Chapter 17

Without waiting another second, Jason grabs my hips and buries his cock in me. Despite how turned on I am, he stretches me tightly and I whimper. With his hands, Jason takes my legs and pushes my knees up, so the friction is even tighter now.

“Fuck,” I whisper, eyes rolling back. As he slowly starts to push into me, one stroke at a time, I’m barely holding it together. Unthinking, I keep playing with my tits until his hand replaces mine, rolling and tweaking my nipples.

“I can’t,” he breathes, bent over me and pumping rhythmically, unforgiving. I know what he’s getting at and I don’t care, lifting my hips to take more of him, moaning and whimpering as he fucks me into the mattress.

Jason curses, hips stuttering just once, eyes tight. He leans back and places a hand on my lower stomach, pressing down and holding me in place. The pressure makes me gasp and with his other hand he plays with my clit, circling it but not touching it directly.

My pussy clenches and tightens around him, trying to get more of him even as he plunges into me over and over. Our eyes meet and he presses his thumb on my clit hard. Just like that, I come, screaming his name.

It’s even better than our first night here. The orgasm hits me like a wave, making my legs seize up around his hips and my back arch. I reach out and dig my fingers into his shoulders as he fucks me harder, gripping my ass with one hand and bracing himself with the other.

My eyes are squeezed tight but I hear him grunt, feel his hips stutter again, longer this time, a broken rhythm before he buries himself deep. I can actually feel his cock pulsing as he comes deep inside me.

A few more shallow thrusts and the only sound in the room is us panting.

“Fuck,” I breathe, partly out of pleasure, and partly because I know thatnowI’m screwed.

Jason

The next day, everything hurts, but in the most delicious way.

Who knew dancing could be such a workout? But that’s not the real reason why I’m sore, not truly.

I haven’t had a workout like that in…years. Half awake, I drowse in memories of last night. Mel’s legs wrapped around my hips, her tits bouncing as I pumped into her.

With an exhale, I flip over and blindly find her tucked next to me. I hook an arm around her waist and pull her in tight. She’s wearing some kind of T-shirt, something I didn’t okay for the trip, but I don’t even care. She can wear whatever she wants as long as she keeps rubbing her ass up against me like this.

What if.

What if she’d never left. What if we’d had more time. Would we have lasted?

Slipping back into a half sleep, my mind runs away into the possibilities. A happy, quiet few years in Harwinton, both of us picking out colleges. An hour away at most, maybe. Spending weekends together. Sleeping over in dorms when we shouldn’t, grossing our roommates out, unable to keep our hands off each other.

Would we have moved back to town? Would Jodie have been happy for us? And when would I have asked her to stay, permanently, to be mine, to make it real.

Real.

This wasn’t real.

Rousing myself, I lift my head and blink as the world returns.

Jada Loraine. Our massive suite. The balcony doors still open, and dawn light spilling in, birds calling somewhere out in the trees.

Mel groans and turns over in my arms. Her eyes open and for a moment she looks confused, hair mussed, a frown creasing her brows.

“What—?”

Before she can finish the question, there’s a knock at the door. I stand and throw on sweats, what I normally sleep in, but apparently didn’t bother with last night. We’re both clean. We showered after…

I shut that part of my memory down. Literally shake it off as I head for the door and open it.

A young woman in a staff uniform stands outside, blushing and dropping her eyes at my shirtless appearance.

“Breakfast,” she squeaks, pushing a little cart through the space.

“Breakfast? Everyone else can’t be up—”

She glances up at me, blushes deeper, shakes her head. “You ordered it last night, for delivery this morning. It’s only six thirty, sir.”

I thank her and watch blindly as she scurries down the hallway and disappears. The scent of whatever is under the platters catches my attention.

Mel comes out of the bedroom, a hotel robe wrapped tightly around her middle. It reaches to the floor, her toes peeking out.

“I ordered breakfast for us last night.” It’s a vague memory, one trampled by post-sex euphoria. Mel nods.

“You did. I was half-asleep, but I remember you calling down.”

She lifts the lid on a platter and a small smile quirks her lips at a mound of French toast. I raise my brows, gesture to the dining area, and we both take the plates over there.

French toast, a pile of fruit, a veggie omelet for me. Coffee and juice. We both eat voraciously, Mel downing two cups of coffee as I steal a piece of her French toast.

“Hey!” She laughs, leaning in to cut a chunk of omelet, dodging my fork. I cut her a bigger piece and heft it over to her plate. Our eyes meet and she blushes.

We shouldn’t talk about it.That’s what I tell myself. Not just because it shouldn’t have happened, but because I don’t want to embarrass her. I don’t want to know if she regrets it.

Without a word, I stand and pile my dishes, then head toward the bathroom.

I still need to pull this whole thing off. I can’t let one night of passion distract me, not now.

* * *

It’s a long waitthrough morning as the rest of the Loraine wakes up. Mel and I sit in the living area, the TV on with the sound off, a newspaper spread on the couch beside me. Mel is curled up on the chaise lounge.

