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After a moment of hesitation, I flung open the door, ready to march back out and offer myself up like a very willing human sacrifice, but when I saw a figure standing across from me in the darkness, I sucked in a breath in alarm.
The figure raised its head. Oscar.
He wore the same clothes as before, the fabric still damp and clinging to his chest and arms. His hair was in disarray, and shadows darkened his face.
He jerked back, his eyes going wide with something akin to surprise and panic. I was sure my expression mirrored his. My pulse kicked into overdrive, my lungs suddenly growing tight, making it difficult to breathe.
“H-hey. What are you doing here?”
I might have been embarrassed by my stammering, except that Oscar—Oscar who always seemed to know what he was doing—looked as nervous and uncertain as I felt.
He ducked his head, then raised his gaze to mine. “Trying to make myself walk away… Trying to figure out how to convince you to let me in.”
“Oh.” If I’d thought breathing had been difficult before, I’d been wrong. Because looking at those eyes, at that face, at this man I knew better than some of the men I’d dated for months, I knew all the mental gymnastics I’d done a moment ago to justify what I wanted were meaningless; there was no choice to be made. If Oscar wanted me, I was his.
“Just ask,” I whispered.
Heat flared in his expression, but he stayed where he was: just across the threshold, within reach but still somehow distant. “Nothing’s changed though. I’m never going to be your happy ever after…”
I knew that—knew it—but hearing the words still hurt more than it should have.
Without giving myself time to think about what that meant, I reached for Oscar, curling a finger into the vee of his shirt and dragging him inside. “I found the hottest guy at the wedding.”
He frowned. “What?”
“That’s what my friend Oscar told me to do. He said if I wanted to get over the asshole I’d been dating, I needed to find the hottest guy at the wedding…”
“Oh.” His expression cleared, and his lips twitched. “I assume you mean Roman? He might still be outside?—”
I kicked the door closed with my foot and pushed Oscar back against it none too gently, covering his mouth with my hand.
“…give him a seductive smile…” I leered at him, grinning crazily.
He laughed. “So seductive,” he mumbled, the words warm against my palm.
“…lure him back to my hotel room…”
Oscar’s eyes tracked over my head, scanning the room. He lifted one eyebrow.
“…and ride him all weekend,” I whispered.
We stared at each other for a long moment, and I felt a flutter of panic. What if this wasn’t what he wanted? What if he was wiser than I was and saw all the ways this could go horribly?—
Oscar lunged. His mouth found mine, and the tension that had been crackling around us ignited. Momentum carried us into the room.
“Fuck,” Oscar groaned against me, the sound muffled by my tongue tangling with his. I yanked at his shirt, prying it open so I could run my hands across his bare chest.
His skin pebbled with goose bumps, and he shivered against me. “You’re cold,” I said between kisses.
He skated his teeth down my neck. “No.”
“You’re still wet,” I pointed out.
“So are you. But that’s an easy fix.” He grabbed the remains of his shirt, shucking it off before reaching for mine. His fingers skimmed across my abdomen, up my ribs as he undressed me.
Our clothes hit the floor in a sodden mess, but I didn’t care, and neither did Oscar. We stumbled, knees banging, fingers grabbing, tongues tangling. I fisted my hand into his damp hair, needing him closer.
My back hit the wall by the bathroom door. Oscar pressed a hand to my chest, holding me in place as he dropped to his knees. My cock stood rigid between us, already throbbing.
