Prologue

The keycard dings as I hold onto the door handle, swinging into the dark hotel room with all the grace of a drunk. The tall man I've spent most of the night hanging off of stumbles in after, already struggling with the buckle of his belt. I giggle, stepping out of my cocktail dress in one fluid motion as I move to help him. He slams the door shut and flips a switch, flooding the room with dingy yellow light.

My reflection stares back at me in the full-length mirror, and I move to the switch. "Uh uh," I taunt him as the lights go out. He chuckles as he shrugs off his button-down dress shirt, and I push his silhouette to the bed, my lips finding his while my hand works at his boxers. He's already slick with pre-cum. Some men are too easy.

The fabric slides off him easily, and then his muscular frame is holding, caressing, kissing me, taking a breast in one hand as he holds me up with the other, pushing me back from the bed until we stop, his member poking, prodding my wet center, then sliding in and out, slowly at first as the condom becomes slick with my juices, then picking up to a sloppy, reckless speed, until I am pressed up against the wall, the two of us panting as he can't seem to get enough of me.

Fuck. This is what I needed.

"Weston," he says from his side of the bed. I turn over, not sure I hear him correctly. "My name is Weston," he repeats.

"Presley," I reply. "Can't remember if I told you at the bar or…" I trail off as I look around. The basic hotel room suddenly comes into sharper focus in the street light filtering through the sheer window curtain.

The snowstorm is still blaring down over the Ann Arbor skyline. That's what landed me right here, in this bed. The storm wasn't forecasted to be this strong, and there certainly wasn't any prediction of my boyfriend of six months breaking up with me in the downstairs restaurant. After the jackass broke the news, I went to leave, but then looked outside, and there was no way I'd make it back up the mountain to my house. So, I rented this room and proceeded to drown my sorrows at the hotel bar.

I sigh. What was the point? Strangers don't owe each other explanations. Or anything for that matter.

We lay in silence for a time, long enough that I think Weston must be asleep. I turn to follow his example when he speaks again. "This is not how I pictured tonight going," he chuckles half-heartedly.

Another sigh. "You seemed pretty excited to tag along."

"This was your idea," Weston says, though he says it like a joke. I don't respond, facing the wall. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be here, but I–"

"You don't have to do that," I interrupt.

"Sorry?"

"You don't have to convince me you want to be here. The sex was good. That's all that matters."

Weston pauses. "I don't think that's all–"

"Can't you just use me, then move on?" I interrupt again. Like I'm using you.

I turn as Weston's lamp flickers on, flooding the room with light. He looks intently at me, but I can't look at him. Instead, I pick at the sheets.

"I was going to ask you out to dinner. I thought you were pretty, so–"

Enough of this. I roll on top of him, straddling him at the waist. I feel him react, yet that feeling is drowned out by shame. That light has to turn off.

"You didn't think I was pretty, did you?" I gesture to my chest, emphasizing its large size. "You just thought I had a good rack and a slim waist."

"I–"

"And that's okay," I continue. "That's all this is. All it ever is." Tears prick at my eyes, remembering the hurtful breakup words from not even twenty-four hours ago. I feel like I try so hard, yet I'm just destined to be alone. "That's okay." I reach for the lamp, ready to turn it off and get some sleep.

But his hand is grabbing my wrist, and I'm rolling, back to my side of the bed, Weston above me. He lets my wrist go, but I remain pinned by the intensity of his stare. I squirm.

"I thought you were pretty," he says. "And I wanted to ask you out."

My stomach churns at the words, but they sound so sweet. I wipe at the tears, sniffling just a little as they subside. Of all the idiots to take to bed, I wound up with him? And the icing on the cake?

I can feel his bulge from where he presses against me.

He looks at me expectantly, a question in his green, almost gray, eyes. Damn, I hadn't noticed. He's actually attractive. "Get another condom, Mr. Charmer," I mutter, not able to hide my blush.

He does, and then he is above me again, devouring me with his eyes.

"Do you have to look at me?" I ask as he slides his dick in once more. Butterflies dance in my stomach. He leans forward until his mouth is close to my ear.

"Not if you don't want me to. But I do."

"What?" My chest tightens.

"Want to see you."

Then he moves back, pushing in and out with a steady rhythm, all while his eyes have mine locked. The butterflies dance again, but I push them down, wanting just another moment of his eyes on me.

Weston's hand travels up my side, making gooseflesh pebble my skin at the ghost of his touch, and for a second, I'm afraid he'll stop halfway up my body without going the full way. But it continues, up past my shoulder, until it stops just below my chin. He grins like the idiot he is, but I don't care. He pulls my mouth to his, lust keeping the kiss hot, wet, and prolonged.

Weston hooks his elbows in the crook of my knees and lifts, pushes, until my feet are by my head and he looms above me, all the while thrusting with more and more force. I wrap my arms around his back, doing all that I can to hold on, my fingers grasping at skin, my nails biting into his back.

It isn't until he pulls out that I realize he came, but he doesn't stop. He tosses the used condom aside and reaches for another, but I beat him to it. I grab it from the bedside table and slide down his slick body, until I am using my mouth to put the next condom on.

Then I slide into him as I glance at him only to notice that he's never stopped looking at me. His hands grab my waist, and he enters me again, eliciting a moan of pleasure from me. This man is so strong, so athletic, his endurance is like no other I've ever been with.

Even as he thrusts again and again, I can't explain it, but this, this, feels different, so much better than the jackass before, and I know I was wrong to think he was just some idiot, he's a true man. I lock eyes with him.

Thisis what I really needed, someone to make me feel whole again after the event and the ugly words engraved in my head only moments before I met him.