25
Shane had wanted to skip the LNL after-party and go straight to the hotel, but Lilah insisted they make a cameo, at least. Mostly so the main topic of conversation at the party (and after) wouldn’t be the two of them fleeing immediately to go have sex.
It seemed like their stunt had worked: instead of a funereal vibe, anchored by vague and insincere compliments of the “better luck next time” and “at least you tried” variety, the mood that greeted them was buoyant and congratulatory, almost like they were attending their own wedding reception.
They moved through the crowd as a single unit, never separating. His palm lingering on the back of her neck. Her fingers snaking around his wrist. Like if they stopped touching each other, the spell would be broken, and things would go back to the way they had been.
They didn’t talk much just the two of them, but as they reached the bottom of their second round, they let themselves sneak a kiss here and there—each one a little deeper, a little longer—when they thought no one was looking. It reminded Lilah of the first night at that hotel bar, in a way—the air crackling with possibilities, all her nerves on end.
Finally, they disentangled themselves guiltily from what they thought was a secluded corner when the head writer for LNL snuck up behind them and yelled “Get a room” good-naturedly in their ears. Shane cocked his head toward the exit, linking his hand through hers as they left.
The January air blasted them in the face as they left the restaurant, knocking the breath from Lilah’s lungs. Shane’s hotel was closer than hers, just a few blocks away, and they clutched each other tightly against the wind. Still, it took them longer than it should have to get there, pausing to kiss and grope at stoplights until it wasn’t just the wind leaving her breathless.
When they entered the hotel lobby, though, it had a sobering effect. The discreet lighting, the tasteful decoration, the muted music, the lack of people due to the late hour—all of it unsettled her. Her anxiety stirred and stretched, whispering poisonous questions in her ear: What have you done? Did you really think this through? What happens now?
They shrugged off their coats as they waited for the elevator, the aggressive heat of the lobby sending an instant trickle of sweat down Lilah’s spine. When they stepped into the elevator, she expected Shane to reach for her again, but he must have sensed the shift in her mood, because he just placed a comforting hand on her lower back.
She felt him looking at her, but she stared straight ahead. His room was near the top floor of the hotel, the numbers ticking up agonizingly slowly. Finally, she allowed herself to glance his way, and the look on his face, concerned and searching, made her stomach twist. He looked exhausted, the dark bruises under his eyes and fine lines on his forehead thrown into sharp relief in the unflattering light of the elevator. She was sure she didn’t look much better. He turned his attention forward again, so she did, too.
“I feel like Simon and Garfunkel should be playing right now,” she muttered.
“Why?”
She glanced at him. “You’ve never seen The Graduate?”
He shrugged. “I know the basics. We used to get a lot of Mrs. Robinson jokes, me and Serena. So I never watched it out of spite.”
The elevator finally dinged open, and the two of them stepped out into the hall.
“So you don’t know how it ends?”
“I assume it’s not happily ever after.”
“Not exactly,” Lilah said. “Dustin Hoffman crashes her daughter’s wedding, and they run away together and get on a bus.”
“Him and Mrs. Robinson?”
“No, the daughter. And the last shot is just one long take of them sitting in the back of the bus, like, ‘Oh shit, what did we just do?’ ”
They reached the door to his room, and he fished around in his pocket for the key. “Is that how you feel? You regret it?” He studiously avoided her eyes as he asked it, and she felt her heart squeeze.
She shook her head emphatically. “No. I mean, I think it’s supposed to be ambiguous. Not regret, necessarily. Just, like…we did something big. Something that can’t be undone. And I have no fucking idea what’s going to happen tomorrow.” She couldn’t stop the quaver from creeping into her voice.
He had the key now, but instead of opening the door, he turned to her, cradling her face in both hands before leaning in to kiss her gently.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow. Or about anyone else. Right now, it’s just us. It’s just tonight.”
She suppressed a laugh, ruining the moment.
