself, and it makes me feel selfish because this was your thing.” His words were rushed. “But I miss you. I just want to talk to you, and only you, like we did all the times at your mom’s lake. Or on your swing seat.” He sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry. It’s stupid that I feel like this.”
“It’s not stupid.” And it wasn’t. I felt the same way, but I didn’t know how to voice it. Blake—he always had the words. “We can stay here for a few days. It’s nice and quiet. We don’t have to do anything. Just lock ourselves away from the rest of the world.”
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Maybe that wasn’t what he’d meant.
“I mean—if you want to,” I added. “I’d like that, just you and me. But it’s cool if you—”
“That sounds perfect, Chloe.” He smiled. “More than perfect.”
The entire night he’d been sitting there shirtless, watching whatever the hell movie had been playing. I’d tried not to look at him. To ogle him. To devour him.
I kept tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable with the throbbing ache between my legs. I wanted him. And I knew he wanted me. The endless kissing, touching, feeling—it wasn’t enough anymore. Not for me.
He pulled back from our kiss, his lips red and raw. “We need to slow down, I don’t want to sleep with you yet. But if we keep going, I’m going to lose control. You need to stop me before it gets too far.” His eyes were dark. Darker than I’d ever seen them. “Please, Chloe.”
It took a moment before I worked out what he was asking. I nodded once and wrapped my legs tighter around his waist.
“Okay.”
And if he did lose control—it didn’t show. Every move, every touch, every taste felt calculated. His hands moved up my sides, taking my shirt with it. We broke away from the kiss only long enough for him to lift the top over my head. But when we continued, something in him had switched. No longer slow and gentle, his kisses became desperate. Passionate. Perfect. He was perfect.
His hand slid up my back and settled on my bra, where it stilled—asking for approval, I guessed. I moaned into his mouth and pulled myself closer with my hands on his shoulders. Effortlessly, he unclasped the bra, slowly sliding it down my arms. I pulled back to let it fall, but his grip on my waist kept me there.
He bit his lip, his eyes moving from one breast to another. “Beautiful,” he whispered before kissing me again.
It took only seconds before we were there once more, teetering on the edge of whatever control we had left. His thumb brushed against my nipple; the other one laced and fisted in my hair. He yanked hard but not hard enough that it hurt.
My head tilted back so his mouth could move to my neck. I was grinding my hips, rubbing my heat where I wanted him the most. His hips rose, meeting me there. I was so wet, so close.
His mouth moved lower and lower, onto my collarbone, where his lips paused to suck. Hard. And I loved it. And then he moved. Lower again. I pushed my chest out. Ready. Waiting. I needed him where he wanted to be. The warmth of his mouth on my nipple set me off. I ground harder into him. Faster. We groaned simultaneously. And I didn’t even know when or how they got there, but his fingers brushed against my sex, over my panties, rubbing lightly.
“Shit,” I repeated the word over and over between pants.
Then he pushed the material aside and pushed two fingers inside me. His mouth moved from one breast to the other, and whatever control I had was gone. I was done. I thrust into his hand as his fingers worked me over the edge. I didn’t even notice when he pulled back. Not until every last shudder went through me, and I finally managed to open my eyes.
He was watching me, eyes hooded, mouth partially open. I moved in to kiss him. Just once, before I made my way down his body. His neck first, sucking the way he’d done to me. Marking him. Making him mine. He slid his fingers out of me. I kissed lower, over his chest, as I slid down his body. My tongue slid to his stomach—his perfect stomach—paying special attention to the dips of his muscles. Then my hands moved and curled around the band of his boxers.
“Chloe.” He covered my hands with his. “You don’t have to—”
I didn’t listen. He didn’t continue protesting. Once my mouth was around him, he was silent. Apart from the moans toward the end and a single word—my name.
We spent three more days in the hotel room, and we did exactly what we both wanted. We didn’t have sex, but we shared, we talked, we laughed. And at some point, we fell even more in love. We didn’t voice it. We didn’t have to. We both knew. But someday, real soon, I’d tell him.
And for the first time in my life, I made a plan for the future.
Blake Hunter—he was my future.
Think a little less, live a little more.
“Ha!” he said. “I like that one.”
“Me, too.” I smiled.
He picked up his blank magnet and scribbled on it. Today will live forever in the memory of tomorrow.
“I love that. Where’s it from?” I looked up at him.
He shrugged and kissed my forehead.
“One of my mom’s books.”
“You read her books?” I asked.
“Every single one.”