4. Thorne

FOUR

Thorne

I really can't stay / (But baby, it's cold outside) / I've got to go away / (But baby, it's cold outside).

2:57 am

There's something almost surreal about this moment. The room is hot—too hot—thanks to the busted thermostat that won't quit pumping dry heat through the vents. I crack the vertical slat glass window to let in some relief.

The bed is uncomfortable as hell, and this motel looks like it belongs in a horror film. Now, here we are, standing next to each other, in the middle of the night, in this godforsaken place, and all I can think about is this undeniable desire to kiss her.

Woodley.

She's staring at me now, her face inches away, that familiar edge in her eyes replaced with something softer, something I haven't seen before. The air between us, while still hot as hell, also crackles with electricity. The cool air blowing in through the cracked windows create dueling sensations, hot and cold, intensifying the pull.

Maybe all of this has made me lose my mind.

Even though I actually can't stand her normally, there is a part of me that has mad respect for her. She's everything I'm not—driven, disciplined, impossible to rattle.

She's the kind of person who works for every inch of progress, while, for the most part, I've been given opportunity after opportunity. But standing here, close enough to feel the heat of her skin, the animosity we've had for each other feels irrelevant. It's late, we're miles from anywhere, and maybe a little roll in the hay is exactly what this shitty trip needs to get us through.

Without thinking myself out of it, I lean in.

My hand finds her waist, resting lightly at first, almost testing. Her breath catches, her eyes widening just for a second before she exhales, and that's all the permission I need. I press my lips to hers, the kiss slow at first, almost tentative. But then she responds, her body leaning into mine, and suddenly, nothing else matters.

She's softer than I expected, her lips moving against mine in a way that sends a shock of hunger for her through my entire body. My hand tightens on her waist, pulling her closer, and I can feel the way her breath hitches as her chest presses against me. The room is hot, unbearably so, but it's not the heat from the thermostat that's doing this to me—it's her.

Everything about this feels wrong. It's Woodley, the woman who's been pushing my buttons since the day we met. The one who somehow sees through all my bullshit even though we barely know each other. But right now, the way she's kissing me back, the way her body feels under my hands, I don't care. Because all I want is her.

I slide my hand up her back, fingers brushing against the thin fabric of her shirt, and she shivers. The reaction sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. I'm all in now—kissing her deeper, my other hand finding the small of her back, pulling her flush against me. She lets out a soft gasp, and it's like something inside me snaps.

The world outside this motel room ceases to exist. There's no bomb at the airport, no looming pitch in Boston, no reason we should be at each other's throats. There's just this—her, here, with me. I know I shouldn't want this, but I do. God, I do.

I pull back just enough to look at her, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips slightly parted, and there's a look of pure, unguarded need in her expression that makes my heart pound harder.

"Woodley..." I murmur, my voice rougher than I expected.

She doesn't respond, but she doesn't have to. The way she's looking at me says everything.

I lean back in, this time with more urgency, kissing her harder, deeper. My hand moves to her hip, fingers curling around her, and I can feel the way she arches against me, like she can't get close enough. Her hands find my shoulders, gripping me tight, and every barrier we've built between us crumbles all at once.

The kiss is heated, desperate, every nerve in my body firing on all cylinders. I can't think straight anymore. All I can feel is her—her warmth, her softness, the way she's letting herself go in this moment. It's all-consuming, this need to feel more, to erase the space between us completely.

But then something in me pulls back. Reality crashes through the haze of heat, reminding me that this is wrong on so many levels. I stop, my forehead resting against hers, both of us breathing hard.

"What the hell are we doing?" I whisper, more to myself than to her.

She clears her throat but doesn't say anything. I can feel her breath against my skin, shaky and unsteady. I don't want to stop. I want to lose myself in this, in her, but the moment stretches out, the weight of it settling between us.

I can't help myself, and I don't want to try to stop anymore. The taste of her lips is intoxicating, igniting a fire within me that threatens to burn down every last vestige of common sense I have left. My hands are on her, tugging at her shirt, her skin hot beneath my palms. She's kissing me back with the same fervor, our bodies moving together in a desperate dance as we fumble our way towards the bed.

We're a tangle of limbs and heated breaths, our clothes becoming an afterthought, a hindrance to the raw, animalistic need that's taken over. My shirt hits the floor, followed swiftly by hers, and the sight of her—pale skin flushed with desire, chest heaving—makes my throat tighten with want.

I press her down onto the mattress, our bodies aligning perfectly as I claim her mouth again and again. Her fingers are in my hair, nails scratching lightly against my scalp, sending shivers down my spine. I grind against her, the friction exquisite, and she lets out a gasp that goes straight to my groin.

