His tip rubs up and slides against me, causing me to gasp, “I want you, Sam. Now. Inside.”
“Sam and Peyton. Finally,” he says wistfully, gripping my thighs tighter and sliding in.
I’m insensible. My body is in control as my head falls back and I push up to meet him. He jerks my T-shirt and bra up above my chest, spreads his hands under my back to hold me up, then he kisses my shoulders, my throat, and my breasts as we move and gasp together. As the tempo builds, faster and faster, I lose control. My fingers go from gripping his arms, his chest, his back to scratching him as I climax. His mouth goes from kissing and sucking my skin to an open moan, held between my breasts.
Our heavy breathing fills the room. Lust spent, the situation, so very much like the past, hits me. I’m in his room, on his couch, with my skirt around my waist, my shirt and bra up to my neck, and my panties on the floor. When he raises himself up on his elbows, I’m expecting Bryce to charge into the room. Mortified, I quickly scramble out from beneath him.
“Peyton?” he says softly.
Tugging on my underwear, I ignore him. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe what I did. Again.
He rolls onto his back and repeats my name. I tug my boots on and grab my purse. He sits up.
“Don’t do this to me,” Sam says. “Don’t run again. Don’t say it was nothing.”
“Oh, it was something,” I say over my shoulder, heading to the door. “I lost my mind for a bit. Now it’s back.” I open the door. “I have to go.”
I shut the door as he angrily says my name louder, then I rush down the hall to the elevator.
Chapter 24
The morning is gray and shadowy as I walk. The dark sky brightens slowly, hinting at the sunrise soon to come. I don’t stray far from the hotel, instead walking the same blocks around the hotel over and over again. Traffic is strangely erratic this early in the morning, yet it’s obvious this city never sleeps as taxis, trucks, cars, and a few people pass by me. At first, I stroll and refuse to think, just try to let my mind clear. But facing what I’ve done over the past couple of days is inevitable.
As the anxiety loosens in my chest like the release of a knot, I rationally accept some basic facts. Some people have soul mates, theoretically at least, even if I don’t quite buy the idea after what I went through with Seth. However, I do have a sex mate—I can’t help but smile as this phrase pops into my mind—and his name is Sam. I’d seriously questioned if my memory was playing tricks on me about how good my first time with him had been. It wasn’t. It was as good this time, perhaps even better. I’m not a sex fiend, but sex with Sam could make me one. When we have sex, I don’t feel self-conscious.
Beyond the mind-blowing, can’t-stop-myself sex, I force myself to admit that I do have feelings for Sam. Though they’re mixed up with my music awe, pity for his relationship with Seth, and serious lust for his hot body, I can’t deny my feelings if I’m being honest with myself.
And while the sun slowly rises and casts shadows across Manhattan, I’m trying very hard to be honest with myself, and rational. Very, very rational. If I were letting my emotions dictate my behavior, I’d be back in Sam’s bed in a hot second.
As far as Bryce is concerned—deep calming breath—I finally, completely realize nothing ever grew past our initial attraction. He was fun and attractive but now that I have real feelings—even as messed up as they are—for someone else, the shallowness of our relationship is so evident that his showing up for a weekend of sex doesn’t seem as callous as I first thought. I mean, other than dating and drinking and screwing, what else is there between us?
I round a corner and the hotel comes into view.
I’m still trying to be honest with myself. And I have to decide how honest to be with Bryce. Should I be entirely honest and tell him I slept with Sam? Or would that be too hurtful? Should I tell him I’ve realized there was never more between us than that initial attraction?
Ugh. My internal questions are starting to make my head hurt because the fact is, I cheated on Bryce just like I cheated on Seth. And no matter how I try to sugarcoat it—Bryce being an asshole or Seth getting paranoid—I’m still at fault. Twice. Cheater times two. The thought not only hurts my head and my heart but also stabs at my self-respect. What little I have left at the moment.
Tired of walking, I slowly make my way toward the hotel entrance.
Okay. A breakup with Bryce is imminent, yet that doesn’t automatically mean I’m about to officially be with Sam. Even if I knew how he felt about me—for all I know he might consider last night nothing more than a step above his usual booty call with a groupie—I’m not ready to go there. I need time, and perhaps a shitload of beer, to get a grasp on my emotions. Logic tells me I’m having a hard time separating the awesome sex from my emotions. Our connection is a tangled web that I can’t dissect clearly when that earth-shattering climax is still so fresh in my mind.
All right. First things first.
Bryce.
The hotel lobby is empty, but I’m grateful to see that the small coffee shop off to the side is open. After waiting in a short line, I buy two coffees. I don’t have to travel far to give Bryce his. He’s on the other side of the lobby, talking with a bellhop. He doesn’t notice me until I step next to him.
When he turns to me, his look is flat.
“Hey,” I say, lifting the coffee and trying not to let the guilt running through me show on my face.
He doesn’t take the steaming drink. “Where have you been?”
“Around. Walking, thinking,” I say, ignoring the gray-haired bellhop watching and listening to us.
Bryce pulls the suitcase on the floor at his side. “Walking around New York in the middle of the night? What the hell, Peyton? I called you, texted you, and left a dozen messages.”
“I turned my phone off. I needed to think,” I say, lifting the coffee higher. “It’s a mocha latte.” Bryce doesn’t like coffee unless it has chocolate in it.
“You have the room until eleven,” he says stiffly, then swipes the coffee from my hand and marches with his suitcase rolling behind him toward the front exit.
As he surely expected, I follow and find him outside, waiting on a bench.
“I don’t get it,” he says, staring out at the street as I sit down at the far end of the bench. “We’ve never had problems. I come here and everything blows up in my face.”
“Um, well, we go out once a week. Maybe have lunch once or twice. I’m not sure if our relationship was ready for prime time.”
He turns and pins me with a glare. “I’m busy. You’re busy. We always get along.”
I take a deep breath and turn to him. “Bryce—”
“Don’t say it.” He scoots across the bench and grabs my hand, a strange desperation crossing his face. “We can pretend this trip never happened. You’ll be home in a few more weeks, and we can continue like we were.”
I shake my head and tug my hand from his grip. “I’m really, really sorry you came and things turned out like this, but the last two days put everything into perspective for me. I don’t want to go back to the way things were.”
He looks dejected. “Why?”
Not wanting to hurt him and not wanting to admit I’ve done something vile, I bit my lip. Deep down, Bryce must know we’re not meant to be.
He lowers his chin and asks in a deep tone, “Is there someone else?”
“Not really,” I say, cringing inside. But does it matter if he knows?
“What does that mean?”
“You were such a jerk yesterday. And well . . .” I take another deep breath, getting ready to spit out that I cheated on him, that I’m an awful person regardless of the mess of our relationship. The knot in my chest feels like it will loosen if I’m honest.