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“I’m right there with you,” I said, as he lowered his head to one of my breasts, nipping me gently and sending me over the edge. My insides contracted as my hearing faded out and breath caught in my throat.
After just a few more thrusts he planted himself to the root and let out a groan, releasing himself inside of me, his cock sputtering.
Seconds later he lifted his head, eyes ablaze as he looked up at me, as if the orgasm alone had unlocked something he hadn’t had access to in the past nine months and it had just upgraded his code to a new version of himself.
“My turn.” He snarled as he grabbed my hips, pulling me to the edge of the bed where he kneeled. I yelped in response, enjoying the way he took control.
Looking up at me from the bottom of the bed, he slowly lowered his face, burying it within me and licking me from front to back.
For it being nine months since his last sexual encounter, he sure knew how to use his tongue. Most of my international trysts had involved a quick fuck but Ethan was attentive, engaged in my pleasure and increased pressure when I gave him feedback through my moans and cries. His tongue spiked in and out as he alternated between flat and firm licks while sucking on my still swollen clit.
I felt my orgasm quickly build inside of me again.
“Ethan…” I cried.
“I know, come for me, Sasha.”
I whimpered, the intensity of the feeling unlike anything I’d ever felt before as I clamped my thighs around him, my legs trembling and my heart racing. And after a few more seconds, I let go, releasing again all over the Irish bed.
Chapter 8: Ethan
Sasha and I lay in my bed, entwined in the sheets naked, gazing out of the expansive bay windows at the stunning Irish spring sunrise.
It was 5 in the morning, and the sun was beginning its unhurried descent over the city of Dublin, yet I had nowhere to be. No one to answer and no worries. For the first time in years, I felt peace.
This holiday was not just a break from work; it was a deliberate pause to reevaluate life’s priorities, reclaim my mental health, and declutter my mind. Meeting Sasha and spending the night with her felt like a significant milestone on that journey and I wasn’t ready to call it an end just yet.
Sasha turned toward me, her face mere inches away, a subtle smile dancing on her kiss swollen lips.
“So, what’s your fucked-up story?” she asked, as she drew tiny circles on my arm.
“My what?” I responded, adjusting my position to face her and marvel at the beauty of the dawn shining off her bare skin.
“Your fucked-up story. Everyone’s got one. Something so fucked up that happened to you, it’s almost comical it’s so unbelievable. It’s usually that core moment that shapes who you are or determines a major course shift in your life. My theory is it’s a rite of passage for all humans to have at least one fucked-up story, and understanding someone’s story, reveals a lot about who they are.” she explained.
“I read this book in business school called ‘Defining Moments’ that says managers will encounter a few defining moments in their career that force them to reflect on who they are and make difficult decisions that shape their management style, ultimately determining the type of leader they become in their organization.”
She continued, “My non-business spin on that is that everyone has at least one defining moment, also known as a fucked-up moment. That super fucked-up story is your big defining moment, changing the course of your life and shaping who you become to this world. So, what’s yours?” she asked, her fingers now on my chest outlining my tattoos.
I paused, thinking about the question.
When I left the States for Ireland, it felt like I was escaping and processing several fucked-up moments. But was there one defining story from which everything else stemmed?
I started talking, figuring I’d get to that moment if I gave some backstory on how I got to Ireland in the first place.
“When I was 18, I didn’t have direction in my life. My dad groomed my older brother to take over the family luxury real estate business from an early age, but he’d always assumed I’d work there as well in a supporting role, after college.
“Recruiters for the army came to my high school the spring before graduation. Something told me it was the right thing to do to enlist, to branch out on my own, forge my own path and do something more meaningful with my life.
“Without discussing with my parents, I enlisted. My grandfather had been in the navy, and I figured they’d support my decision, maybe even be proud of me.
“My dad was upset, angry even when he found out, and I didn’t get it. My mom tried to be supportive but ultimately, my dad jeopardized that. They didn’t go to see me off for basic, and when I was deployed for my tour, only my mom came to say goodbye. It was hurtful, but I tried not to care.
“My closest friend during that tour was Jake, a guy who always had my back, no matter the circumstances. We’d met during boot camp and experienced our first deployment together, surviving through the harsh realities of combat. When our tour ended, the decision to transition to civilian life was of no question to me. While I was eager to leave the war behind, Jake was committed to continuing to serve. It was a choice that surprised many, including his new wife. To Jake, it was a calling and an obligation.
“As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I watched Jake go back to the battlefield. Jake and I exchanged letters periodically during that time and he’d always remained optimistic. However, six months into his second tour, I received a message from my old commander. Jake had been killed during a surprise attack.
“The grief was intense. I felt sorrow for the loss but gratitude for having known such an amazing guy. To cope, I threw myself into work, putting in long hours at a finance job I didn’t love, and my evenings were spent heavily drinking. My relationship with my parents was never the same. I’ve held bitterness towards them for the lack of support they showed when I needed them the most.
