Chapter Twenty-Five

The diamond-patterned carpet was swimming in front of Daphne's vision, and she angrily swiped at her eyes before any tears could fall. She just couldn't believe she'd been so stupid. She never put herself out there like that. Never. And now she remembered why.

She stepped into the elevator, frustrated when it took her several tries to get the door panel to light up from scanning her room key card. The doors were starting to close when she saw a blur of motion outside, and normally she would've hit the door open button, tried to hold the elevator for whoever needed on, but tonight she wasn't in the mood to share space with anyone. She tucked herself into the corner, hoping they wouldn't see her, but then a hand shot out to stop the doors from closing.

It was Chris. He was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, a single lock of his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

"What—" she started to say, but she didn't get the words out before he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

And oh, did he kiss her. It was a toe-curling kiss. A just-got-back-from-war kiss. His fingertips were at her jaw, and he tilted her face up to claim her mouth, his tongue sliding along the seam of her lips until she opened up for him. He backed her against the mirrored wall of the elevator, and she was only dimly aware of the door closing behind them, cocooning them inside the small space. She gripped his biceps like she was about to fall over, even though there was no fear of that, not with the way he was holding her. His hands slid down, grasping her waist as he leaned into her ear.

"I do want you," he said. "I think I've wanted you from the first moment I saw you."

"Not the first moment," she said, her voice coming out a little breathless.

"During that first interview, then," he said, palms warm on her rib cage, skimming the undersides of her breasts. "The way you tucked your hair behind your ear." His large hands were fully cupping her under her sweatshirt now, and he groaned as he rubbed his calloused fingers over the taut buds of her nipples. "Fuck. I knew you weren't wearing a bra."

"I knew you were looking." She pulled him back down for another kiss, her tongue swirling with his in a hot, wet joining before he moved to press openmouthed kisses to her throat. Briefly she got a glimpse of herself over his shoulder in the mirrored wall of the elevator, and she barely recognized herself—her eyes glazed, her curls sticking up in every direction, her mouth swollen and raw.

They were still entangled with each other when the door opened on her floor, then closed again when they didn't move apart. He reached around her to push another button. "My room," he said.

She didn't care where they ended up. Despite the fact that they'd just discussed the need to keep any relationship private, despite the fact that there were almost certainly cameras in the hotel elevators, she found she couldn't think straight enough to worry about any of that.

Except—

"Won't there be a lot more traffic with the team all hanging around?"

He considered that for a second before reaching around her again to press the original button for her floor. He didn't have to crowd her to do that, but he seemed to want to stay as close as possible, one hand still under her shirt, the other pulling her back for a quick, hard kiss before the doors finally opened again.

"I don't know who else has rooms on this floor," she said against his mouth. "But what if—"

She gave a little squeak as he scooped her up, one arm under her knees and the other wrapped tight around her shoulders. "We'll say you rolled your ankle," he said.

"Wait, really?"

He grinned down at her, and it was such a happy, open expression. She didn't think she'd ever seen it on his face before—in pictures, maybe, but never in person. It made something tighten in her chest.

"No, not really. They'd see right through that. We'll just have to be fast."

And with that, the doors opened, and he started heading right before she'd had a chance to tell him her room number, laughing when she corrected him and he turned around toward the correct door. She reached down into the side pocket of her leggings, extracting her key card and waving it in front of the door until she saw the green light come on.

They were barely in the room before he'd laid her down on the bed, pushing her sweatshirt up so he could kiss her bare stomach, run his tongue along where her lower breast started to curve, take her nipple in his mouth. She gasped, arching up into him as she pulled him closer, her hands finding their way to the bunched muscles under his shirt.

"I want to worship you," he groaned against her breasts, the day's worth of beard on his jaw abrading the sensitive skin in a way that made every nerve ending fire.

"Worship me next time," she said. "Tonight I just want you to fuck me."

He had her leggings and underwear off in record time, and she pulled her sweatshirt over her head while he dealt with his own clothes. She should've felt self-conscious about being fully naked in front of him, so starkly, so suddenly, but she could only focus on his body, the flat planes of his chest and stomach, his thick muscular thighs. She'd already felt the hard jut of him when he'd slid her down his body, but now that she was seeing his erection up close, she couldn't help it. She was a little intimidated. It had been a long time.

"Wait," she said, the word coming out instinctively, before she even had the chance to think about what she was saying.

He kneeled down by the bed, settling between her knees. "We don't have to do anything," he said. "We can stop."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I—"

"Don't apologize." He squeezed her thighs, and even that—more of a comforting gesture than a sexual one—made her tremble. "What do you need?"

She gave a little laugh, throwing her arm over her eyes so she could temporarily block everything out, pretend she hadn't just delivered one of the hottest lines she'd ever said and then immediately ruined it. Not that they had to have sex—she knew that. But she genuinely wanted to. She wanted it so much that she'd now well and fully freaked herself out.

