He swallows, voice low. “You will.”
I settle on his lap and he moves his eyes down, at the spot where his hard dick meets my pussy. I’m impossibly wet, and I don’t recognize this bravado in me. He lifts a hand up to my ribs and I feel a featherlight touch on my side, my body reacting immediately to this intimacy.
It hits me all at once—how easy it is to want him, how dangerous it feels to be wanted back. Every part of me that’s been sleeping for years is suddenly wide awake, trembling at the thought of what it means to feel this alive again.
When his cock twitches I lean forward, lifting my hips slightly. Ben groans and closes his eyes, and I use the moment to explore him further. To memorize him like he’s been doing with me.
“Baby, you have to stop,” he says, but I think he’s only saying it as a reflex, like his mouth is working faster than his brain because his hips lift slightly and his erection hits me in a very good spot that has me whimpering before I realize it.
”Okay,” I say, and I feel my lips lift slightly, just a tiny cheeky smile as I start to move off him. His hands tighten around my waist and he pushes me down, sliding me back and forth on his cock. “I’ll stop, then.”
His lips are on mine in a second, mumbling word after word I can’t understand. Something about being a dream, and everything he’s been looking for, and how beautiful I am, but I can’t focus because it feels so good, the angry head of his cock touching my clit in ways I don’t remember ever happening.
“I’m going to get a condom,” he says in between pants. His mouth is moving down my neck, licking at my pulse point. He moves fast, hand reaching for the nightstand and ripping the foil packet in just a few seconds. I follow his movements with my eyes—the ways the muscles bunch and tighten as he stretches, how the ink on his skin jumps like it’s alive as he sheaths himself.
He lifts me slowly, positioning his cock at my entrance and I slide down on him, slipping and accommodating with ease. Our breaths are coming in hard and I can barely take it from this angle. The way he moves, slowly but worshipping, lifting me up and down with so much care that my core tightens.
“Fuck,” he whispers in my ear, and I can’t control it. My pussy flutters at his words, at how much it sounds like he’s about to lose control and fuck me right to the stratosphere. Ben’s palms slide down my waist and to my ass, gripping me tight. There’s so much self-control on that handsome face of his, and his grip is hard and punishing.
Everything in me is tight like a coil about to snap in half. “Shit,” I say, trying to keep a steady cadence, but it’s like the sensations are consuming me. “Just like that.”
Ben’s jaw tightens and he groans, deep and guttural and so raw that my legs start shaking. “Fuck, baby, you have no idea how good you feel,” he says as I bounce on top of him, moving up and down and taking all of his length.
“It feels so good,” I respond, and push my body into his, my breasts touching his bare chest and our lips meeting urgently in the middle. He’s kissing me like this is the last time he’s ever going to kiss anyone, and I return it in kind. This is the end of this vacation magic that did more to me than anything else this year.
I feel sweat slide down my back, just a drop or two, but it only pulls me closer to the edge; heat blooming everywhere, rising and curling in the center of my chest.
His hips move with a rhythm that feels like knowing. Like patience and urgency tangled together. I can hear his breathing—low, steady, breaking every few seconds—and the sound alone makes my pulse jump.
“You going to let me come in you, baby?” he says, and I whimper in return, crossing my arms around his neck and pressing my forehead against his. His thumb goes to my clit, and he starts moving it in slow, steady circles. I’m so close, and I know he can feel it. “Are you going to come for me?”
“Fuck,” I say, so close to the edge that it only takes one more stroke for me to come. The world narrows to this: the heatbetween us, the slide of skin on skin, the soft sound of our names caught in half-broken breaths.
And then, everything fades. The room dissolves into light and air and heartbeat and I fall onto him, my pulse hammering in my chest.
When I finally open my eyes, Ben’s still there, his chest rising against mine. He kisses my temple like a promise, and I melt onto the bed, slowly drifting to sleep.
By the time I open my eyes, Ben’s already awake. He’s standing by the window in just a T-shirt and jeans, watching the ocean in the distance. His suitcase is zipped right next to him, and the air feels heavier than it should for such a perfect morning.
Neither of us says anything for a while. There’s nothing left to say, really. We’d used up all the words in the past few days, and whatever happened earlier as the sun rose was enough of a goodbye, in my opinion.
“Morning, Sunshine,” he says, and that crooked smile from the first night appears again. It’s not naughty this time, but sad and almost wistful.
He crosses to the table where two paper cups of coffee sit, both half-full and steaming. A small pile of plates from last night’s room service crowds the corner, the remains of a midnight sweet treat we never bothered to take out into the hall. Ben hands me one of the cups, then sits at the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and the nearness of him feels like a cruel reminder of how easy this has been. How natural.
I sit up and give him a small kiss on the lips. The silence stretches and I realize I’m memorizing him again—the roughmorning stubble, the way his fingers tap absently against the cup, the slight between his eyebrows. I want to reach out and smooth it with my thumb, but I don’t.
“Feels weird,” he says quietly. “Leaving it like this.”
“It does.”
He runs a hand through his damp hair, lets out a short laugh that sounds more like a sigh. “I hate goodbyes.”
“Then don’t say it,” I reply before I can stop myself.
He smiles at that, tired but genuine, and leans in to kiss me—just once, soft and lingering, the kind of kiss that isn’t a promise but still feels like one. Like maybe there could be more afterthis.
When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to mine. “You’ll be okay,” he murmurs.
