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“I don’t even know where I’m staying tonight.

I don’t want to go back to Chad’s place, and the hotel is booked.

I guess I could go to a friend’s house.” There’s Leighton, and I could call her in a heartbeat.

I could ring my friend Isla too. Both phoned me when I was in the Lyft, and I called them back on FaceTime together, telling them what happened after I left the ballroom.

They cheered me on after the fact, which I appreciated. Rhonda cheered, too, as she drove.

“You’re not going to a friend’s house,” Tyler says firmly, and I like the certainty in his answer. Even better is when he says, “Come with me.”

His words linger between us, full of possibility. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze, like he’s taking a chance, too, as he asks for the bill and quickly settles up. We say goodnight to Ike, then leave together, heading toward the elevator, our shoulders brushing slightly.

Chills erupt down my spine. I can’t help but think this man might be everything this runaway bride needs.

And what does a bride need most on her wedding night? A real good time.

As the elevator rises, I picture Tyler unzipping my ridiculous house-of-a-dress, sliding the silly straps off my shoulders, and shimmying this ludicrous lace down my body.

Then hissing in a hot, lusty breath when he looks at me.

When he touches me.

When he tastes me.

The desire for him wallops me—powerful, primal, and almost out of nowhere. But really, it’s been building all night. The way he listens, the easy vibe he gives off, his utter capableness. It’s hot when a man gets shit done.

With his hand on my back and his room in our crosshairs, Tyler seems like a man who can finish all sorts of jobs.

As the elevator dings on the fifth floor, I whip my head toward him. “Chad was like a St. Bernard.”

He blinks. “Excuse me?”

We step off the elevator and the words flow. “In bed. He was like that in bed. ”

He shoots me a curious look, like he’s dying to say more but feels like he shouldn’t.

But I want to tell him. And tequila—it might burn, but mixed in Margaritaville? It loosens my lips all the way up. “He’s the only man I’ve been with. He was my first, and I was faithful. But he went down on me like a St. Bernard,” I say as we walk along the hall.

Tyler parts his lips to speak, but it seems I’ve stunned him.

Good. I have no problem elaborating. “Sloppy. Abysmal. Like a dog.”

He swallows hard. “I…put two and two together.”

But I’m like a traveler on a plane that’s going down.

And I can’t stop airing all my secrets. The things I’ve never even said to my best friends.

Because who wants to admit the truth of their tragic sex lives?

“It was so bad I didn’t even fake it,” I say, unable to stop telling him tales from Bad Sex and Other Catastrophes .

“Instead, I just told him it wasn’t my thing—him going down on me—so he’d stop licking me like a slobbery dog.

But…I think it could be my thing. I wanted it to be my thing. Just not from him.”

Tyler scrubs a big hand along his jaw, clearly unsure how to handle me right now.

But I’m undeterred. “And then,” I barrel on, like the plane is nose-diving into a field and I’ve got to let out all these terrible truths, “he said it was fine I didn’t want him to go down on me because he didn’t like it when someone went down on him.

He claimed he didn’t like blow jobs. So, it felt fair, he said.

” I roll my eyes. “But, in reality, he was getting them from Madison. She’s my dad’s VP of Marketing, by the way.

My dad insisted she be the maid of honor. She’s not even a friend.”

“I don’t know which of those things is worse,” Tyler mutters, then waves his room key over the lock, the door clicking open as he pushes it wide for me.

He steps aside, holding the door, then tilts his head with a half-smile.

“And it’s a shame there’s not a card that says ‘I’m sorry to hear about your St. Bernard ex. ’ But trust me, I am.”

There’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. Curiosity? Interest? Definitely not judgment.

“Why are you sorry to hear that?” I ask, because my mouth can’t stop moving tonight.

He hesitates, his jaw set hard, like he’s debating what to say as I step inside. “Because I bet you’d enjoy it done properly.”

I’m ignited. A fire burns brightly inside me, flames reaching high. “I bet I would too.”

My gaze swings to his hands. He’s clenching them into fists, like he’s holding something back. Himself, maybe? Or is that just wishful thinking?

The door snicks shut behind us. “And the sex, Tyler,” I say, stepping deeper into the room as he follows, “was just…the same. Over and over. Like hammering.” I mime the motion.

Then, for good measure, I switch to a jackrabbit gesture, pumping my hips as I turn around to meet his gaze.