“What?” he asked.
“You just accidentally quoted Rent at me. Kind of.”
He groaned, scrunching up his face to try to mask his grin. “God, you really are a theater nerd. You’re right, this whole thing was a mistake. I gotta go.”
He feinted like he was going to walk back toward the elevator, but she grabbed his sleeve and easily pulled him back into her arms, both of them laughing. “Okay, okay, just open the door already, cool guy.”
Their laughter stopped abruptly as soon as they got into the room, Shane pinning her against the door before they even turned on the light. Their coats fell forgotten to the floor as they groped for each other, trading fierce, bruising kisses. He tangled his fist in her hair and scraped his teeth beneath her jawline, turning her whole body boneless.
She let herself sink into the rhythm of it, the push and pull of their mouths and breath and hands. Against her will, drowsiness began to overtake her the longer her eyes were closed, her movements becoming lazy and languorous. He pulled away once he sensed her slowing, and she opened her eyes to see him watching her with concern.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she breathed.
He reached out to push her hair out of her eyes, his fingers tenderly skating across her temple. “Are you tired?”
“Kind of,” she admitted.
“Do you want to wait?”
She considered it, then shook her head. “Do you? You must be about to drop.”
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”
The rasp in his voice made her breath hitch, and she nodded, understanding him perfectly. He wasn’t talking about sex, obviously. He meant how long it had taken them to get out of their own fucking way. How much time they’d wasted. How close they’d come to living out the rest of their lives hating each other for reasons she couldn’t even remember.
Okay, maybe she could remember. But she didn’t care anymore. She hadn’t cared in a long time. All she cared about now was not wasting another second.
She leaned forward and caught his lower lip in her teeth. He groaned and pressed himself into her again, anchoring her to the door with his body, gripping beneath her thighs until he’d lifted her legs off the ground, which she obediently wrapped around his waist.
She gasped when she felt how hard he was against her, the ache between her legs already unbearable. He bit down on her collarbone and pressed a feverish line of kisses back up to her mouth, and she slipped her tongue between his lips without hesitation, making him moan in the back of his throat. She felt delirious with need, torn between wanting him inside her immediately and wanting to draw each moment out as long as possible.
Too soon, he pulled away, setting her back on her feet as she whined in protest.
“I think I need to shower first. Wash the flop sweat off me,” he murmured into her mouth before turning and heading toward the bathroom. She leaned against the door, dizzy, blinking, unable to do anything but watch as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the ground. He craned his head back to look at her. “You coming?”
She pushed herself upright, kicking off her boots. “Soon, hopefully.”
They both stripped down to their underwear, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. He reached the bathroom first, already running his hand under the spray by the time she shut the door behind her.
“You probably want this a few degrees above boiling, right?”
“It’s okay. I can compromise,” she said with a dramatic sigh. He turned back to look at her, grinning, before doing a double take, his expression slackening as his gaze swept over her from head to toe. She crossed her arms over her stomach and leaned against the counter.
“What?” Based on the look on his face, she had a pretty good idea what, but she wanted to hear him say it anyway. It certainly wasn’t a reaction to her bra and underwear, which were plain and functional and had both seen better days.
He shook his head and stood upright, moving toward her slowly. “I guess I always forget. Like, I convince myself my memory is playing tricks on me.” He stopped short in front of her, curving his hands around her ribs before running them slowly down the edges of her silhouette, his eyes following their progress, making her shiver. “But you really are this fucking beautiful.”
She rested her hands on his biceps for a moment, then slid them up to his shoulders, leaning down to press her mouth to the warm skin there. “Mmm. You’ll do.”
“Well, I’m no Pennywise.”
“Good. His dick was really weird.”
She caught his laugh against her lips, light and sweet, before he pulled back to look at her again.
“I thought you were going to give me a heart attack at that shoot,” he murmured, splaying his hands wide around her hips, finding the spot where she was the softest and squeezing possessively.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not. They didn’t let you keep any of that, did they? The stockings and stuff?”
