Page 46 of Room for Us
“Third person dick comment. Sexy.”
He chuckles and shuts me up by planting his hands on my ass and yanking me forward, sparking a friction that soaks my panties anew. My fingers fist in his hair as I devour his mouth and rock against him, my hips moving with a mind of their own. His hands slide up my back beneath my shirt, playing along my spine, mapping each ridge and finally unsnapping my bra.
“You’re going to wake up the neighbors,” he whispers in my ear, then nips my earlobe.
“I don’t care.”
My shirt is lifted, the cups of my bra pulled roughly down, and his hot, wet mouth on my nipple puts me over the edge.
“I’m coming,” I gasp, shocked.
“Yes, please.”
I arch against him, that final push of pressure on my clit sending me spiraling into mindlessness. The shockwaves linger, and linger some more as he milks my release with his hands on my hips. Trembling and sweaty, I fall against him, my forehead on his shoulder. His arms band around my back, holding me tightly.
Lips tease my neck beneath my ear. “I could get used to that.”
I wheeze out laughter. “Same. Dry-humping for the win.”
The muscles of his thighs bunching is my only warning before he stands with me in his arms. “I’m taking you to bed now, Zoey Kemper.”
“Sounds good to me.”
26
By the time I reach the Lavender Room, Zoey is a dead weight in my arms, her breathing deep and even on my neck. Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother me that she’s fallen asleep. My man downstairs isn’t happy about it, but I’m too satisfied to give him much attention.
This woman—this incredible, guarded, gorgeous woman—just trusted me enough to let herself fall apart in my arms. I may not know everything about her, but I know enough to appreciate the gravity of what happened. And not push it.
I lay her down on my side of the bed and pull off her shoes. She might be uncomfortable in jeans, but I know my limits and so I leave them on. Draping a blanket over her, I spend a few minutes watching her sleep, riveted by the peacefulness of her expression.
Electric energy rides my bloodstream. As much as I want to lie next to her, there’s no way I can fall asleep right now. Jacking off is an option, but one I discard as tacky. It would cheapen this feeling of having won a prize I didn’t know I wanted so badly.
Ignoring the pressure in my groin, I leave the room, closing the door gently behind me. My feet take me to the master suite. The Rose Room. I stand outside the door, my eyes blank on its surface, my mind far away.
Rose House. Rose Room. Plastic pots outside with fledging rose plants, ready to be planted tomorrow, where they will bloom and fragrance the air. They’ve been here, around me, all this time. An undercurrent. A presence. A ghostly echo of the past that disappears whenever I look directly at it.
I don’t believe in fate. Or coincidence. But the fact I’m here, in an inn named after the catalyst of my life’s greatest tragedy, strikes me fully for the first time.
Why here? Why now?
I open the door of the Rose Room and the effect is immediate—a transportation to the past. I hear a giggle, a shout, a scream. My mother crying and my father yelling. Sweat breaks out on my forehead. Panic claws at my chest.
Shuddering, I yank the door closed.
“Ethan?”
Her soft voice draws me back to the present. Halfway, at least. I still have one foot in the distant past, a lingering sense of being split in two.
My limbs leaden, I walk back to the Lavender Room and let myself inside. Zoey is sitting up, the blanket at her waist. When she sees me, a soft smile comes to her face.
I don’t deserve that smile, but I’ll take it like aloe to soothe a sting.
“Come to bed.”
Who am I to refuse such a request?
I discard my shoes and jeans on the floor. Slip under the sheets. She comes into my arms like she belongs here, fitting perfectly against my front with her head on my bicep. I tuck my nose into her hair, breathing her in.
