Page 62 of What if It's Us

The way her breath caught when I stepped closer to her.

Fuck yeah.

My dick hardens in my grasp and I know I’m about to spend the next five minutes in a state of fucking bliss with Marlee Remington on my mind.

But then there’s a knock at my door.

What the hell?

I glance at my clock and note the bright red numbers flashing twelve-thirty at me.

Who the fuck is knocking at twelve?—

Knock, knock, knock.

Ugh.

Clearly one of the guys is drunk and forgot his key and needs my help. Or some dumbass thinks this is his room.

Wouldn’t be the first time Barrett has done that.

He’s been known to sleep-walk himself right out of his hotel room on several occasions.

I reach up and slap on the light and then bend down to reach for my boxer briefs and pull them on stiffy and all.

Maybe my hard-on will help chase away whoever is at the door.

Without looking through the peephole, I swing my door open with a lazy, “Look man, you’ve got the wrong?—”

“Hey.”

Her voice is so soft I would’ve missed it if my eyes weren’t trained on her face.

“Marlee?” I nearly whisper her name, peering down the hall in both directions to make sure nobody sees her standing here. “Are you alright? What’s going?—”

She doesn’t answer at first.

She merely holds up a brown paper bag.

When I shake my head, confused, she worries her lip and gives me a partly shamed but partly hopeful expression and whispers, “I’m so sorry it’s late, but it’s time.”

“It’s time?” I ask, my hand rubbing the back of my neck as I watch her. “Time for…”

Baby.

My eyes grow huge. “Oooh.”

“I’m so sorry, Ledger. I know this isn’t ideal and I hate that I’m even bothering you at this hour when you have a game tomorrow and you need your sleep but that’s just it, you have a game and tomorrow is a busy day, which mean we’ll miss the window if?—”

“It’s no problem, Mar. It’s fine.” I hold the door open for her. “You want to come in?”

“Would you rather I wait out here? I can if you want me to…” Her eyes fall and when I see her brows lift, I look down to see what it is she’s staring at and remember my cock is wide-awake and at the ready.

My cheeks heat and embarrassment floods me. “Fuck. Sorry, I?—"

“No need to be sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I need that. All of it.” She reaches into the bag and holds up the container that I’m very familiar with. “Can you just put it in here when you’re done?”

I’d rather fill you up myself but we haven’t gotten the chance to talk about that yet.

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