And I wonder what has come over me. But suddenly, everything is pouring out—details about a sex life I never really enjoyed.

“He never mixed it up. Over the last year, he only wanted me on all fours, and I thought it was because it felt primal to him. But I think he wanted to pretend I was someone else.”

Tyler seethes. “He didn’t deserve to see you come.”

Pleasure zips through me. Courage too. “He was like a woodpecker. Same motion over and over. I never came,” I say, and wow, I don’t usually confess everything to anyone.

But I can’t stop now. Everything is coming out tonight.

“I didn’t fake it either. I just told him it wasn’t a big deal that I didn’t come. ”

He growls. “It is a big deal. It’s the deal. ”

My smile takes off, powered by the jet fuel of his passionate words. “I think I’d like it.”

“Coming?” It’s asked roughly. Carnally.

“Yes. I like it when I’m alone.”

“Good. You fucking should.”

“I do,” I say, breathless and tingly all over. I ache everywhere, a heavy throb that thrums in my cells, that beats like a low drum in my ears. “My solo time? I’ve enjoyed that. And I’ve spent a lot of it picturing all the things I want. So many things.”

I look at Tyler—tall and broad with muscles for days—the kind of man who could toss me onto the bed and take me apart. And he’s listening to my every word. “Know what I mean?” I ask breathily.

“I’m following you loud and clear,” he rasps out.

He’s standing near the king-size bed, and I’m mere feet away. That won’t do.

I step closer. “Are you?”

He breathes out hard, swallows, closes his eyes for a few long seconds, then opens them with a nod. “Yeah.”

One word, and it feels like permission.

I don’t weigh the next thing. I jump headfirst. “And Tyler? I definitely think you could deliver them.”

His eyes are locked on mine, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

“And I’m ready,” I say, fueled by spicy margarita bravado.

“Ready?”

“For you to take my real virginity.”

Everything goes still in the room. I can hear the June crickets chirping outside the window, the low hum of a truck rolling by, a nightingale singing.

But Tyler says nothing. He just scrubs a hand along the back of his neck while I stand here, a livewire, every nerve firing, every molecule humming .

I’m electricity itself, crackling.

And he’s still a statue.

Maybe I wasn’t clear? What if I’m being too…

euphemistic? Really, why should I be anything but crystal clear?

“I’m a virgin to good sex. And I want good sex.

” Then, I give him my best come-hither pout—lips parted slightly, one shoulder bobbing coquettishly.

Look at me go! I must radiate sex appeal right now.

“I’m pretty sure you could do it right. I have this whole fantasy that starts with your beard. ”

His eyes flicker. His lips twitch. “That’s awfully specific.”

Heat shimmers between us. I step closer. “I keep thinking about how it’d feel. I keep wondering, too, about those arms,” I say, my gaze drifting to his biceps, visible in his tight polo. “How you could pin me down. I wonder about your mouth. I think I’m obsessed with it.”

He winces, then shakes his head.

Shoot. I’ve crossed a line with a student’s dad. But then, maybe even against his better judgment, he asks, “How obsessed?”

My knees buckle. I’m hot everywhere. “I can’t stop thinking about how you might kiss me.” I take another step closer in my mismatched slides. “ Everywhere .”

And I wait. This time, though, he doesn’t make me suffer. He closes the distance between us, lifts a big hand, and cups my cheek.

I gasp.

Dear god, the feel of his hand on me. It’s unreal. Warm and strong, everything I want. I lean into his touch, lit up from the electricity sparking between us.

He slides a thumb along my cheekbone, up and down, like he’s memorizing me. Then, one more small step, and he dips his head closer.

I sway .

I’m falling closer to him when his lips dust across my forehead.

The gasp that escapes me is both carnal and innocent, like his kiss.

Then, he lets go, scoops me up, and lays me down on the bed.

Carefully, he removes each slide, even though I could kick them off. He drops one more kiss to my forehead and says, “I’ll be right back.”

His footsteps grow quieter, the door clicks shut, and I squirm, relishing in all these delicious sensations zipping through my body.

I should take off this dress.

I should get ready for his return.

He’s probably getting a condom.

He’ll come back, fuck me senseless, and serve me breakfast in the morning.

I stretch like a cat as I picture the rest of the night.

Until the day floats before my eyes—a song, a fast ride in a car, a forbidden snack, a caring man.

And a very soft pillow for my tired mind.