“No, but I could probably track down something along those lines, if you want.”
He pressed closer to her, skin against skin. “I do want.”
She ran her hands up his smooth back and nuzzled into the side of his neck, taking a long inhale of his natural musk before the shower washed it away. “Just so you know, it took two other people to help me get into everything.”
“I bet it would only take one to get you out of it, though. If they were motivated enough.” His voice went low as his hands skated up to ease her bra clasp open, his erection pressing insistently against her hip. She reached her hand beneath his waistband and let her fingers wrap around him, hot and hard, stroking gently, reacquainting herself, feeling a thrill deep in her stomach at the confirmation that her memory hadn’t been playing tricks on her, either. He groaned and rested his forehead in the gap between her neck and shoulder, sliding her bra straps down her arms.
She brushed her lips against his ear. “I think we’re wasting water.”
He grunted, half amusement, half regret, and they untangled again, discarding their last scraps of clothing, Lilah tying her hair up before stepping in after him.
They both knew better than to even discuss attempting shower sex, which was high risk, low reward. Instead, they just held each other, their kisses soft and lingering, hands exploring leisurely under the guise of lathering up. Lilah swallowing a gasp as Shane’s soapy fingers brushed over her nipples. Him groaning deep in the back of his throat as she lightly ran her palm over the hard length of him, base to tip.
Once they’d rinsed off, she dropped to her knees, ducking her head out of range of the spray. His eyes went dark and hazy as he braced one arm against the wall in anticipation, forearm flexing.
But the only place she touched him was his hip, placing a soft kiss on his tattoo. Her heart had leapt as soon as she saw it was still intact, the lines almost as dark as the day they got them.
“I would’ve thought you’d run straight from that set to the nearest laser,” she teased, brushing her thumb across it.
“You know, I never did get around to that,” he said with a throaty chuckle.
“Weird.” She moved her head over a few inches, looking up at him mischievously before sinking her teeth into the firm curve of his ass—not as hard as she wanted to, but hard enough to make him yelp and jolt.
“Ow! Fuck.” He was laughing, though, reaching down to rub the spot, which was already turning pink. She planted a kiss there, too.
“Sorry. Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about doing that?”
He turned off the water and helped her to her feet, pulling her into a kiss so deep and dirty she felt it in her toes.
“Let me show you what I’ve been thinking about.”
They’d only turned on the bathroom light, so the bedroom was dark apart from the hazy late-night glow sifting through the open drapes. After the shower, Lilah felt wide awake, her skin sensitized and tingling pleasantly from head to toe, her pulse pounding heavily between her legs.
She didn’t go straight to the bed, though. She wandered over to the window, pausing to look out at the street below—quiet, but never fully empty, the buzz of the city dampened to a soft, dreamy hum. In the muted reflection, she saw Shane come up behind her, his towel already discarded. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close for a moment before moving to untuck her towel. She let it fall and kicked it aside, relishing the sensation of him at her back, warm and solid, the air in the room suddenly chilly in comparison, her nipples hardening even before his hands found them.
She whimpered as he cupped her breasts, massaging roughly, plucking at her nipples, his breath hot against her neck. “You might want to put your hands on the glass,” he murmured, dragging his lips up the line of her throat to catch her earlobe in his teeth.
She leaned forward, flinching at the first touch of her palms against the cold window, a shiver rippling through her. He pressed his mouth to the top of her spine, keeping one hand on her breast, slowly trailing the other down her stomach until it settled between her legs. The first brush of his fingers against her clit made her jolt, and she dropped her head down, unable to hold it upright anymore.
