Page 75 of You, with a View

Uh, yeah. So much for our plans tonight.

ALL our plans? We can still have some plans. We had plans in Zion.

I snort, typing:Paul was down a long ass hallway and we were quiet. We’re talking inches here.

Yes we are. Eight of them.

My laugh echoes around my room. His comes when I text:Of course you’ve measured your dick.

That’s an eyeball estimate, but you tell me.

I would never give you that satisfaction.

Still, when Theo knocks softly on my door later, I let him inside. Let him press me against the wall and kiss up my neck, along my jaw, hovering over my mouth until I make the quietest sound that screams my need. Only then does he kiss me, a handful of my loose, damp hair crushed between his fingers. We kiss like that,nearly silent, until my lips are bruised and my thighs are permanently clenched.

“Tomorrow’s hotel better have thicker walls, Shepard.” His voice is low and hoarse as he places his hand against my chest, right under my throat. He kisses me with an intensity that contradicts the tenderness in his eyes when he pulls back. “Sleep tight.”

“I won’t,” I grumble.

Sunday night, I’m in my room after our day in Monument Valley, uploading photos. I click through to a shot of Theo facing the Three Sisters, a trio of tall, slim rocks rising from the rich red Navajo land. The breeze is catching his shirt, billowing it behind him. The next photo has Paul stepping into the frame, cradling his beloved Hasselblad. Theo’s looking over at him, chin dipped toward his shoulder, an affectionate smile lighting up his features.

My favorite picture, though, is of Paul’s hand cuffing the back of Theo’s neck. Late-afternoon sunlight slices across the frame, illuminating their faces—and the obvious love between them. My chest aches; I care about these men, and our time is running out.

Sighing, I click to a photo of Gram’s letter, held open by Paul, captured over his shoulder. Gram’s elegant, loopy handwriting is stark against the paper, made nearly translucent in the light.

It reminds me why I’m here—for her, this secret. For myself and my grief. But I struggle to remember when Theo’s near. At dinner, he sat close, and I felt the promise in every subtle touch he gave me. But when the elevator deposited me onto my floor, he only winked as the doors closed between us. I haven’t heard from him since, and it’s after ten.

I don’t know the rules. We’ve admitted we want to see thisthrough, so what the hell? Is he waiting formyinvitation? Ayou up?text?

“Fuck it.” I grab my phone and type outwhat are you doing?

His response comes immediately:Open your door

My stomach bottoms out. I’m not proud of how fast I leap from my seat, but I manage to wrestle some control as I open the door.

Theo’s standing there, slipping his phone into the pocket of his gym shorts. His hair is mussed, like he’s been running his fingers through it, and his mouth curls up, his eyebrows set in a stern slash that goes right to the pit of my stomach. He steps closer, his hand circling my wrist.

That touch ignites me. “Were you already here or did you run when you got my text?”

His dimple carves out in his cheek. “Can I come in?”

“Unless you want to repeat the show we gave in Vegas, then yeah, you should.”

He laughs, crowding into my space, pushing me back into the bedroom until the door closes.

I reach for his hips, bringing him close. All traces of his previous amusement vanish, replaced by the same hunger I feel. He doesn’t tease me tonight, just cradles my face and slants his mouth over mine. As soon as our tongues touch, he lets out a low groan that’s still louder than anything else I’ve ever heard from him. It sends a wildness careening through my blood. I fist his shirt, towing him back toward my bed, and he follows me with stumbling steps.

“What do you want tonight?” he asks, same as he has every other night we’ve been together.

I twist, pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He goes without protest and wraps his arms around my thighs to pull me between his legs.

I curl over him, running my fingers through his hair, then gripping it just to hear his hot gasp against my collarbone. “I want you naked in my bed. I want you inside me.”

There’s a beat of silence where Theo’s face stays pressed against my chest, but I hear his muffled “fuck.”

His mouth moves up to graze my throat, sucking at the skin, teeth scraping lightly, then harder, like what I’ve said is finally sinking in. When he tips his chin back, the lamplight catches his eyes. His pupils are wide, blown out with desire.

“Get on my lap,” he murmurs.

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