Good at Being Alive(73)

Lars gives a disgruntled laugh. “As negative as you both being too hungover to do your job? I doubt it.”

“Get him out of here,” Paula says to a guy from the boat, nodding Caden’s way before she turns to me and Theo. “Theo, we’ll see you in Norway. Bex, we’ll be in your room in the morning to do the interview.”

I call an Uber with shaking hands, and Theo’s jaw remains locked, as if he’s not sure he’s done enough damage.

“Are you okay?” I ask, glancing at his scraped knuckles as we climb into the car. “What did he say to you?”

His fist clenches. “It doesn’t matter.”

Shocker. The guy reveals nothing about himself. Of course he’s not going to explain why Caden got under his skin.

The remainder of the ride is silent. The lobby is crowded, but I’ve stopped looking for Kylie and Jasper. I half wonder if Katrina made up seeing Kylie, though I’m not sure why she’d bother.

We walk onto the packed elevator, where Theo pulls me in front of him. I’ve never been more aware of the difference in our sizes than I am at this moment.

We stood like this last night too. Him behind me, his hands cupping my breasts, sliding between my legs, torturing me until I begged him to push inside me.

Which he didn’t.

I could come just like this, he’d said with his mouth on my neck.

If he was sober enough to decide intercourse was a bad idea, how could he have been drunk enough to think everything else was okay? Did he really believe that one small line in the sand would be enough to keep me from getting attached?

Theo uses the keycard to let us into our room. We’re about to be alone for the first time since the van, and I know another tedious lecture is coming. “Let’s just get this out of the way,” I say, marching through the foyer. “I know you’re all swept with regret and feel the need to remind—”

I’m cut off by his hand on my arm, pulling me toward him. He steps forward so that by the time I’m facing him, there’s no space left between us. “You know a lot less than you think you do, Bex,” he says, cradling my jaw in his hands.

My heart pounds in my chest, as if I’m on a cliff’s edge, deciding whether or not to jump, except I jumped weeks ago. I jumped the minute he put those donuts in my lap in Iceland, and again the night he said, I knew what I was doing. I jumped long, long ago, and telling myself I can still stop my descent won’t make it true.

This is going to hurt, and I’m doing it anyway.

I meet his gaze, and that’s all it takes to set this into motion. With a shuddering groan, he pushes me against the wall and his mouth lands on mine.

I’m not sure what’s changed between this morning’s apologetic talk and now, and I don’t care. I just need more of this: his scruff abrading my skin, and the urgency in his hands, now sliding from my face to my hips, digging in as if he has wanted this for too long to be restrained.

He lifts me in one seamless motion, pulling my legs around his hips as he walks toward the bedroom before setting me down on the edge of the mattress.

“Take it off,” he grunts. I comply, grabbing the hem of my dress and pulling it over my head. His gaze rakes over me, his nostrils flaring, as I reach for his belt and push his shorts to the floor.

When my hand slides inside his boxers, air hisses between his teeth. He’s already hard, already leaking for me.

He allows himself a single thrust inside my grip before he steps away. “Lie on the bed,” he commands.

I do as I’m told, flat on my back, arms wrapped around myself. This feels like the first time even if it’s not, and your first time is generally not in broad daylight, spread out on a king-size bed without a stitch of clothing. He shoves his boxers down without a shred of my own shyness, but why would he be shy? His body is perfect—broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips. And, of course, there’s the perfection of that cock of his…Drunk me wasn’t exaggerating the proportions.

He gently tugs my arms away, his eyes dark and greedy as he looks me over. “I want to see everything.”

His weight presses me to the bed as he kisses me again. I gasp as the head of his cock slides up against my clit. “Yes,” I whisper, opening my legs wider.

“Bex, you’re a lot smaller than I am,” he says, flinching. “I’ve wanted this for too goddamn long, but I don’t want to hurt you. It took every ounce of restraint I possessed not to try anyway last night.”

I bite my lip. “We’re trying today, right?”

His eyes fall closed. “We are if you’re asking me like that. Fuck. Just let me…”

He doesn’t complete the thought, but instead slides low, his mouth moving over my breasts, tugging until my nipples are so tight that they hurt, pressing kisses to my ribs, my navel…between my legs.

His tongue flicks out once and I gasp.

“Do you remember this?” His voice rumbles against my clit while he pushes a finger inside me. I nod, already too swept up in what he’s doing to form a cogent reply. He presses my legs wide and does it again, and again, and there’s something about the way he groans as he does it, about the certain, hungry thing in his eyes as he watches my face.

“I’d never wanted to fuck anyone more in my life than I did last night, but you’re so goddamn tight that I just couldn’t. And the way you came…”