Page 81 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
Blanche:I second that, sister.
wyatt
I waituntil I catch my breath before I pull out. Bristol whimpers as I do. The water in the shower went cold a while ago. It feels good against my burning skin. I lower her arms to her side and give each one a quick rub to return any lost feeling. Her expression is dazed and sated; her body is still propped by the wall behind her.
She looks like a sex goddess with her eyes at half-mast and her kiss-swollen lips. Her skin is reddened by the scruff along my jaw and the bite marks I’ve scattered across her neck and along the tops of her breasts. The hickey at the junction where her shoulder slopes up will be hard to hide.
Good.
I like my mark on her.
Even if it doesn’t mean she’s mine forever. I was there, that’s the proof, and she’ll have to look at it as a reminder every day until it fades. The thought makes me smile as I turn and leave the shower. Though it probably wasn’t my smartest move days before wedding pictures. I grab a towel and dry off, trying to ignore the fact that despite being in the shower for so long, I still haven’t actually bathed.
I dig through my bag for a pair of boxers and pull them on. Then I grab the room phone to call the front desk and get Brie her own room. Yes, we had sex. But she still left me in Vegas and annulled our marriage. Until she shows me she wants to stay, I’ll keep helping her leave.
Even though I can’t see her directly, I can clock her every move while she’s in the bathroom. Drying her upper half, then moving the towel down to her legs.
Fuck, mine are still shaking from the force of my orgasm. That was the most intense sexual experience I’ve ever had. I just don’t know what it means.
Sex doesn’t have to mean anything.
Doesn’t matter. Won’t be happening again. I don’t care how naked she is.
No. More. Sex.
Its too easy for me to get distracted and sucked back into the swirling vortex of Brie. Which will make it hurt that much more when she leaves, whether I help her do it or not. Plus, she’s totally fine without me. Blake told me so. And that cuts deeper than anything else.
I tune back into my phone conversation since I missed what the front desk attendant just said.
“Can you repeat that?”
She does.
“So, let me get this straight,” I say to make sure I understand. “You have other rooms right now, but people checking in over the next three days, after which they’ll be sold out.”
She confirms that is the case.
“And we can’t have one of those rooms until the other people check in because they’ve already been cleaned, and your cleaning staff doesn’t return until next week.”
She confirms again and apologizes for the inconvenience.
“Thanks.” I slam the phone back in its cradle and resume pacing in the narrow space between the bed and the wall. I didn’t dry my hair after the shower and little droplets of water run down the back of my neck and into my shirt. I don’t like it.
I grab my towel from the bed and rub it briskly over my head, wincing. My scalp is still sore in the places where Bristol pulled my hair.
I hope hers is too.
“Were you trying to find yourself another room?” she asks from the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a towel while putting hair stuff on her curls.
“No,” I say. “I was trying to findyoua room.”
“I have a room,” she says. “This one.”
“No, this one is my room.”
“I checked in first.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
