By the time they rolled into town, the SUV was running on fumes and so were they. Everyone was cranky, hungry, and vibrating from hours of dares and chaos. The neon sign of a motel flickered in the distance like an oasis.
"Finally," someone groaned. "Beds. Showers. I might actually cry."
The relief lasted about three minutes — until the front desk clerk blinked at their request.
"Sorry, fully booked. Only thing left is… well…" He coughed into his sleeve, eyes sliding toward a laminated brochure of rose petals, heart-shaped tubs, and neon-pink lighting.
"A love motel?" Jake blurted, scandalized.
The group erupted into groans and hysterical laughter at once. "No way!" "You've gotta be kidding!" "This is the universe trolling us."
But beggars couldn't be choosers, and after some heated back-and-forth, keys were handed out. Harley ended up with Ethan. Of course she did.
The room hit them with a mood the second they opened the door: velvet-red walls, a round bed with satin sheets, and dim pink lighting that hummed like a warning.
"Oh my God," Harley muttered, throwing her bag down. "This is a crime scene waiting to happen."
Ethan smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Not my first choice of décor, but it has… character."
Before she could reply, a knock rattled the door. Ethan opened it to find room service holding a small tray. On it: two bottled waters, some chocolates, and — front and center — a shiny packet of condoms.
The man didn't even blink. "Complimentary. Enjoy your stay."
Ethan bit back a laugh as Harley went bright red. "We're not—! That's not—!" she sputtered, grabbing the tray and slamming the door shut with her foot.
Ethan raised his brows, deadpan. "Well. They're prepared."
Harley buried her face in her hands. "This is literally the worst day of my life."
"Worst?" he drawled, setting his bag down. "You're sharing a heart-shaped bed with me. I think that qualifies as the best."
She shot him a look, but her lips twitched.
---
The hours wound down. The others were loud in their rooms — someone was ordering way too much pizza, someone else had apparently broken the hot tub — but eventually, the motel quieted.
The pink glow from the motel lamp painted everything in a weird, guilty light. Harley twirled the condom packet between her fingers, biting back a grin.
"Wow," she said, dragging it out. "Condoms and lube, complimentary. Classy. Bet you're thrilled right now."
Ethan arched a brow, head propped on his hand. "You're awfully mouthy for someone sharing a heart-shaped bed with me."
She tossed the packet onto his chest. "What, embarrassed? Thought you'd be all over it."
He caught it without looking, flicked it back onto the nightstand. Then he rolled under the sheets, closing the space between them so fast she forgot how to breathe.
"Keep talking," he murmured, his hand sliding down her hip.
Her smirk faltered. "What if I do?"
"That's one." His voice was low, dangerous — and then she felt it. A slow, deliberate finger pressed inside, making her gasp before she could stop herself.
HE'S FINGERING ME, she thought to herself
Her head jerked toward him, eyes wide. "Ethan—"
"Two." His lips brushed her ear, the word melting into her skin as another finger joined, stretching her, making her body shiver.
She grabbed a fistful of the sheets, trying not to make a sound. The walls were thin. Too thin.
"God, you're—" she choked back a sound, biting her lip so hard it hurt.
Ethan chuckled softly. "Three."
Her back arched as he pressed deeper, and a tiny, desperate whimper escaped. Ethan's hand shot up, covering her mouth before it got any louder. His other hand didn't stop.
"Shh," he whispered against her cheek. "Your brother's across the hall. You don't want him hearing, do you?"
Her muffled cry against his palm was answer enough.
And then he shifted. His thumb slid higher, finding the spot that made her whole body jerk. He started slow, almost lazy, circling in maddening teases — then picked up pace, harder, faster, ruthless.
Her legs trembled. She tried to turn her head, to breathe, to stop him, but his palm pressed her down into the pillow, swallowing her sounds. The only thing she could do was writhe against the sheets, every nerve lighting up as he worked her closer.
"Stay still," he ordered in a hushed growl. "Take it. You wanted to make jokes, remember? Laugh now."
Her eyes squeezed shut, her muffled moans spilling hot against his hand as the pressure built sharp and unbearable. He was relentless, his thumb rubbing faster, harder, dragging her right to the edge until—
She broke. The release ripped through her in shudders, her body clenching, breath ragged against his palm. Ethan held her there, rubbing her through it, until she was trembling beneath him.
When he finally pulled back, she collapsed into the pillows, flushed, hair sticking to her damp forehead. He leaned over, kissing her temple, smug and soft at once.
"Still wanna mock me about condoms?" he whispered.
She managed a shaky glare. "I hate you."
"You don't," he said, smirking as he brushed her hair back. "You just hate that I make you loud."
Her laugh was weak, but real. "Shut up."
"Gladly. Tomorrow," he teased, stretching out beside her.
In their room, Harley lay stiff on her side of the bed, staring at the glowing ceiling fixture shaped like a halo. Ethan sprawled on his side, arms tucked behind his head, watching her with that infuriatingly calm expression.
"You're overthinking again," he said softly.
She turned. "Of course I am. We're… this. Whatever this is. And we're hiding it. And my brother's across the hall."
For once, his teasing smirk faded. His eyes softened, voice low but steady.
"I don't care where we are, Harley. With you, it feels like I know exactly who I am."
You make me feel loved, wanted, needed and I want to make you feel even better.
Her breath caught. The room seemed smaller, hotter. She whispered, "So what are we, Ethan?"
He leaned closer, the shadows of the pink light catching his jaw. "We're dangerous. We're stupid. We're selfish. And I want every second of it."
She swallowed, heart pounding. "And the future?"
Just remember, I will always protect you, admire you, live with you to make every second count of how important you're to me"
That smirk crept back, slow and sharp. "The future is me making sure you can't sit straight at breakfast tomorrow."
She smacked his arm, cheeks blazing. "You're impossible."
"Admit it," he murmured, shifting closer until their legs brushed under the sheets. "You like impossible."
She didn't answer, not with words — but the way she leaned into him, the way her breath trembled when his fingers brushed her jaw, told him everything.
The pink neon hummed on above them, the packet on the nightstand untouched, while Harley tried to catch her breath — and tried not to admit how badly she already wanted him to do it again.