All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(71)

She’d trusted him enough to share a bed. He wouldn’t violate that trust.

Resolutely turning away from the bathroom door, Alex got out his phone and occupied himself by uploading the day’s videos on various platforms, tagging Carah wherever possible.

The sound of running water stopped, and he bit his lip.

The towering pile of extra blankets they’d carried to their room and spread over the bed might keep her warm. But if the blankets weren’t enough …

No, he wouldn’t think about it. He couldn’t. Not when she was coming out so soon, her soft skin damp and flushed with heat, almost like they’d just been—

Nope. No. No.

When she emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, dragging her suitcase behind her, she was wearing one of her oversized T-shirt nightgowns and a new pair of leggings. Nothing he hadn’t seen before, but he suspected she wasn’t wearing a bra this time. Maybe not panties either, and that was a thought he was going to do his very best to forget.

“Ahhhhhhh.” When her eyes flew to his, he grinned at her. “My just-one-bedmate returns.”

The edges of her hair had become wet. Random strands were sticking to her rosy cheeks and neck, and within moments, those bits would feel like icicles against her skin. So would the air. So would the wooden floor.

Sure enough, as soon as she registered the absurdly low temperature in the main room, her face immediately pinched into a pained grimace, and she made a sort of gasping squeak.

“Holy crap,” she breathed, immediately starting to shiver.

He would not check what the cold had done to her nipples. He would not.

She wasn’t wearing socks or slippers, and she sort of bounced on her tiptoes to the bed, trying to make as little contact with the floor as possible before hurriedly ripping back the mountain of covers, diving inside, and yanking everything up again.

Covered to just below her eyeballs, she peered at him from her nest, her brows beetled in chilly outrage.

She was fucking adorable, and he couldn’t help laughing.

“Stow it, Woodroe,” she snapped from beneath a billion blankets.

He held up his hands, palms out. “Hey, now. I merely welcomed your return to Elsa’s California retreat. Otherwise, I didn’t say a word.”

“Whatever.” Her muffled voice was grumpy as hell, and that was even more adorable. “In my defense, I didn’t know I should bring pajamas suitable for company. Or arctic conditions. I think they used a Zamboni on these sheets. Holy crap.”

Dammit. She sounded genuinely uncomfortable.

“Do you want us to check out and go somewhere else?” He wanted to stay, wanted to share a bed with her, but his needs weren’t as important as hers. Not even close. “If we drive far enough, I’m sure we can find a place with vacancies. One that’s not running a cryogenics experiment on the side.”

She uncovered her mouth, and he could actually see her teeth chattering. “No. I want you to stop talking, take an uncomfortably scorching shower, and serve as my personal hot water bottle under these covers. Hurry up.”

They were going to cuddle for warmth?

Holy shit. All his fanfic and real-life dreams had come true. This really was the best day ever.

On top of that, she was being undeniably—if understandably—shrewish and demanding, which was yet another dream realized. After all, if she didn’t trust him, she wouldn’t bitch at him. It was an honor, really, and a genuine pleasure to see her entirely unconstrained by politeness.

“Big Harpy Energy,” he said admiringly. “Big. Huge.”

She squinted suspiciously at him. “Is that another Pretty Woman reference?”

It totally was. “I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation.”

“Oh, for the love of …” She closed those beautiful eyes for a moment. “Just shut up and get hot for me. Please.”

He grinned down at her provokingly.

“You know what I mean,” she muttered. “Just do it, Woodroe.”

He bowed. “Your wish is my etc., etc.”

Rolling his suitcase behind him, he headed for the bathroom, shut the door, and prepared to provide as much body heat as humanly possible. The water in his shower: near-boiling. His imagination: fervid. His dick: in his fist, because if they were cuddling, he was going to get hard unless he’d literally just had an orgasm.

It only took a few strokes. He’d been primed for days and days, and the sight of her in a bed, glaring at him and possibly panty-free, had pushed him to his breaking point.

She’d be so soft under him, around him. Wet and needy. And if she rode him, her weight would hold him firmly in place, no matter how desperately he pleaded and bucked into—

Head thrown back, knees weak, he swallowed down his groan and slapped a hand against the shower wall to brace himself as he came.

“You okay?” he heard her call through the door. “Alex?”

Sometimes, there was such a thing as too innocent, really.

He cleared his throat before calling back, “Fine. Just lost my balance for a moment.”

Scrubbing everywhere only took a couple of minutes, despite his post-orgasm shakiness. Still, he was nearly sweating from the water’s heat by the time he rinsed off. When he emerged from the shower and grabbed a towel, the mirror fogged over and stayed that way.