"Thorne," she moans, and the sound of my name on her lips nearly undoes me. "I have an IUD."

I trail kisses down her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there, and she arches into me, her body begging for more. My hands explore her, relearning the curves and dips of her form as I shed the rest of her clothes with frantic, uncoordinated movements.

She's just as eager, her fingers working at my belt, yanking it open with a fierceness that makes me grin against her skin. We're wild, untamed, and I've never felt more alive.

I slip a hand between her legs, groaning at the wet heat that greets me. She's ready, so damn ready, and I can't wait any longer. With a swift, sure motion, I enter her, and we both cry out, the sensation overwhelming. She's tight, so tight, and the feel of her surrounding me is almost too much to bear.

We move together, each thrust deeper, harder, faster than the last. It's frenzied, almost frantic, our bodies chasing a pleasure that's just out of reach. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, and I drive into her again and again, lost in the rhythm of our coupling.

"Yes, God, yes," she pants, her voice ragged, and I feel her tighten around me, her climax building.

I brace myself on one arm, using the other to tilt her head back, exposing her neck to my hungry mouth. I bite down gently on the tender flesh, and she shatters beneath me, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm. The sensation of her contracting around me pushes me over the edge, and with a guttural yell, I follow her into oblivion.

We lay there, spent and breathless, our bodies still intimately joined. The room is silent save for our mingled gasps for air, and the gusts of wind and snow circling outside our window.

I can feel the rapid thud of her heart against my chest. I have no idea what this means for us, but in this moment, I don't care. All that matters is the woman in my arms and the euphoria that's left us both shaken and satiated, our bodies finally ready to succumb to sleep.

I roll onto my back, pulling her with me so she's draped across my chest. Her hair is a tangled mess, falling in waves over her shoulders. I can't resist the urge to brush it back from her face. She looks up at me, her hazel eyes soft and unguarded, and I can see the questions lurking there, the uncertainties of what just happened between us.

For now, it appears, we're both content to lie here in the aftermath, our bodies still buzzing with the remnants of our unexpected passion.

The complexities, the adversity, the world outside can wait—for tonight, at least, Woodley Price is mine.

The room is quiet, the heater finally cut off, so at least there is that positive. Finally, the air is blessedly cool for the first time since we got here. Woodley appears to have dozed off, but I quietly get up to close the window so we don't die of frostbite in our sleep.

I glance over at Woodley. She's asleep, her body curled under the thin blanket, her breathing slow and steady.

I sigh, dragging a hand over my face, the weight of everything settling on my chest. I should've known better. Hell, I did know better. But here we are. Instead of climbing back in bed with her, I move over to the bed she was sleeping in earlier, far enough away to avoid any accidental contact. Whatever that was needs to end there.

As I lie down on the lumpy mattress, my mind won't stop racing. I tell myself I need to get some rest. We still have to drive over six hours in a few hours, through a goddamn snowstorm, no less. I need to be focused, to have my head in the game. We've got this pitch to finalize.

What the hell was I thinking?

She's not my type. She's the opposite of everything I've ever gone for—too intense, too serious, too much of everything that usually drives me insane. And yet, somehow, that didn't seem to matter an hour ago.

My body reacted before my brain could stop it, and now we're here. Stuck in this shitty motel, in the middle of nowhere, and we've made it ten times more awkward for both of us.

I rub my temples, trying to make sense of it. Woodley is beautiful—there's no denying that. But she's not my world. She's not someone I could ever see myself with. We're too different. We live in different universes. God, I should know how to keep it in my pants by now. What a fucking adolescent mistake.

I roll onto my side, staring at the shadowy outline of her bed. I don't know why I let it happen. I could blame the exhaustion, the stress, the fact that we've been stuck together for way too long in this snowstorm. But really? It was just... her. Something about being here, in this ridiculous situation, flipped a switch in me that I wasn't prepared for.

Now I have to face her in a few hours, get in a car, and drive the rest of the way to Boston. A surge of irritation rises in my chest.

I shake my head, frustrated with everything. The blizzard, this dump of a motel, the fact that we're driving across half the country only days before Christmas. And now I've gone and made everything worse by sleeping with her.

Punching the pillow, I try to find a comfortable spot, but there's no comfort here. No matter how I try to spin it, I've made things infinitely more complicated. Dammit.

I turn onto my back, staring up at the ceiling again. I need sleep, but it's not coming. Not with the weight of what's waiting for us tomorrow. This whole trip has been a disaster. I can only hope that at the end of this there will be a positive in nailing this with ValorTech. That's the only positive that could come at this point.

Keep my eye on the prize. Turn off all the other noise.

I close my eyes, trying to force my mind to shut down, but all I can think about is her.

Fuck.