He still knew exactly how to touch her. Like he’d been thinking about it for years, waiting patiently for the chance to do it again. That thought on its own was enough to get her pulse racing twice as hard, pleasure lighting her up from the inside, her skin turning flushed and feverish. Before long, she was delirious enough to wonder how it was possible there was really only one of him behind her when it felt like he was everywhere at once: his fingers slowly teasing between her legs, his other hand still toying with her nipples, his hot mouth nipping and sucking at the most sensitive parts of her throat, low noises of satisfaction rumbling in her ear at how easily he could make her fall apart.
She rocked against him, shameless, desperate. When his index finger finally slid inside her, she gasped, clenching around him involuntarily, and he groaned against her neck.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.” His voice was ragged. All she could do was moan as he added a second finger and fucked her harder with them, both of them breathing hard and fast, his other hand moving to rest on the base of her throat. “Does that feel good?”
You know it does, she wanted to say, aching pressure building in waves that already had her trembling, but it came out closer to “Unngh”; his laugh was dirty and rough and intimate. He shifted his arm and found an angle that had her crying out immediately, the heel of his hand pressing against her clit, crooking his fingers to stroke the spot inside of her that had fireworks popping behind her eyes, so good that it was almost too much.
She came quickly, sharp and surprising, her whole body seizing as the unbearable tension inside her crested and released, breaking her open. Shane held her tightly through it, his heart racing against her back. Once she recovered, though, she shrugged out of his embrace, pushing away from the window and turning to face him.
“Get on the bed.” She forced herself to sound stern, though every part of her still felt wobbly.
He obeyed so quickly that it would’ve been comical if she didn’t actually find it extremely fucking hot. He stretched out on the sheets, looking at her with hooded eyes as she stalked toward him, his hand coming down to idly stroke his erection, as hard and straining as she’d ever seen it.
“I didn’t say you could touch yourself.”
Heat flared behind his eyes as he held his hand up in surrender, before tucking them both behind his head, his biceps flexing, a husky edge to his voice. “I like it when you’re bossy.”
“I know.” It delighted her, that the push and pull between them didn’t have to end just because their animosity had.
They’d always been good together, and neither of them had exactly been virgins when they’d met, but there was something different about their dynamic now. The thrill of discovery and rediscovery. The comfort and trust that still lingered from the past. The confidence and experience they’d gained in the years apart. The gratitude that they’d had the chance to sample what else was out there but had still found their way back to each other in the end: taking what worked for them, discarding what hadn’t, ready and eager to shape it into something that was theirs and theirs alone.
She knelt between his legs and was still for a moment, drinking in the scene in front of her, the gorgeous man sprawled at her mercy.
The gorgeous man she was completely, staggeringly, once-in-a-lifetime head over heels in love with.
Something expanded in her chest, and to her chagrin, she felt tears spring to her eyes. She blinked them back. She’d never cried during sex before—other than the time in high school she’d gotten a black eye from accidentally catching a stray elbow to the face—and she wasn’t about to start now.
She refocused on the task at hand, gripping the base of his cock and giving it a long, slow lick with the flat of her tongue. His whole body jerked, and he made a noise like he’d stepped in a bear trap, the sound sending a bolt of pleasure straight between her thighs.
She still knew what he liked, too, teasing him with her lips and tongue and hands, savoring his soft, desperate moans, the way his hips twitched and bucked, his breath coming hard and fast. When she wrapped her mouth around him, relaxing her throat to take him deep, he swore loudly, his hands floating up from behind his head, one gripping the sheets, one winding tightly in her hair.
“Fuck, Lilah, you’re gonna kill me. I don’t know how much longer I can last,” he gasped, tugging on her hair. She released him with a wet pop.
“Maybe that’s good, though. Get this first one out of the way, take the edge off.”
He shook his head, laughing a little, still panting. “I’m flattered you think I have more than one round in me right now. I’m probably going to pass out as soon as I come. But I need to fuck you tonight.”
“No arguments here.” She crawled back up over his body, leaning down to kiss him, slow and deep. “You have a condom, right?”
She assumed he wouldn’t have let it get this far if he didn’t, but all the same, she was relieved when he nodded.