We both keep catching each other’s eyes.

It’s ridiculous. This feels like high school all over again, but I can’t stop looking at her. It’s like she’s glowing. Or maybe that’s just the attraction still lingering, a Cupid’s arrow right to the heart, knocking me on my ass.

Another knock on the door and we both startle.

“I’ll get it,” Mel says quickly, standing.

I turn my attention back to the newspaper and listen as a voice I recognize informs Mel that a small group is heading out to a local museum. They’re taking the Loraine’s bus—would we like to come?

“Definitely!” Mel exclaims, and I bite back a groan. “Just let us get a few things together. We’ll meet everyone out front.”

Once the door is closed again, I sigh and stand up. “I could use today to get some work done.” But it’s an obvious tactic, and Mel gives me a sour look.

“Come on, Jason. You’re the one who wanted us to look all couple-y. What better way than to be seen out and about?”

I clench my teeth, seriously considering putting my foot down. But she looks so excited. There’s that light in her eye, which I haven’t seen since literally running into her in Boston.

“Okay. Fine. But I’m serious, later today I’ll need some time to get a few things done.”

Her radiant smile warms my chilled heart, and I try to ignore it. That arrow twangs a little triumphantly.

The museum is,thankfully, less than an hour away from the Loraine, so I don’t need to listen to Zach schmooze everyone on the bus for too long. Mel holds my hand the whole time, her fingers wrapped in mine, and it’s oddly calming.

A bad idea,the voice in my head warns,after last night.

But I don’t care. I can’t be bothered with it right now, not when I’m mentally and physically exhausted.

“Ready?” Mel asks, practically jumping out of the seat when we get there. I follow her down the stairs, trailing the small group into the museum. It’s about what I expected—several stories high, a lot of white stone, and confusing signage.

“Let’s start in the Roman era.” She drags me in that direction, somehow able to make sense of the little pamphlet they’ve given us.

It’s a throwback to the one trip we took to Boston when we were kids. Or teens, I guess, before I got the nerve to ask her out. She’d laughed when I did, but nothing beat the thrill of her saying yes.

As we walk slowly through the exhibits, Mel chatters on about the history of certain pieces. I can barely absorb any of it, brows raised as she points and lectures, tugging me along, and jogging in her little heels.

Coming around a corner in the Hall of Modern Art, I catch Roy’s eye. He’s talking to two of the HR employees and shares a conspiratorial smile with me. He’s seen Mel’s enthusiasm and unsurprisingly, is completely charmed by it.

“Look at this!” she exclaims, glued to the floor.

I glance around in confusion. Then she points.

There’s an upside-down stack of eight chairs above us, hanging from the ceiling. I stare up at it in confusion.

“What the hell?”

Mel nudges me, a sassy pout on her lips. “It’s art.”

“Okay, but what’s it mean?”

A guilty look crosses her face and I smirk. She doesn’t know, either.

“We’re not meant to understand everything,” she says airily, nose turned up and marching toward the next section.

We end up in a small private place that feels more comfortable. It’s all local photography from a man Mel apparently recognizes.

“He grew up on a farm,” she explains quietly, “and started taking long exposures at night. Only where light was found. So, streetlamps, people’s houses when they left a light on, tunnels.”

“It’s a little creepy.”

But I find myself looking at a large photo of a classic car under a streetlamp, half covered by a tarp. I’m not sure what’s so captivating about it, but the shadows stir me. The possibility, maybe.

When I find Mel, she’s stock-still in front of another large photo. I know immediately what drew her to it.

The little house, hazy blue light spilling from one window, looks like Jodie’s old house in Harwinton. The same concrete front steps. It’s missing the laurel-tree and Mel’s rollerblades, but otherwise, I can see that it hurts her as much as it pulls her in.

She wraps her arms around herself.

“I don’t know about this guy,” I say, trying to break the chill that’s settled in suddenly. “Seems like a sellout, making money on strangers’ private lives.”

The intensity of Mel’s angry glare surprises me so much that I almost take a step back.

“Seriously? You don’t think you’re the sellout, Jason? You work for an ever-growing healthcare analytics company. You’re a city boy.”

The words are scathing and I can’t help biting back at her.

“If I am, you are, too, Mel. Don’t forget why you’re doing this.” I hold up two fingers and rub them together in the universal sign for money. “You don’t have art up on these walls, do you?”

It’s a cruel remark, and I regret it immediately.

Mel stalks away, back toward the entrance of the museum where the bus is leaving in twenty minutes. I turn to follow her, but glance back at the photograph.

Maybe we’re both just caught up in memories of better times.

Melissa

Two more days. Two more days and I can spend the weekend in my apartment, decompressing, just being myself—and not as Jason Shane’s fiancé.

The thought makes my head and heart hurt as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Mel? Does that sound good?”

Dave is looking at me worriedly. I smile and nod, only vaguely aware that I’ve agreed to join a group hike in an hour. Jason smiles tightly and squeezes my hand, a supposed show of affection, but it just feels like pressure.