The RA's boots hammered the stairs. *Thump, thump, thump.* The vibration traveled up through the box spring, rattling the stack of paperbacks and the half-empty cup of coffee cooling on the desk. She didn't move. Couldn't. Not yet. The air in the room was thick, smelling of stale popcorn and the lavender laundry detergent he'd brought from home, a scent that clung to the thin polyester sheets. His arm was a dead weight across her waist, anchoring her to the mattress.
"They're checking the bathrooms," he whispered, the words low, scraping against his throat. "First floor. They'll be up here soon."
She nodded against his chest. The fabric of his button-down was rumpled, one cuff undone. She could feel his heart still racing, a frantic bird against her ear. Not just from the exertion, but from the wait. The dorm room was a shoebox, barely big enough for the twin XL and the desk, but right now, it felt like the entire world had narrowed down to this six-by-eight square. The mini-fridge kicked on with a low hum, competing with the distant chatter from the hallway.
He shifted, the metal frame groaning in protest. *Creak.* They both froze. Silence from the hall. Just the hum of the fridge.
"I have to pack," he murmured. "Bus is in forty minutes. I have to make it to the terminal by three."
"Stay," she breathed. It wasn't a request. It was a plea. The separation was already a physical ache, a hollow space in her ribs that no amount of skin-to-skin contact could fill. Being here, in this temporary sanctuary, was the only time the distance didn't matter. When he left, the miles would return. Ten hours of driving. Three flights of stairs to her own room. The silence would swallow him up.
He caught her chin, tilting her face up. His eyes weren't just dark; they were heavy, rimmed with sleep and a sharp, piercing focus. He brushed a thumb over her lower lip, dragging it down slowly, his gaze tracking the movement. "I'll be back in two weeks. You know that."
"Two weeks feels like a century."
He smiled, a crooked thing that made her stomach flip. "And you're counting the days. I know your face. I've memorized every line."
He rolled her onto her back, the movement careful to keep the weight off her shoulders. His boots hung over the edge, toes brushing the scuffed linoleum. She reached down, lacing her fingers through his, pulling his hand back up. The proximity was maddening, intimate in a way that felt illicit. It wasn't just that they were father and daughter; it was that they were hiding in plain sight, in a room with glass-paneled doors, while the RA could walk in at any second. The risk was a constant hum, louder than the fridge.
He kissed her neck, not the playful pecks from before, but deep, open-mouthed presses that left a trail of heat. She arched into him, a sharp intake through his nose. *Thump, thump.* Boots again. Closer. Third floor.
He paused, lips against her collarbone. "RA."
"Go?" she whispered.
"Not yet." He crawled over her, his body settling onto the mattress, crushing her into the thin mattress. The angle was awkward, his knee pressing between her thighs, but the friction of his jeans against her skin sent a jolt of electricity straight to her spine. She ran her hands up his back, feeling the shift of muscle beneath the cotton. He was solid, heavy, real. The anchor she needed before the drift.
He guided her leg over his hip, the position cramped but efficient. No room for sprawling, just the tight press of bodies, the slide of skin, the muffled sounds they had to keep contained. When he entered her, it was with a slow, deliberate slide that made her toes curl. She bit the inside of her cheek to stifle the cry, her eyes scanning the door.
The thin walls offered no privacy. A cough in the hallway could carry. A door opening could reveal them. She focused on the sound of his breathing, the rough edge as he worked his way deeper. His hand splayed over her stomach, fingers spreading wide to cover the smallness of her frame. He moved with a rhythm that matched the heartbeat in her ears, slow and punishing. Every thrust sent a ripple through her, the mattress springs ticking softly, competing with the creak of the frame. The cramped space forced their limbs to knot, a tangle of limbs and heat that felt like a secret world.
He leaned down, his hair tickling her nose. "You okay?" he murmured, voice barely audible.
"Mm." She nodded, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair. "Don't stop."
He increased the pace, the friction heating up. She felt the tightness coil in her lower belly, a familiar tension building. She kept her eyes on the door, half-expecting the handle to turn. The risk of it kept her sharp, every sensation amplified. The brush of his hip against her, the drag of his thumb over her navel, the way his breath warmed her jaw.
A loud knock echoed. *Bam. Bam. Bam.*
Both froze.
"Room 304? RA check." The voice was muffled but clear.
He didn't pull out. He kept her pinned, his body a shield against the door. "Don't move," he whispered. "I've got this."
She held her breath. The sound of a key in the lock. The click. The door swung open.
Light flooded the room. The RA stood there, clipboard in hand, squinting at the tangle of limbs on the bed. He didn't yell. He didn't rush. He just looked, his eyes dropping to their clothes, the disarray, then up to her face. She felt exposed, even though she was still in her tank top and shorts. The glass door offered no cover.
"Quiet in there?" the RA asked, tone neutral.
"Studying," he rasped, voice deep.
"Keep it down. Curfew in an hour." The RA stepped back, closed the door. The latch clicked.
She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. He smiled against her neck. "Told you."
He finished then, slow and deep, drawing out the moment, pressing her into the mattress until the world narrowed to the point of their connection. When he finally stilled, the warmth spreading through her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. The RA was gone. The sun was up, casting long shadows across the desk. But the goodbye was still coming.
He shifted off her, groaning as he sat up. "Bus is in thirty-five."
She kicked off the sheets, the cool air hitting her skin. "Five more minutes."
He grabbed her waist, pulling her back down. "You're impossible."
"I'm your girl."
He kissed her forehead, lingering. "Yeah. You are."