“Yeah. In my bag.” He rolled off the bed and went to his suitcase, rummaging around in an outer pocket before retrieving a strip and ripping one off. He squinted at it in the dim light. “Wait. Shit. How long before condoms expire?”
“I dunno. A couple years?”
“Oh, okay. We’re good, then.”
She smiled wryly, watching him rip open the foil and roll it on. “Been a while?”
He grinned, crawling back onto the bed beside her. “Maybe.” He nudged her onto her back, kneeling next to her and sliding his hand up her thigh. “I might’ve been a little distracted the past few months.”
She felt her face flush. “Me, too.”
Something earnest crossed his expression, and he moved his hand up to stroke her face.
“Lilah,” he breathed. “I—”
He cut himself off, shaking his head, then repositioned himself between her legs, braced on either side of her ribs.
“What?” she prompted.
He smiled bashfully, then shook his head again. “Nothing. Someone told me it doesn’t count during sex.”
She felt that same swelling in her chest, the tightening of her throat, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes again. She tried to clear her throat, but her voice was hoarse all the same. “Well. Let’s hope you can still remember it later, then.”
The intensity in his gaze sent a thrill through her. “I will.”
She forced herself to laugh, though she felt like she was in pain. “Are you going to get all corny on me now that we don’t hate each other anymore?”
When he smiled, there was something pained about it, too. Longing, maybe. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
She felt her expression grow serious, the lump in her throat expanding as she reached up to cup his face, running her fingers through his beard. “I just want you,” she said quietly.
He smiled, ducking down to nuzzle against her collarbone. “Now who’s getting corny?”
She responded by shifting beneath him, raising her knees to cradle his hips, and reaching down to guide him into place. He pushed into her slowly, both of them exhaling heavily, Lilah wrapping her arms tight around his neck and burying her face into it.
She felt raw and exposed, turned entirely inside out. For what might have been the first time, she felt relieved of the burden of performance during sex, of embodying the fantasy of whatever her partner expected. It was all too easy for her to protect herself that way, to intuit what they wanted from her and slip into it seamlessly—taking her work home with her, intentionally or not. There was pleasure in that, too, in its own way.
But as he moved inside her, carefully at first, his breath catching, her goddamn tears once again threatening to spill over, she finally understood the power of letting her guard down, of letting herself be known. It was the kind of connection she’d never felt before. With him, or with anyone. No games, no personas, no manipulation, no detachment. Just the two of them, stripped bare and clinging to each other, as nervous and vulnerable as if it were their very first time.
Lilah let her head drop down to the mattress and met his eyes, her arms loosening around his neck and sliding up to his face. There was hunger in his gaze, but tenderness, too—tenderness she would’ve found unbearable if not for the overpowering awareness that she was likely looking up at him in exactly the same way. Now it came close to unraveling her.
He shifted his weight back so he could press his palms to hers, interlacing their fingers as she stretched her arms high above her head. The gentleness was gone already, his gaze hot and dark; groaning how good she felt as his hips rolled harder and faster, sending pleasure sizzling up her spine. She felt another orgasm building, unhurried, a gathering storm as she wrapped her legs around him and rocked her hips up to meet his.
Once she felt herself start to plateau, she freed one of her hands and tapped his hip gently. They rolled over in one fluid motion until she was straddling him, barely losing their rhythm. It was always easy for her to come this way, especially with him. She closed her eyes and braced her hands on his shoulders, waves of sensation mounting as she ground against him, his hands all over her—her breasts, her waist, clutching her hips so hard she was sure she’d wake up with eight finger-shaped bruises on her ass.
As she got close, her eyes fluttered open again and she caught a glimpse of his face, looking up at her with an expression that could only be described as reverence. She leaned over until they were chest to chest again, and he wrapped his arms around her and thrust up from underneath as she dragged her tongue up the side of his neck.
