12. Thorne

TWELVE

Thorne

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire / Jack Frost nipping at your nose.

8:14 am

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the heater and the sound of our breathing.

I'm still lying in his bed with my hand resting on his muscular thigh. I'm staring up at the ceiling, my body still buzzing from everything we've been through already this early int he morning.

The sheets are tangled around us, warm and comfortable, and for a moment, it's like the storm, the presentation, everything fades into the background.

Five minutes is much too short.

Woodley shifts beside me, pulling the blanket up to her chin, her eyes twinkling as if she is smiling at me through them. I turn my head to look at her, feeling a strange mix of contentment and disbelief.

I didn't see any of this coming—her, us, the way we've managed to work together in the middle of all this chaos. But here we are.

She lets out a soft sigh. "Maybe we should go over it again before I go shower," she suggests, her voice still scratchy from the sex.

"I know I keep saying it, but I feel like I need to review again. I know, I'm insane."

I chuckle, reaching up to her face to move a strand of hair. "Yeah. We've been over the deck a million times. I think we're about as ready as we're going to get."

She smiles, her lips curving up in that way that always catches me off guard. "You're good for me. Because if I recite that damn presentation one more time, I might really lose it."

I laugh softly, shifting onto my side to face her. "Same here. At least with the video conference, we can wear whatever we want from the waist down." I grin. "Hell, we could be naked under the desk, and no one would know."

She snorts, burying her face in the pillow. "That's true. Though, I'm pretty sure that would distract me more than help."

I shake my head, still grinning. There's a lightness to all of this, something I didn't expect to feel. Everything seemed so tense, so critical just a little while ago, but now, lying here with her, it all feels easy and right.

Like we've already won, even though the real test is still ahead of us.

The snowstorm is still raging outside, but in here, it's warm. Comfortable.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It's over three hours until the call. We've got time, but I know she is getting anxious about getting everything set up. Sooner than later, we are going to have to drag ourselves out of this bed and into professional mode.

"Are you getting in the shower now?" She asks.

"I guess if you're making me," I say, though I don't really want to move. "Eleven forty-five, right?"

She nods, stretching a little under the covers. "Yeah, three hours and some change. When you put it like that I guess we do still have some time."

"Perfect."

"We'll do the call from my room, if you're good with that, since it has a desk. I'd rather not try to balance my laptop on a hotel bed for something this important."

I laugh. "Good call."

There's a brief pause, the weight of what we just did still lingering between us. But it doesn't feel awkward this time. It feels natural. Like this is where we're supposed to be right now.

If I were to make a wager, I think she wants to stay here with me just as much as I don't want her to leave.

I turn to her, my voice low. "You wanna join me in the shower before we get ready?"

She raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You mean, get ready before we get ready?"

I grin. "Exactly. Water conservation, of course."

She shakes her head, but I can see the amusement in her eyes. "Fine, but no hanky-panky."

With that, I throw the covers off and slide out of bed, feeling the cool air hit my skin. I glance back at her, watching as she pushes the blankets aside and follows me.

As we step into the bathroom together, the tension of the last few days, the pressure of the pitch, it all fades away. For now, it's just the two of us, and for once, everything feels like it's falling into place.

I step into the shower, the hot water cascading over me, washing away the remnants of sleep and the lingering tension from the previous night. The steam fills the room, fogging up the mirror and turning the world outside into a distant memory. I close my eyes, letting the warmth envelop me, but the solitude doesn't last long.

The glass door opens, and Woodley slips in, her body a vision against the backdrop of the fogged-up tiles. Her dark auburn hair is pinned up, tendrils escaping to cling to the nape of her neck. She looks at me with those hazel eyes, flecks of gold sparkling with a mischievous light.

Without a word, she moves past me, her hand brushing against my chest, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. She positions herself in front of the bench, the water running down her back, tracing the curves of her spine, the dip of her waist, and the swell of her hips.

I can't help but stare, my gaze trailing over her body, taking in the sight of her. She's all soft skin and supple curves, her full ass a tantalizing invitation. I step closer, the heat of her body mingling with the steam, creating a heady atmosphere that's impossible to resist.

She places one foot on the bench, her stance wide and inviting. Her hands press against the tile wall, her fingers splayed, her back arched. It's an image of pure, unadulterated sex appeal, and it's all for me.

I move behind her, my hands finding her waist, my fingers digging into the soft flesh. I can feel her shiver under my touch, despite the heat of the water. I lean in, my chest pressing against her back, my lips finding the curve of her neck. She tilts her head, giving me better access, her breath hitching as I nip at her skin.

With one hand, I guide myself to her entrance, the water making her slick and ready. I tease her for a moment, the tip of me just barely inside her, before I thrust forward, burying myself to the hilt. She gasps, her fingers clawing at the tiles, her body rocking forward with the force of my entry.

I start to move, my grip on her waist tightening, my other hand sliding up her body to cup her breast. I can feel her heart pounding under my palm, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

She's moaning now, her voice echoing off the walls, mixing with the sound of the water and the slap of our bodies coming together.

I drive into her again and again, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. The sight of her, the feel of her, it's all too much. I'm lost in the sensation, my mind spinning, my body moving on instinct alone.

Her curves fit perfectly against me, her ass bouncing against my hips with every thrust. I can feel the tension building inside her, her body tensing, her moans growing louder. I reach around, my fingers finding her clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

She's close, I can tell, her body trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. I fuck her harder, faster, my own release barreling towards me like a freight train. And then she's there, her body convulsing, her scream echoing around us as she comes, her inner walls clamping down around me, milking me, pulling me over the edge with her.

