The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle
twenty-three
Dillon
I walk inside West’s apartment, pulling my smaller suitcase in behind me, him following me with his own case and my larger case. He travels a lot lighter than I do, and it’s a good thing I took a lot of things with me now that I’m having an extended holiday. In America. With West.
I can hardly believe I’m here! Someone, pinch me.
A few weeks ago, I was miserable and heartbroken, heading on my honeymoon alone. And now, I’m in America with a beautiful man who I get to have sex with.
I might also have a teeny-tiny crush on him. But it’ll be fine.
I’ll be fine.
I just need to enjoy this. Him. Here.
When I called Aunt Jenny to tell her, she thought I was winding her up at first, especially when I told her who West’s dad was. When I convinced her that I actually wasn’t, she got all concerned auntie on me. I mean, I’m in a different country with a man I’ve known for two weeks. Even though it feels like I’ve known West for so much longer.
I guess when you spend nearly all day, every day with someone for two weeks, it’s going to feel that way.
It’s like speed-dating on crack. I guess that’s why holiday romances can feel so intense between two people. Maybe that’s why West asked me to come here. He told me that he wasn’t ready to end what we’re doing, but it’s not like he said he wants anything more from me either. Not like that would be a possibility. He lives here, and I live in the UK. Long distance rarely, if ever, lasts. But that’s not what he wants anyway. He’s been clear from the start that relationships aren’t for him.
Anyway, after I reassured Aunt Jenny that West was a trustworthy guy—that being the president’s son, it wasn’t like he was a psycho killer—and I agreed to text her every day to check in and call often as well as give her West’s address, she chilled out and got excited on my behalf about my going to America.
Also, it’s not like I’ll be here forever. We haven’t actually discussed how long I’m staying for, but I figure we’ll just play it by ear.
I guess I’ll go home when we get sick of each other. Not that I imagine ever getting sick of West. But I’m sure I’ll start to drive him nuts after a while, especially as it’s his place I’m staying in and he is used to living alone.
The thought of going back home and not seeing West again causes an ache in my chest, which I squash down.
Focus on the now. The happy. I’m here with him, and everything is fabulous.
Although it was a little bit weird when we arrived at the airport and two Secret Service agents were waiting for us. Well, him. They drove us from the airport to West’s apartment building. I asked West if they just go home now, but he said no. Protection is twenty-four/seven—the guys work on rotation, two at a time—so they’ll hang around.
I didn’t know what hang around meant, and I didn’t bother to ask.
I’m just glad they’re not in the apartment with us because that would be weird.
“Your apartment is gorgeous.” I turn to him, smiling.
“Want the tour?”
“Duh.” I chuckle. “Of course I do.”
“Well, this is the living room, kitchen, and dining room.”
It’s all open plan. I’ve never seen an apartment this big. To be honest, you could fit both floors of my childhood home into this one room. It’s so light and airy with a high ceiling and light wooden floor. There’s a wall of windows with a gorgeous view of the city and glass doors that lead onto a large balcony. There’s a sleek, modern black kitchen with a center island, a dark wood dining table, and cream chairs. The biggest flat screen TV I have ever seen hangs on the wall, and sitting before it are a big U-shaped dark gray sofa with a cream rug and a dark wood coffee table.
“It’s really nice, West.”
“Wanna see the bedrooms?” He winks at me. On anyone else, it’d be cheesy as fuck. On him … soooo hot.
I give him an innocent look and flutter my lashes. “Of course.”
Taking me by the hand, he tugs me along toward the living room area and a door that sits on the same wall as the TV.
“This is the guest room.” He leads me inside.
It’s a decent-sized room, decorated in cream, with cream carpet and white bedding. I would literally be afraid to stay in this room in case I spilled anything.
“It has its own walk-in closet and beyond that a bathroom,” he tells me.
“Fancy.”
“I do try.”
“So, is this where I’m staying?”
He grins at me, showing teeth. “No. You’re staying with me.”
He tugs me back out of the guest room, across the living space to the door across the way, and into an even bigger bedroom. “This is my room. Where you’re sleeping. And having sex. With me.”
“You said having sex. Not fucking.” I slap a hand to my chest. “I am shooketh.”
He chuckles. “Sorry, correction: fucking.”
I walk into his bedroom. It smells of him. That masculine, sexy scent of his, which if bottled, it would sell for hundreds at a time.
The floor is a thick, soft gray carpet that your toes just sink into. The walls are painted dark gray. It kind of reminds me of the color of his eyes. There’s a TV hanging on the wall in here, too, across from his bed, which is huge. A gorgeous dark wood frame, which I imagine cost a fortune, is made up with dark gray bedding. So many pillows that I can’t even count them.
“That’s a lot of pillows,” I comment.
“I like my comfort.”
“You know, this might just be the biggest bed that I’ve ever seen in my life.” I walk over to it, brushing my hand over the soft bedding.
“I’m a big guy. I need a big bed. It’s comfy as fuck too,” he says.
Then, the next thing I know, he’s tackling me down on it.
“Ah!” I laugh as we both land on the bed with a soft thud.
West rolls over on top of me. I stare up at him, him grinning down at me, and I run my hands through his hair.
“If you wanted me on your bed, you only had to ask.”
“I thought that would be more fun.”
I smile. “It was.”
He presses a kiss to my inner wrist. “You look good on my bed.”
“You look good up there.”
“I feel good up here.”
He leans down and brushes his lips over mine, kissing me, making me shiver. He slides his tongue into my mouth, making me moan.
And then my stomach rumbles loudly.
West chuckles into my mouth. “Hungry?”
“I’m always hungry.”
“True.” He pulls back and shifts to his side, so he’s lying beside me on the bed. “Wanna order in and chill out here? Or go out to eat?”
“Order in, please,” I say, and then a yawn escapes me.
“Tired?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Don’t be. I am, too, to be honest. The time zone difference messes with your body. How about we order food? Chinese sound good?”
“Perfect.”
“Then, we can shower while we wait for it to arrive. Together, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Just doing my bit for the environment, trying to save water.”
“You’re too good for this world.”
He gives a what can you do shrug, and I can’t help but laugh.
“After we’re done saving water, we can eat Chinese in bed and watch a movie, if you want. And then fuck, if you’re not too tired,” I suggest.
“I’m never too tired to do that with you.”
“Talking of doing that with me, I have a question.”
“Will I want to answer it?” He smirks.
“I hope so.”
“Okay, hit me with it.”
“So, I know on the island, we were exclusively sleeping together. But now that we’re here—and I know this is an extended trip for me and this is your home—and with us not using condoms since the desert island trip, I just want to know … if … you know …”
His fingers take hold of my chin, and he turns my head to him and stares into my eyes. “I’m only having sex with you. No one else.”
“You said sex again. Not fucking.” I grin.
He gives me a serious look. “I’m only fucking you, Double D.” Then, he presses a kiss to my lips. “And the same goes for you. It’s only my dick that you get to play with.”
“You mean, I came all the way here, and I only get to have sex with you when there are all these gorgeous American men to be had? Bummer.”
I waggle my eyebrows at him, and he playfully narrows his eyes.
“Need me to remind you what my dick can do to you?”
“Maybe … I mean, it was a long flight here. I might have forgotten.”
His hand goes to his zipper, and he tugs it down. “Well then, let me give you a recap.”