“God, I fucking missed you,” he growled, and it was the crack in his voice, thick with emotion, that ultimately toppled her over the edge—and, okay, yes, maybe a few tears finally slipped out, too, but only because it sounded like he was on the verge of crying himself. Where her first orgasm was acute and intense, this one felt deep and shimmering and bottomless, her body practically vibrating in slow motion, at a secret frequency only he could access.
He rocked them up so they were both sitting upright, still holding her, stroking her back, planting featherlight kisses on her neck and shoulders. But before the last aftershock had even passed, he’d flipped her onto her back again, slinging both her legs over one shoulder, his strokes turning deep and relentless, his head falling back in unselfconscious ecstasy. She could tell he wouldn’t last much longer, but it didn’t stop electricity from starting to coil inside her lower belly again anyway, from the feel of him, the sight of him, the sounds that were coming out of both of them.
He slowed, his thrusts becoming jerky and unsteady. “Fuck. Fuck.” He dropped his head forward, panting.
She reluctantly let him get up to deal with the condom, but he tumbled back onto the bed soon enough, collapsing into her arms.
Eventually, he raised his head to kiss her, and she ran her hands through his hair, damp from both the shower and sweat.
“Lilah?”
“Hmm?”
He rolled them over so they were on their sides facing each other, clutching their hands between their chests like they’d been arm wrestling. He brought his other thumb up to trace her cheekbone. She could tell by the look in his eyes what he was going to say before he said it.
“Would you believe me if I said I loved you now?”
Warmth bloomed in her chest, and she closed her eyes. “Yes.”
“What about if I said I loved you before, too?”
“When?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“On New Year’s Eve.” She felt his lips press to her forehead. “In Vancouver.” Her cheekbone. “When you walked through the door at upfronts.” The tip of her nose. “In my trailer before you left.” Her jaw. “When we got the tattoos.” Her shoulder. “The first time I kissed you.” Her neck. “When you forgot your lines at our first audition.” Her lips again, at last.
She thought about fighting it, even now. Insisting that he couldn’t possibly have loved her from the day he’d met her.
But it didn’t matter, she realized. There was no satisfaction in being right about this—if it was even possible. That wasn’t the point. The point was that he loved her now, and she knew it as surely as she knew her own name. The kind of love that cast a warm glow back through time, all the way to their first meeting, reframing the past through the lens of the present. Powerful enough to illuminate the protective shell she’d thought surrounded her heart, revealing that it wasn’t a shell at all, but a cocoon. Her heart hadn’t been calcifying, it had been biding its time, breaking down and rearranging on a molecular level until it was finally safe to burst free and reveal itself, trembling and brilliant and brand new.
She opened her eyes.
“I’d say, ‘Me, too.’ ”
He broke into a grin, so wide and unrestrained it was almost childlike. “Told you I wouldn’t forget.”
“Yours was a lot better than mine.”
“Yours was perfect.” He stroked her hair. “But I think I might have been working on mine for longer.”
“Well, it was worth the wait.”
His smile faded slowly, his expression turning serious. “Was it, though?”
She bit her lip. “I think we needed it. We weren’t ready for each other back then. We both had some growing up to do.”
“Maybe you did,” he muttered, but she could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face, especially as she giggled. He leaned forward and kissed her deeply, thoroughly. “Please tell me this was the last morning I’ll have to wake up without you,” he said quietly when he pulled away.
“Codependent much?” she teased, even though his words sent goosebumps of pleasure skating up her arms.
“We have a lot of lost time to make up for; I’d say we’ve earned a little codependency. But I won’t tell Dr. Deena if you won’t.” He nudged her onto her side, fitting her back against his chest, and she sighed.
“Shane?” she murmured, already drifting off.
“Yeah?”
“Can you still fuck me like you hate me sometimes?”
He laughed, bringing his hand down to give her a sharp smack on the ass, followed by a soothing squeeze. “I’ll try my best.”