I explode inside her, my vision blurring, my body shaking with the force of my orgasm. I hold her close, my face buried in her neck, my breath hot against her skin. We stay like that for a moment, neither of us willing to break the connection, the water still pouring down around us, washing away everything but this perfect, stolen moment.

11:22 am

I walk next door to Woodley's room, knocking softly but firmly. We've got twenty-five minutes until the video conference starts. Plenty of time to get set up and iron out any last-minute details.

The door opens a crack, and Woodley peeks out, one side of her hair still slightly damp from the shower. "Hey," she says, stepping aside to let me in. "I'm almost ready."

I nod, stepping inside and taking in the room. It looks more organized than mine, which is no surprise. There's a desk by the window where she's clearly set up for the meeting, her laptop already open, a glass of water on the side.

"Take your time," I say, moving over to the desk to start setting up my own laptop. I've been over the presentation so many times, but I still can't shake the nerves. Even with the weather, the video conference feels like our shot to save this pitch. Everything's ready. Or at least, it should be.

Woodley disappears into the bathroom for a moment, and I sit down, flipping open my laptop. The screen blinks to life, and I pull up the video conference link Thom sent us earlier. I hit "connect" but nothing happens. The Wi-Fi icon at the bottom of the screen is flashing. No connection.

Frowning, I check my phone's signal—full bars. But the laptop? Nothing. I try again, clicking the Wi-Fi icon, but it refuses to connect.

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath.

"What's up?" Woodley's voice floats in from the bathroom.

"I can't get the Wi-Fi to connect," I call back, trying not to let the irritation come through in my voice. I click around a few more settings, but it's not budging. "I'm gonna call the front desk."

Woodley steps out of the bathroom, still towel-drying her hair, looking more put-together now. She shoots me a concerned look as I pick up the room phone and dial zero.

The front desk answers after a couple of rings. "Hi, this is Thorne Chilton in room 1015," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. "I'm trying to connect to the Wi-Fi, but it's not working. Is there an issue?"

There's a brief pause on the other end before the woman responds. "Yes, sir, we're currently experiencing intermittent outages due to the storm. We're doing our best to restore service, but it might take some time."

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Any idea how long?"

"I'm afraid I can't give you an exact time, sir. The storm's caused significant disruptions in the area."

I thank her and hang up, feeling the frustration bubbling up in my chest. Of course. Just when we need everything to go smoothly, the damn storm decides to mess with the internet.

Woodley walks over, her brow furrowed. "What did they say?"

"They're having outages. No idea when it'll be back."

She bites her lip, glancing at her own laptop. "Let me see if mine's working."

She leans over the desk, tapping a few keys on her computer, but I can tell by the look on her face that she's getting the same result. No connection.

"Great," she mutters. "Just great." I can already seeing unhinged Woodley threatening to reemerge.

I'm about to respond when I hear her phone buzz from the desk. She glances down, and the color drains from her face as she swipes to read the message.

"What is it?" I ask, already knowing it's not good based on her expression.

She takes a deep breath, her voice tight. "My flight is canceled."

I stare at her for a second, trying to process what she's just said. Canceled? I pull out my own phone, opening the airline app. Sure enough, there's a notification waiting for me too.

All flights out of Boston Logan canceled until further notice.

The meeting, the flights, everything is falling apart. Just when it was within our grasp.

I stare at my phone, the canceled flight notification still glaring up at me like some kind of torture method.

As if the internet going down wasn't bad enough, now we're trapped in Boston with no way out and no way to get this meeting done. Perfect.

Woodley's pacing beside me, her fingers tapping nervously against her phone. "What are we going to do?" she mutters, more to herself than to me. "We have to call Thom and let him know. Fuck!"

I rub the back of my neck, feeling the frustration build in my chest. "I'm calling him." My voice is tight, clipped. If we don't get this sorted soon, Thom's going to think we've bailed, that we can't handle the pressure. And that's not happening.

I dial Thom's number, pressing the phone to my ear. It rings. Once. Twice. No answer. I hang up and dial again. This time, I'm met with the same result. Nothing. I curse under my breath, the knot in my stomach tightening.

"He's not picking up," I say, my voice sharper than I intended.

Woodley stops pacing, her eyes wide with a mix of panic and frustration. "He has to know we're not dropping the ball. If we can't reach him, maybe he is experiencing the same issues."

"We'll figure it out," I snap, more at the situation than at her. I feel her eyes on me, and I force myself to take a deep breath. "Let's try using a hotspot. Maybe we can bypass the Wi-Fi."

She nods quickly, already pulling out her phone. I do the same, fumbling with the settings to create a personal hotspot. For a moment, there's a flicker of hope as I connect my laptop to the signal. But it's short-lived. The connection drops almost instantly, and even when I try reconnecting, it won't hold.

"No luck?" Woodley asks, glancing at me, her voice strained.

I shake my head, frustration clawing at me. "Nothing."

She swipes through her phone again, trying to get hers to work, but it's the same story: no connection. Now I'm the one feeling like I might come unhinged.

I lean back in the chair, running both hands through my hair, trying to think. We can't reach Thom, we can't get online, and now our flights are canceled. The walls are closing in, and there's nothing I hate more than feeling powerless.

Woodley slumps down on the bed, looking as defeated as I feel. "What are we going to do, Thorne?" She asks quietly, her voice laced with frustration. "When I'm cornered I fight, but there is no one to fight, nothing to fix this."

I don't respond, my mind racing with ways to fix this. But no matter which angle I take, it keeps leading back to the same place: we're screwed.

Suddenly, the lights in the room flicker. It's quick, just a brief surge, but it's enough to send a jolt through me. I glance up at the ceiling, half expecting the power to go out completely.

"Great," I mutter under my breath. "Now the power's going too."