Vox: A FanFic/X-Reader

Chapter Twenty-Two

Vox

Tomorrow creeps closer, shadowing my mind like spiderwebs hanging down. I brush one away and two more take its place. Time looms in darkness, waiting to snatch us apart and creating doubts that whisper worst-case scenarios and threaten an unraveling.

Despite her upbeat demeanor and attempts to act the same, I recognize the worry she tries to hide as well.

We walk into the hotel's lobby and straight through to the elevators. It's quiet this time of night. The doors thud open and we step in.

Her hand slides around my waist as she steps into me, resting her cheek against my chest. My hands skim down her back, crisscrossing at the wrists, as I tuck them into her back pockets. She bounces up on her toes and kisses my throat. Her boobs jiggle, and I don't pretend that I don't notice.

My hands move to them, and before I can tell myself not to, I have her against the elevator wall, one in each hand. I tweak her nipples, pinching each one.

Her head rests against the wall, her chin tipped up, studying me. Half-closed eyes and parted lips tell me she likes it, even if the soft pants did not.

I pinch harder and hold them between my thumb and forefinger. She bites the fleshy bit of her bottom lip, breathing through her nose. The elevator dings and I step away. She catches herself on the handrail and pulls herself straight.

"That was mean," she says. "What if I'd fallen?"

"I'd never let that happen." I pull her into me again as we step off. Having her with me—close enough to touch—makes me never want to let go. I have to remind myself sometimes what it feels like to not touch her.

"Says you."

"You don't believe me?"

"I—"

Grabbing her under her knees and across her back, I swing her into my arms."

"—do," she gasps.

I carry her down the hall to the door. She uses her thumb to gain entry. We stop in the kitchen and I sit her on the counter as I open the refrigerator for a pitcher of OJ from breakfast. A few cabinet doors later, I take two glasses out and pour some in each glass. Picking them up, I pass one to her.

"Let's order food and get in the shower?" I suggest.

"Mm-hm," she agrees, sipping the juice. "Order the food. I'll wait here."

Picking up the phone, I call, and she distracts me.

She sets the glass down and unties and removes her boots, throwing them toward the sofa. Leaning back, she looks down at the button of her jeans with a smirk, waggling her eyebrows. I laugh, then unbutton and unzip them for her.

"What do you recommend?" I ask the man on the phone.

He lists menu items, but I'm not really listening.

"That sounds good. One of those, and what else do you recommend?"

He continues.

Twisting sideways, she puts her feet on the counter and lifts her hips. I slide the jeans down, taking her panties with them accidentally. I hand it all to her, and she discards it over her shoulder without looking.

"Add that too. Any finger foods?" I ask and narrow my eyes at her. He says something and she whispers, "Salad and fruit and dessert."

She holds her arms up and I slip the shirt off, wadding it and throwing it behind her.

"Salad and fruit and dessert," I repeat on autopilot. He asks complicated questions, so I say, "Surprise me."

He tries to hang up and hits the speakerphone button by accident. The phone lies out of reach and we're too distracted to worry about it.