His Second Chance

27 | her heat

"I'm going to get our luggage," I could sense he neared the door. "I need some air."

And then he was gone.

And I was left to my spiraling thoughts.

I had never realized how attractive Wade had been before. When we first met, I had been caught off guard by his stand-offish exterior, but in the light of my heart, I could marvel at how well-sculpted he was.

He had just the right amount of muscles. He was fit without being too well-built. He still had some soft edges. His jaw was sharply aligned, and the scar on his face made my heart skip a beat. His skin was so perfectly tanned. I couldn't help but wonder if the same pigment was carried beneath his clothes.

Wade without clothes. The thought entered my mind, and suddenly, the relief from the damp washcloth was no more.

I could feel my temperature rising as my back arched and pain shot through my side. I cradled my stomach, turning over on my side. The washcloth fell from my forehead as I withered in pain.

No matter how I tried to position myself, I could not get comfortable. Wade had not been wrong when he said we were in for a long night.

I allowed myself to fantasize. It was the only thing supplying me with relief at the moment.

I'd picture Wade, slightly out of breath from rushing to get our luggage, coming back into the room. Our eyes would meet from across the room. There would be a moment of hesitation, but the moment would soon pass and give into our animalistic desires. Wade would walk over to me in long strides like he was stalking his prey.

And I would let him.

I'd let him devour me like I was his prey. His.

My breathing picked up, and I could feel that my body had found even more pleasure in my fantasies than my mind had.

Get a grip, I told myself. He could come into this room at any minute.

But he didn't. At least, he did not return so soon.

He had been gone long enough for the fantasies to fade into pure, burning agony. More sharp pains radiated from my stomach. I rolled over and dug my head into the mattress, but there was no relief.

I briefly wondered if anyone had ever succumbed to the symptoms of their heat; had there ever been a case when heat had been too intense to handle? Whether it had happened or not did not matter much, because I believe it was occurring to me.

My heat was getting the better of me, and I didn't know how I was going to handle countless more hours of this.

As if on cue, my body perked up when the sound of the door latching open filled the room. I squeezed my legs and inhaled as I tried to soothe my hair down. The door soon closed shut, but Wade had yet to make his presence known.

But I could hear his erratic heartbeat. He was in the room.

I wanted to call out his name, but I could not trust that my voice would not betray me. I didn't want to sound desperate. Even if I was desperate for his touch, desperate for his validation, I did not want him to know that.

I strained my eyes. And then, finally, Wade emerged from the foyer of the hotel room. My suitcase was in one of his hands while his black bag was slung across his other shoulder. His eyes gazed over me, and I could see his body tense.

He tightened his jaw and shook his head. His eyes darkened for a moment, and he said, "You smell so good. I could smell you all the way from the car."

My spirits lifted, and I maneuvered myself so my back leaned against the headboard. "Why don't you come and get a taste?"