It's hell. Every motel we pass by I want to park in, rent a room and take her in there and not leave until tomorrow. Every. Fucking. Motel. But I don't want to fuck her. Oh no, not Maddie. I want to make love to her. I want to kiss every inch of that soft, golden skin, run my hands over every curve, and move inside her until she screams. Because I already know she does, and now I've admitted to myself that I feel something for her – and I mean really feel something for her – I want it to be more than a quick fuck somewhere in a parking lot. I want it to be special. More than anything I've ever experienced. She drops her bag at the bottom of the king bed in our room in Treasure Island and looks around. Mom offered to book me a suite, but somehow I knew this would be enough for Maddie. Judging by the look on her face, I was right. “Is it okay?” I perch on the green chair in the corner. She nods.
