You lie with your back to him. The hotel room is dim, lit only by the faint city lights slipping past the curtains.

You can hear him breathing. Not asleep — just angry.

You’d fought over something stupid. A comment, a look, the way he shut down mid-dinner and you didn’t let it go. And now here you were — in a king-sized bed with three feet of cold space between you.

He hasn’t touched you in hours.

Then, muffled through the wall:

A gasp. A moan. The soft, unmistakable rhythm of a headboard tapping against drywall.

You freeze.

Xavier lets out a sharp exhale through his nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You don’t move. But the second moan is louder.

You hear a breathy, “Yes—right there,” followed by a giggle and something that sounds like a body hitting a wall.

You can feel Xavier tense beside you. His hand shifts under the blanket, the faint rustle of cotton. Then:

“Thin walls,” he mutters.

You bite your lip. Stay quiet.

But another moan echoes — high, drawn-out, very enthusiastic.

You exhale hard through your nose. “Jesus Christ.”

He snorts. “She sounds… dedicated.”

A beat passes. Then, from behind you:

“I could do better.”

You turn to face him. His eyes are already on you — sharp in the dark, jaw clenched, shirt rucked halfway up his stomach.

“Oh, now you want to talk?” you mutter, voice low.

He shrugs. “Couldn’t let you think I’d lost to some guy who says ‘Yes baby’ like he’s ordering soup.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “We’re not doing this.”

But his hand is already finding your waist beneath the blanket.

“You’re mad at me,” he says, quietly. “I get it.”

You don’t answer. His thumb moves slowly, tracing the curve of your hip.

Then — softer: “But we don’t go to bed angry, remember?”

You swallow.

“You didn’t want to talk earlier,” you say.

“I was scared I’d say something I didn’t mean.”

Your heart thuds. You don’t look away.

And that’s when the next-door couple kicks it up — full-on shouting, the woman moaning like she’s on a yacht in Ibiza.

You blink. “Oh, for f—”

Xavier’s lips twitch. “I’m losing to that guy?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already inching closer — his hand pulling you into the warmth of his chest.

“You’re still mad,” he murmurs.

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t want to sleep apart.”

“No.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your jaw. His voice roughens.

“Then let me shut them up.”