"I think I talked a big game," she said. "I've never—ah, I know this is such a line, but I've never done anything like this before. I just need a minute."

"Daphne, we can take all the time in the world. It doesn't have to be tonight. Or it doesn't have to be at all, if you want to back out of our deal. No strings, remember?"

Of course she remembered. She'd been the one to suggest it, and she was also the one who didn't even know how that would work. She was already proving herself singularly terrible at it.

Chris leaned forward to grab something off the bed, and the way his body heat suddenly overwhelmed her, the close proximity of him to where she lay splayed and open…when he held up her sweatshirt, she just blinked at it for a second, unable to compute what she was even looking at.

"Did you want this?" he asked. "Or to get under the covers?"

He must've seen that she was feeling vulnerable, and wanted to help her. It was such a sweet gesture that Daphne felt the brief sting of tears at the back corners of her eyes, but she really didn't want to cry. She knew if she cried, it would definitely be over, and she wasn't ready for it to be over.

She shook her head. "I like when you look at me. I like when you touch me."

Something flared in his eyes, and he gave her thighs another squeeze, this one decidedly more sexual. "I like to look at you," he said, and she felt a pulse between her legs as his hot gaze landed right on the core of her. His hands were higher now, his thumbs pressing into her hip bones as he nudged her legs a little wider. "I like to touch you."

"That's good," she said, her voice coming out a little choked. "It's always good when interests align."

"Mmm," he said. "Can I taste you?"

Even the way he asked the question had Daphne wanting to clench her thighs together with the sudden desire that shot down her spine. Oral sex wasn't something she'd ever gotten particularly comfortable with—it always made her feel self-conscious, and since she'd never come that way it felt like a lot of embarrassment for nothing.

"Let's save that," she said, guiding his hands up to her breasts. She left her hands on his even after he'd cupped both soft mounds, liking the way it felt, that contact. "For now, this is enough. I've gotten off to thinking about you looking at me like this."

"Really?" He looked adorably surprised, and she almost laughed.

"The last time I used my vibrator," she said, "I imagined you watching me."

"I have given a lot of thought to your vibrator." He rolled her nipples under the pads of his thumbs, causing her to moan. "And what did you mean by one being analog?"

"Ah," she said, squirming a little under the delicious pressure of his fingers. She couldn't help but think of the way he'd stroked circles on his glass down at the bar, wonder what it would feel like if he did that to her clit. "A dildo. It's—"

She started to say it wasn't very big, that she'd barely used it, but she couldn't believe she was talking about her sex toys at all.

"Christ," he said, sounding genuinely pained as he pressed his face into her stomach, breathing her in. "I'll definitely be getting off to thinking about that."

She bit her lower lip, running her hands through his hair. Maybe she couldn't believe they were talking about her sex toys when they could be doing something else. "I brought my vibrator with me," she said. "It's in my suitcase under some of my clothes, in a black drawstring bag."

He looked up at her, as if confirming what she wanted him to do, before crossing the room to lean down over her open suitcase. It wasn't fair, how good his body was. She knew he was an athlete, that at some point working for that body was his literal job, but she still thought an ass shouldn't be allowed to be that tight. And at the same time, there was something almost vulnerable in the curve of his spine as he carefully moved piles of clothes to the side, something that reminded her that it was a privilege to see him this way.

And then he turned, holding up the black bag, and she got an eyeful of the front of him, too. It should definitely be illegal.

She pushed herself up so she was leaning against the headboard in the middle of the bed, reaching out for the vibrator. It was one she'd bought on a whim after seeing it in some themed listicle online for Valentine's Day, the first one when she'd been single. It was hot pink and had multiple settings she never bothered with, because she'd found a combo that worked for her and figured why reinvent the wheel.

"So what would you do," he said, turning the desk chair so it was facing the bed, and taking a seat. "If you were here alone."

She hadn't expected him to do that. She didn't know what she'd expected. She was so turned on she thought she might come the second she touched the vibrator to her clit.

"I usually start slow…" she said, switching it on and skimming it lightly over her most sensitive spot, her hips jerking automatically from the sensation. When she looked up at Chris, she saw his throat bob with a hard swallow.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice a rasp.

"Mmm," she said, pressing the vibrator against herself with more pressure, canting to the side to get a better angle. She hit a spot that she knew she had to back off from, or she'd definitely be done for.

He'd started stroking himself, and the sight of him doing that, his focused attention on her…it was better than any fantasy she ever could've had. But suddenly she didn't want him so far away.

"Come here," she said.

He slid onto the bed next to her, and she put her hand over his on the vibrator, guiding it exactly where she wanted it. "Oh, fuck," she said. "Right there."

"You like that?"

She tried to say yes, but it came out more like a whimper, and then he was holding her calf, pressing against her leg while he kept the head of the vibrator pulsing against her clit.

You have to be quiet—but I don't.She'd thought about him saying that on the phone so many times. She'd thought about what he would've said, if she'd let him talk. She didn't want to think about it now, didn't want to let the Duckie memories interfere, but it was impossible. It was all wrapped up together in her mind.

