The Wedding Date

Page 16

After she collapsed against the pillows, he lifted himself off her, a smug smile on his face. Not that she blamed him. He had every right to be proud of himself after that. He trailed kisses up her body, on her stomach, her breasts, her neck, until he finally dropped a light kiss on her mouth and rolled over next to her.
She turned to face him. She moved her hand to his side and felt the hardness of his chest and the trail of hair that disappeared into his waistband. Holy shit, this guy was something else.
“That was . . .” She tried to think of something to describe what that had been like, and failed. “That made me incoherent.”
“I can see that.” He leaned forward and kissed her, harder this time. “I liked it.”
She tugged at the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“These have got to come off,” she said. “And something else has to come on.”
“Not going to argue with that.” He pushed himself off the bed, pulled his underwear off, and dug into his bag, coming up a few seconds later with a box of condoms.
“This what you were referring to?” he asked. He got back on the bed before she had a chance to admire his naked body. He didn’t move from her side and looked over at her.
“Yeah,” she said. That seemed to be what he was waiting for. A half second later, she was on her back.
She laughed up at him, and he grinned down at her, and then wiped the smile from his face.
“This is not a laughing matter. We have serious work to do.”
Alexa tried to stop smiling, but her lips curved up despite herself.
“Well, never let it be said that Alexa Monroe doesn’t believe in the value of hard work.”
“Mmmm.” He ran his hands up and down her hips, and pushed her knees open. “I would never say that.”
Minutes . . . or hours . . . later, he collapsed on top of her.
“Good God,” he said. “Why haven’t we been doing this since thirty seconds after that elevator got stuck?”
“We are apparently both very stupid people,” she said in his ear.
“Very, very stupid,” he said.
They stayed like that for a few seconds, both trying to catch their breath. Eventually he reached down, pulled the condom off, and rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him. Her head was on his chest, her legs splayed on either side of his. She could be happy just like this for the next few weeks. Maybe months.
What was it about this guy? Every other first time she’d had sex with someone—and often the second and third and fourth time—she had worried about how he’d felt about her body, or if he was really attracted to her or not, or if he really liked her boobs or would rather they be smaller or perkier, or some other niggling anxiety that had prevented her from really relaxing and enjoying herself.
She’d always enjoyed herself but was still self-conscious, never quite wanting to do certain positions because of how her stomach or her butt would look or what he would see. And she’d certainly never been able to say what she wanted out loud, never at first, sometimes never at all.
But with Drew, she’d been able to throw herself into the whole experience from the first kiss. She’d even thrown her clothes off without worrying about what he would think and how he would react to her body.
Good Lord, was this what one-night stands were like? Maybe it was because she was never going to see this guy again after she left the hotel in the morning. They barely knew each other, they’d met two days before, and he lived in L.A., for Christ’s sake. She could be completely honest; she could totally enjoy herself, with no repercussions, no regrets. That must be it.
Whatever the reason, it had been pretty damn great.
“That was . . .” He caressed her back and kissed her shoulder instead of finishing his sentence.
“Mmmmhmmm,” she said.
“Sleepy?” He kissed her cheek.
“I can barely move,” she said against his chest. “My limbs all feel like they’re made out of melted butter.”
He chuckled and she felt his chest rumble underneath her face.
“Hold that thought for one minute.” He turned her over and got out of the bed. After a trip to the bathroom, he slid back in next to her, tucked the covers over both of them, and pulled her close.
“Good night, Alexa.” He wrapped her up in his arms.
She ran her hands up and down his arms and relaxed against his body.
“’Night, Drew.”
She woke up a few hours later, her back pressed against his chest, his arms circling her. She felt like she was in a snug, warm, masculine cocoon. She had never realized how much that was the ideal place for her until just that moment. There was just one problem.
She had to pee.
Okay, Alexa. Just don’t think about it. Just lie here and be content in this cozy sleeping bag of pure male goodness and let that lull you back to sleep.
She listened to his even breathing, felt his chest move against her back and the prickle of the hair on his legs rubbing against hers, and smiled. She could do this.
Her bladder disagreed. It increased the pressure and reminded her of all of that champagne she’d drunk and those bottles of water that had closed out the night. Oh God, she really had to pee.
No, Alexa. Just stay here. Go back to sleep. Don’t think about anything liquid. You can do it. Enjoy this perfect moment.
She took a deep breath, clenched everything, and tried to relax against him again, reaching back to that voice in her brain for a pep talk.
I have to pee I have to pee I have to pee!
When even her internal monologue had abandoned the cause, she gave in. She slowly moved out of the circle of his arms in an attempt to not wake him up, pulled back the sheet, and tiptoed into the bathroom.
They hadn’t closed the curtains—apparently, they’d been preoccupied—so light shone into the room from the lit-up skyline. That gave her enough light to get from the bathroom to the bed without tripping over the shoes, clothes, and underwear littering the floor.
She got into the warm bed, trying to figure out how she could get back to her perfect cocoon from earlier. He was still on his side, but his arms were folded now; she couldn’t very well push herself back against his chest and wrap his arms back around herself, could she?
Well, she could, but not without waking him up, she decided after thinking about it for a few seconds. She lay down on her pillow and admired his naked chest, hoping that maybe he would roll over to her in his sleep and she would get to finish her night off with his arms and legs draped around her again.
“You going to come back over here or are you going to leave me cold and lonely for the rest of the night?” he asked, his eyes still closed.
“I thought you were asleep.” She scooted closer, and he wrapped his arms back around her. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”
He leaned down to kiss her, and their lips clung together. She really liked kissing this guy.
“Even if you had woken me up,” he said, “I wouldn’t have minded.”
Something inside of her melted. At his words, his smile, his touch. She stroked his stubbly cheek and pulled his head back down toward hers.
They kissed again, longer, slower. The urgency of earlier in the night had disappeared. They kissed like they had days, weeks, years to do nothing but lie in this bed and explore each other.
His fingers moved from her back to her neck, then to her hair. His lips touched her cheeks, her eyelids, and the tip of her nose, which surprised a giggle out of her. Not content to be passive, her hands ran down his chest, dancing over his nipples, pressing into his muscles, squeezing his hips.
When her fingers lingered there, he said, “Aren’t you going to keep going?”
At this moment, in this hotel room, this night? She would do whatever he wanted her to do. She slid down his body to where she knew he wanted her to go.
“I really like the way you do that,” he said afterward, once he got his breath back. She crawled up from the bottom of the bed and collapsed on top of him.
After a few minutes, she started to roll off to the side. He stopped her.
“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” His hands were on both sides of her waist, holding her in place.
“Oh.” She tried to think of a good way to say it and gave up. “I thought I might be too heavy, so I was going to . . .”