luck for the night - rl.

28. don't be so rough.

Remington's hotel room was definitely nicer than mine. After power-walking through the hallway, a few storeys above where we had just been, all the way to the last room on our right, we entered a whole different space. Large, big windows, with a view of the city, still alive at this hour. A giant bed, with trademark crisp, white sheets, a seating area with a full-on couch and a TV, and a kitchenette. Of course, there was a giant mirror next to the bed, but also one above the desk.

"Nothing nicer than silence." I flopped down on the bed, "and a way nicer mattress," I added.

The dark-haired man held back a smile, sitting down next to me after he had pushed a button to automatically close the blinds. "So, what now?" He asked. "Are you tired?"

"Not really," I sat up, leaning against the headboard like I had seen him do so many times on our late-night video calls.

My eyes went to him without hesitation. He made me forget about everything when we were together. The worries just seemed to fade away, whenever we were together. Everything fell into place, and I hated it wholeheartedly. Why did my chest feel warm anytime my eyes met him? Why did I feel so comfortable with him, comfortable enough to share a story I had never told anyone?

"What are you smiling about?"

Really? The third time is the charm, apparently. I thought of something, anything to say to make this less complicated. But my brain was empty. All I knew was that he just caught me staring at him. For the third fucking time.

Luckily, his hoodie had slipped up the moment he sat down, exposing a ribbon of bare skin above his low-hanging joggers. I could not help but think about how close his pants were to slipping even lower, and off... "Just enjoying the view." I batted my lashes, hoping he would pick up what I was laying down.

Remington raised his brows. "Oh, is that it?" He said it slowly, his move in the slow game we had been playing ever since that night we had met.

I slowly nodded, reaching out to the exposed skin. My body was on fire again, a heavy feeling already building up in my stomach.

He gasped as my hand met his warm skin. "Cold," he said, a small smile appearing.

"Should I stop?" I pulled back my hand.

A slight frown on his face made my fingertips return to his hips. "No."

I moved closer, slipping my hand up under the fabric. My fingers on his chest, gliding over the impalpable black ink under his skin. His breath got heavier, and so did mine. We both knew what this was going to turn into if we did not stop.

As my hand reached his neck, his shirt slipping up too, I wrapped my fingers around it. Remington's face fell. Stern eyes widened, lips parted in disbelief. I was leaning, towering over him, his eyes on mine.

"Is this okay?"

He nodded once in answer.

That's when I pushed my lips into his in a crushing kiss. A surprised moan leaked into my mouth and set my nerves on fire.

One hand still on his throat, my other found his hair, running a hand through it, giving into the everlasting desire of making it a mess.

I crawled onto his lap, not removing my hand from his neck or my lips from his. My hips started to move automatically, they followed the rhythm of my heart beating out of my chest, the rhythm of his artery under my thumb, the rhythm of everything in my life collapsing.

But when I was here with Remington, none of that mattered. All I wanted was his mouth against mine, the least amount of space between our bodies as possible.