Chapter 464: No Regrets

Stan kept fucking her hard, keeping the pace he had promised.

Each stroke was a long, careful question her body learned how to answer. When she tensed he shortened the motion and kissed her through it. When she softened he gave her more of the length and waited for the sound that meant yes.

As she moaned, his mouth found her breast again, sucking slow, fondling the other as if attention itself were a way of holding her together.

Amelia’s world narrowed to that rhythm. The first-time burn receded into fullness, then into something that startled her by wanting. She moved with him, small, instinctive lifts of her hips, and the discovery that she could meet him made her eyes sting for a different reason.

"Stan,"

"I’m here." His voice was wrecked and steady. "Let it happen. I’ve got you."

His hand slipped between them, gentle on the place that made her gasp. The careful friction inside her and the circling touch outside braided until the nervousness had nowhere left to stand. Pleasure gathered low and inevitable. She clung to his shoulders, face pressed to his throat, and came with a broken, astonished sound, tight around him, shaking, the first orgasm she had ever had with a man inside her arriving like a door she had not known she could open.

He held still through the worst of the clenching, kissing her hair, letting her ride it without being driven through it.

The flutter of her was what finished him.

A few more slow thrusts, then he buried himself and came with a low groan against her mouth, heat spilling deep while she was still trembling. His arms locked. He did not slam, did not forget her. Even at the end he handled her as if she were precious and newly made.

They stayed joined while the pulses faded. Hotel quiet. The faint smell of food they had abandoned. Her heartbeat knocking itself back down toward something human.

He eased out only when she was ready, cleaned what needed cleaning with the patience of someone who was not fleeing the moment, and drew her into him on the rumpled bed.

Amelia fitted against his chest, one of his hands spanning her back, the other in her hair. Her body ached in a way that felt like evidence. Her mind was soft and wide.

"You okay?" he asked into her temple.

"Yes." She swallowed. "It was... a lot. Good." A breath. "I’m glad it was you."

He kissed her hair. She closed her eyes, the old hatred of men lying quiet at last, replaced by the simple fact of his warmth and the two hours that were no longer only about an airport.

They cuddled in the gold half-light, skin to skin, not talking much, the worthwhile thing he had promised already kept.

They didn’t move at first, after all they were reluctant, both feeling a little wrecked, and unwilling to continue with the day.

Amelia lay along Stan’s side, cheek on the heat of his chest, his hand moving slow down her back like he was reminding himself she was still there. The ache between her thighs was simple and present. It didn’t scare her. It felt earned.

Stan watched the ceiling, then the dark spill of her hair over his arm. Camilla’s look from the shop sat somewhere far off. Amelia’s flight sat closer. Neither of them reached for either yet. His thumb made a small circle at the base of her spine, not asking, just not letting the contact go thin.

"You’ve gone quiet," he said.

"I’m checking the damage." Her voice was rough, almost laughing. "I feel a bit sore all over."

"And?"

"I still don’t regret it" She tipped her face up. "Im looking forward to doing this again... I’ll miss you"

He kissed her forehead. She shut her eyes and let that be enough.

His heartbeat was dull and regular under her ear. She counted it without meaning to. Old habit. New room. The counting didn’t feel like an exit this time.

"You’re thinking loud," Stan said.

"If I start explaining, I’ll sand it down." She looked at his throat. "I don’t want it sanded."

"Then don’t." His hand stayed. "You can just stay put."

She made a small sound. "You say that like people know how."

"They don’t. I’m saying it anyway."

Rest thinned into cooling skin and the stupid practical thought of airports and sheets that would look exactly like what they were. Amelia shifted first. The wince got out before she could swallow it.

Stan felt it at once. "Hey."

"I’m fine."

"I didn’t ask if you were fine. I feel like my light make up is ruined."

"Don’t you know you’re more beautiful without it..."

"Lies,"

"I’m serious, there’s this thing to natural beauty that make ups can’t beat..."

She huffed, hid against his chest. "Thanks."

"Since you’ll be leaving soon let’s go have a bath," he said with a teasing smilw. "I’ve got no agenda anyways"

"Saying that makes it more obvious that you have an agenda..."

Stan could only shrug, "I guess I do.."

The bathroom was marble and kind light, a tub deep enough to pretend the city had nothing to do with them. He ran it warm, not hot, not a dare, and steam softened the edges of the last hour. Amelia stood in the doorway, bare and suddenly shy in a way the bed had not permitted, arms loosely crossed more from strangeness than shame.

Stan glanced back. "You can come in, or you can stand there and grade my tap work. Both legal."

"I’m grading the tap."

"High stakes."

She stepped in. Tile cold under her feet. "I keep waiting for the part where this gets awkward."

"It already is." He tested the water with his wrist. "Awkward’s fine. Rushing isn’t."

She watched him fuss with the temperature like it mattered. "You do this a lot?"

"Run baths?"

"I don’t rush bath’s, especially when bathing with a beautiful woman like you."

’He’s really good with his words. My heart can’t help but flutter every time he speaks, it’s one of the things I love most about him. In a world like this, he feels like the only good man left.’

Amelia blushed but said nothing. She was quietly loving every second of his teasing.