Did She Hear Us Last Night?

Ethan sprawled on the hotel bed, the sheets a tangled mess around his legs, his chest still heaving like he’d run a damn marathon. The air smelled of sweat and something sweeter, her perfume maybe, clinging to his skin. His mind was a blur, half-stuck on what just happened, half-wondering if he’d lost his damn mind. Twenty minutes ago, he was just sipping cheap wine in a stuffy hotel room, trying to act normal. Now? Now he was staring at the ceiling, wondering if his sister-in-law—yeah, Lila, his wife’s fiery redheaded sister—had just rocked his world hard enough to crack it in half. Worse, he was wondering if anyone heard them through these paper-thin walls.

Rewind. It started innocent enough. Well, as innocent as it gets when you’re stuck working overtime with your sister-in-law on a last-minute project for her mom’s catering business. Ethan’s wife, Sara, was supposed to be there, but she’d bailed with a migraine, leaving him and Lila to handle the late-night number-crunching in this budget hotel room. They’d booked it last minute for the client meeting tomorrow, a neutral spot halfway between their towns. Just a desk, two chairs, a bed neither of them planned to touch. A bottle of wine to take the edge off. That’s it.

Lila had always been a tease, though. Not in a mean way, just... playful. Always tossing quips, flashing that smirk, her green eyes glinting like she knew something you didn’t. Ethan had noticed her hair tonight—bright copper, spilling over her shoulder in a messy braid, catching the dim lamp light. He’d noticed her laugh, too, rough and real, when he fumbled a spreadsheet formula. And yeah, he’d noticed the way her tank top clung a little too tight when she leaned over the desk, but he’d shoved that thought down hard. She was family. Off-limits. End of story.

But somewhere between the second glass of wine and a dumb joke about their client’s obsession with mini quiches, the air shifted. Lila had leaned back in her chair, stretching, her arms over her head, and said, “You ever think about just saying screw it to all this responsibility crap?” Her voice was lazy, but her eyes weren’t. They locked on his, sharp, daring. Ethan felt his throat go dry. He mumbled something about needing the paycheck, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was too busy noticing how close her knee was to his under the desk.

Then she laughed, low and throaty, and stood up. “I’m bored, Ethan. Let’s play a game.” Before he could ask what the hell she meant, she was perched on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to her. “Truth or dare. Come on, don’t be a wuss.”

He should’ve said no. Should’ve kept his ass in the chair, focused on the laptop. But he didn’t. He sat down, the mattress dipping under his weight, and picked truth like a coward. Her question hit like a punch. “You ever think about me when you’re with Sara?” Her tone was light, teasing, but her gaze pinned him. He felt heat crawl up his neck, stammered a denial, and she just grinned wider. “Liar. Your turn.”

That’s how it spiraled. Truths got bolder. Dares got stupider. She dared him to take off his shirt, cackling when he hesitated, calling him a prude. He dared her to sing a cheesy pop song, and she belted it out off-key, collapsing into giggles. Then she picked dare, and he—half-drunk on wine and her laugh—told her to kiss him. Just to see if she’d back down. He didn’t think she would. And she didn’t.

Her lips were soft but firm, tasting like the sweet red they’d been drinking, and she didn’t pull back after a peck. She lingered, her hand sliding to his jaw, her thumb brushing his stubble. Ethan froze for half a second before his brain shorted out and his hands found her waist, pulling her closer. She made a little sound, a hum against his mouth, and that was it. Game over. No more pretending this was just a joke.

“Tell me to stop,” she murmured, her breath hot on his neck as she straddled his lap, her thighs pressing against his hips. “Tell me, and I will.”

He didn’t. Couldn’t. His hands were already under her tank top, sliding up her back, feeling the warmth of her skin, the slight curve of her spine. She tugged his belt loose with quick fingers, laughing softly when it snagged. “You’re hopeless,” she teased, but her voice was thick, hungry. He yanked her shirt over her head, revealing pale skin and freckles dusted across her chest, her bra a deep green that made her hair look even redder. God, she was gorgeous, and he hated himself for thinking it, but not enough to stop.

Her bra hit the floor. His jeans followed. She shoved him back onto the bed, climbing over him, her hair falling loose from its braid, tickling his chest as she kissed down his stomach. Every touch felt like a spark, sharp and sudden, making his muscles jump. When she wrapped her lips around him, slow at first, then deeper, he nearly lost it right there. The heat of her mouth, the flick of her tongue—he gripped the sheets, trying not to make a sound, but a low grunt slipped out anyway. She looked up, smirking around him, and hummed, the vibration sending a jolt straight through him. “Quiet, big guy,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to speak. “Wouldn’t want the neighbors complaining.”

He wanted to laugh, but he was too far gone. He flipped her over, pinning her beneath him, her legs wrapping around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. She arched up, her nails digging into his shoulders, whispering, “Hurry up already, I’m not made of patience.” Her tone was all sass, but her eyes were dark, desperate. He didn’t need more encouragement. He pushed into her, slow at first, feeling her stretch around him, tight and warm and so damn perfect he forgot how to breathe for a second. She gasped, her head tipping back, red hair spilling across the pillow, and muttered, “Damn, Ethan, took you long enough.”

They moved together, clumsy at first, then finding a rhythm. The bed creaked under them, louder than he liked, but he couldn’t care less. Her hands roamed his back, pulling him closer, her breath hitching every time he thrust deeper. He could feel her tightening, her thighs trembling, and when she whispered, “Right there, don’t you dare slow down,” he almost laughed at how bossy she was even now. Instead, he obeyed, driving harder, watching her face twist with pleasure, her lips parted, a flush spreading down her neck. She came with a sharp cry, muffled against his shoulder, and the feel of her pulsing around him dragged him over the edge too. He buried his face in her hair, groaning low, his whole body locking up as he spilled into her, the release so intense it left him dizzy.

They collapsed together, panting, her leg still hooked over his hip, his hand tangled in her hair. For a long minute, neither of them spoke. Then she chuckled, her voice hoarse. “Well, that’s one way to kill time.”

Ethan’s brain was still catching up. He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of what they’d done settling in. Lila propped herself on an elbow, looking at him with that damn smirk again. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

“A little,” he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, Christ, Lila. If Sara finds out—”

“She won’t,” she cut in, flopping back onto the pillow. “Unless you’re planning to confess over breakfast. Which, by the way, would be a terrible idea.”

He snorted, despite himself. “Yeah, no kidding.” But the thought gnawed at him. Not just Sara, but... anyone. The walls in this place were thin. He’d heard the couple next door arguing earlier. What if they’d heard Lila’s cry, or the bedframe banging against the wall? What if someone mentioned it at check-out, some snarky comment about keeping it down? His stomach twisted, half with guilt, half with the absurd urge to laugh at how ridiculous this all was.

Lila seemed to read his mind. She rolled onto her side, poking his chest. “Relax, worrywart. No one’s banging down the door. Yet.” She grinned, wicked as ever, and added, “Though if they do, I’m blaming you. You’re the loud one.”

“Me?” He turned his head, incredulous. “You’re the one who damn near screamed.”

“Details,” she said, waving a hand. Then she sat up, stretching again, completely shameless as the sheet fell away from her. “Come on, we’ve got work to finish. Unless you wanna go another round and really test the neighbors’ patience.”

Ethan groaned, half-tempted, half-horrified at himself. But as he watched her saunter to the desk, still naked, grabbing her laptop like nothing had happened, he couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

She tossed him a wink over her shoulder. “Nah. But I might make you late for check-out. Now get dressed before I start charging you by the hour.”