Page 18 of That One Night

I shiver, feeling the last twitch of my dick deep inside her. Beneath me, she’s panting, her chest rising and falling. We’re both sweaty and shaking. I loosen my hold on her legs and they fall boneless to the bed. The change in angle makes my dick twitch again.

I pull out of her and we both groan. My body feels airless, like suddenly I’m a flat tire. I don’t even bother trying to roll away, I just sink down on top of her between her thighs, my face pillowed on her stomach.

She sighs contentedly, her hands going to my hair. I shift slightly, grunting in a post-sex haze until I can get comfortable. She settles back, her peaked nipples happy to have the tent of my hands on them. She drags her fingers featherlight across my scalp and I let out a heavy breath.

Outside the windows of the hotel room, the storm rages, rain lashing against the glass. Thunder still rumbles, but it sounds farther away now. The lights of the city glow as late afternoon begins to feel like night.

“Stay with me tonight,” she murmurs. It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

As if there’s anywhere else I’d rather be?

8

After Mystery Boy graciously gifts me two of the best orgasms of my life, we take turns in the bathroom getting cleaned up. While he’s in there, I order down to the restaurant for room service. It’s almost dinner time, and I’m starving. But there’s no way I’m leaving this room. It feels like the moment I do, the magic will break.

I slip on my white hotel robe, pulling my hair up into a messy topknot. When I took my turn in the bathroom, I did the bare minimum to wipe the makeup off my face and remove my contacts. My vision isn’t great, but its good enough to get by without bothering with my glasses. As long as he doesn’t ask me to drive him anywhere tonight, I’ll be good.

He comes out of the bathroom naked, totally at ease in his own skin. Sauntering across the suite, he snatches up his discarded briefs and tugs them on, which does the bare minimum to conceal the perfect roundness of his ass. Lord have mercy, how many squats does it take to get glutes that juicy? All the ladies need to know.

I stifle a grin, busying myself with looking for the TV remote.

He joins me on the sofa, sinking down with a soft groan. He sits right next to me, not caring that there’s a whole other end. He grabs my legs, flipping me until I’m partially in his lap. His calloused thumb rubs little circles on my ankle as he visibly relaxes. He just needs to be touching me. I understand the sentiment; I’m feeling the same way about him.

“I ordered down for some room service. Hope you don’t mind steak.”

He smiles, his head tipped back against the back of the sofa, eyes closed. “Sounds perfect.”

I flip the channel to SportsCenter. Below the TV, the electric fire burns. I took the time to turn on a few lamps too. This end of the suite is now bathed in golden light, while the far end near the windows is dark and stormy. The shadows of the rain dance across the rumpled white bedspread. I love the contrast of feeling warm and bright in his arms while a cold, grey storm rages all around us.

I feel his eyes on me and flash him a soft smile.

He’s casually rubbing my foot, working his thumbs in circles over my arch. “Tell me something else.” He reaches over with one hand, flicking at my robe. The “V” opens a bit more, and he brushes his finger down my chest tattoo. “Tell me about this. What does it mean?”

I huff a laugh, stretching out a bit. “It means I was fifteen and high on shrooms at a music festival and a guy named Hector had a tattoo gun.”

He stills, glancing my way with a raised brow. “Fifteen, huh?”

I shrug. “I had a rather unorthodox upbringing.”

I don’t mention that the festival was Coachella or that my dad’s band was headlining…or that the shrooms were stolen from my dad’s personal stash. What can I say? I was a rebellious teen. Angry and bitter, I was practically a caricature of a rock star’s spoiled rotten kid. It took a while for me to figure out the balance between privilege and purpose. I wasted way too many years thinking everything in life was going to be handed to me because of my last name.

Harrison caught on much quicker. He may have used daddy’s name to secure himself a start in the culinary industry, but he’s built everything he has on hard work and skill. I’ve spent years playing catch-up, fighting tooth and nail to prove I can earn my own way too.

That’s why losing this fellowship hurts so fucking much. I wanted it. I fought for it. I powered though college in two and a half years with a degree in kinesiology. I finished med school in four, specializing in sports medicine.

Now I’m finishing up my second year of residency at one of the best hip and knee centers in the country. It’s an amazing blend of physical therapy and orthopedic injury care, which is perfect for me. I love the balance of using proactive physical therapy to protectagainstinjury, rather than only cleaning up the mess once injuries happen.

The Barkley Fellowship was going to be the thing to launch me fully into the highest level of sports medicine. It pairs doctors with sports teams from the NBA to the NHL. Ten months of hands-on experience working with the best orthopedic specialists and physical therapists in the world, who work on the world’s top performing athletes.

The last three applicants to apply from my program all won. All three now have permanent positions on pro teams. And my mentor said I was a shoe-in. He says he’s never seen a more natural talent. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. How will I tell him his record is broken, thanks to me?

Fuck, my therapist is going to have a field day with this. My debilitating fear of disappointing authority figures rears her ugly head again.

“Hey…”

I raise my gaze off my knees. He’s looking at me with such tenderness, such open curiosity.

---