He took the vibrator away for a second, and she gave a frustrated sound that made him squeeze her calf, pull her toward him until he'd slung her leg over his shoulder, his hand sliding farther up her thigh.

"You have to let me worship you a little," he said, rubbing his thumb over her clit. She felt like every nerve ending down there was still buzzing from the vibrator, and the pressure of his touch almost sent her over the edge.

"Not yet," he said, sliding a finger inside her. "Fuck, you're so wet."

It wasn't long before he was using two fingers, then three, as he stroked her in slow, almost maddeningly slow, movements of his hand. Just when she thought she'd die if she didn't come, he reached around with the vibrator, his other hand still inside her as he pressed the buzzing sex toy to her clit. She tried to hold back, but she couldn't, and a ragged moan tore out of her throat as the wave that had been washing down her spine crested and broke, and she trembled and spasmed against him.

"That's it," he said, his breath hot on her ear. "Come for me, baby. Good girl. Come hard for me."

She felt like she was still coming, that heat in her body still sending off new sparks, but eventually she was able to get her breath back. He'd turned off the vibrator and stowed it next to the bed, and for a minute they just lay like that, him propped over her on his elbows, her holding on to his biceps and staring up into his hazel eyes and knowing that she didn't want to let him go, not just yet.

"Do you have a condom?" she asked.

"In my wallet," he said. "But do you—"

She didn't need rest. She didn't need to stop and think. Her body felt languid and golden and beautiful, and she wanted to live in the feeling as long as possible. She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. "Go get it."

Daphne barely had time to miss his body heat before he was back in the bed, his hard cock sheathed in a condom.

"Let me make sure you're ready first," he said against her mouth, kissing her as he slipped a finger inside her body. She was so wet, she could feel it—that heat, that easy slide. He had to know she would be, but he didn't seem to mind the excuse to touch her one more time.

And then he was pushing into her with his cock, filling her up inch by agonizing inch, until she couldn't stand it. She slanted her hips, wanting to take him deeper, faster.

"I can take it," she said. "Please."

He let out a harsh breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "I can't," he said. "Give me just a second. You feel so fucking good, Dee."

She didn't know if he was aware of it, the way he'd just shortened her name. She liked it. She liked it so much that she wrapped her legs around his strong thighs, rocking him against her until she could feel that he was all the way inside. And then she clenched those inner muscles, squeezing around him until he let out a hiss.

"That's how it's gonna be, huh?" He retreated enough that she felt bereft, but only for a moment, before he drove into her again and again, clutching her to him as he fucked her the way she'd asked to be fucked at the very beginning. That thin gold chain he always wore dangled down between them, and even that got her hot, the way it sometimes slapped against her chin as he moved inside her. She clung to his back, her fingers digging into the bunched muscles there in a way she knew would probably leave marks, but she didn't care. She hoped they would.

"Now I want you to come for me," she said, and that was all it took. Chris bit out a final curse as his body shuddered in her arms, and then his weight was heavy and hot on her as they lay still entwined, panting together.

Why did this part feel more intimate? Even after all that they'd done before? They were both covered in a sheen of sweat, her breasts flattened against his chest, and she was so close to his face she felt like she could count every individual eyelash. It wasn't fair, how long his eyelashes were. Chris Kepler as a physical specimen wasn't fair.

He seemed to be taking her in the same way, looking down at where their bodies were still pressed together, then glancing back up at her. She could've sworn she saw a streak of pink across his cheekbones, almost like he was blushing.

"I wondered," he said. "How far the freckles went."

Daphne looked down at her own body, which, yes, was covered in freckles. They were more faded and spaced out the more she got to the areas covered by a bikini, but they were still there.

"I could only see to right about"—he traced the tops of her breasts with one finger, stopping at a point a couple inches above one nipple—"here."

"You're still inside me," she whispered. And getting hard again.

It wasn't a complaint, but he seemed to take it as one. "Sorry," he said, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead before rolling off her, leaving her feeling suddenly cold and empty. He grabbed the vibrator, holding it up like it wasn't still the most earth-shattering thing that had ever happened to her, this night in a hotel room with Chris and a sex toy.

"Soap and water?" he asked, and somehow she managed to nod.

He disappeared into the bathroom, presumably to take care of that and the condom. She knew she should use it directly after him, but she suddenly felt shy and exposed, still lying naked in the middle of the bed. Panic was starting to make her heart beat faster, and she tried to talk herself down from it, tried to tell herself that everything was going to be okay. So they'd just had sex. She'd wanted it. He'd wanted it. The sex itself had been amazing.

But fuck if it hadn't complicated things even more. She'd known that going in, but had ignored the little warning voice in her head, had convinced herself that whatever relationship they'd had via text was over so what was the harm in acting on the tension that was building between them in real life?

She slid in between the sheets, wishing she could get instantly warm.