Thornhill

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SOME ROOMS LOOKED BETTER IN THE DARK. THIS WAS definitely one of them.

Neon light slipped around the curtains, muted flashes of red as the vacancy sign blinked on and off. I shifted my weight and the mattress protested with a chorus of groans and squeaks.

“Are you okay?” Kyle’s voice was still rough around the edges as he tightened his arm around me. “Was it okay?” He had done this before; I hadn’t.

I pressed my lips to his bare shoulder. “It was perfect.”

The muffled sounds of a fistfight drifted in from the parking lot, and Kyle made a skeptical noise in the back of his throat.

“Okay,” I admitted, a sleepy smile tugging at the corners of my mouth, “so it’s not the most romantic place to deflower a girl.”

“Deflower?”

My cheeks flushed. I shrugged and my skin brushed his, sending a wave of sparks racing down my spine. “That’s what Tess calls it. Anytime she tries to give me a serious sex talk, she turns into the mom from a sixties sitcom.”

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