Sam
I still can't believe that this is happening, that Somers is actually laughing as I lead her up the stairs to my hotel room. Yes, I could have gone all the way in that damn lot—like I said, I've spent too many months imagining her body under mine—but this works too. In fact, it's better. More surfaces for me to kiss her on; more hours for us to explore each other in private.
When we reach the door of my suite, I press her back against it, kissing her hard as I dig the key from my back pocket.
"You'd rather we continue this party on the bed?" I whisper against her ear.
"Not necessarily," she whispers back, breathless. "I can think of a couple places we could continue this party in there."
"Oh, Jesus." A thrill shoots through me, and I nip at the skin of her jaw, slipping the keycard into the door behind her and pushing it open, keeping one hand braced behind her back to hold her against me. We stumble into the room together, barely losing contact as I kick the door closed and direct her toward the bed.
She falls back onto the sheets, laughing. I watch her, my eyes practically glazed over as I try to shrug out of my flannel. When I finally shake it loose, I throw it to the ground and pounce, hands going straight to her t-shirt, lips closing over hers. She sucks in a breath and I use the moment to swipe my tongue across her lower lip in a request for access. She gives it to me and I tangle my tongue with hers, every cell in my body reacting to her—her scent, her taste, the feel of her under my fingers. I'd thought that having Somers like this would be incredible, but I had no idea that it could make me want her more. I am insatiable for this girl.
I deepen the kiss, dipping my hand into her hair and pressing my fingers against her scalp. I'm aware that we're moving fast, probably too fast, but Lo is matching my movement beat for beat. I can tell that she's not thinking, acting on pure instinct as her hands run over my torso, playing in the contours of my abs. It tickles a little (my bruises are at the stage where they itch more than ache), and as she moves closer to my waistband, my stomach tenses. I know that, unless something has happened in the time since I read her texts (my bad, okay?), Logan's still a virgin. That's something I need to keep in mind before I let this go too far.
Her fingers play at the top of my jeans now, and I reach for her hands, drawing them over her head and linking our fingers, laughing as she arches greedily into me.