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Ethan
After he bids goodbye to the twins, we retrace our steps to the hotel. “You know you’re not sneaking off to some party tomorrow, right?” I ask irritably. “We’re not in high school.”
He doesn’t answer, and neither of us speak again.
The sun hasn’t set, but I can’t keep my eyes open for another minute. Victor grabs a swimsuit and bangs the door to our room behind him on the way out. I search the place, my heart sinking when I can’t find the promised rollaway bed. I triple check under the bed, in the closet, everywhere, before calling the front desk.
“Room 8C?” the woman asks. “Ah,si, I take note here that Werner Lang canceled the bed a few hours ago. He says there is only one couple, so they do not need a cot.È corretto?”
“It’s fine,” I mumble, resting my head in my hand. “Sorry.”
I grab two pillows off the bed and a spare comforter and blanket from the closet, dragging them into the bathroom. Making sure the clawfoot tub is dry, I line it with the comforter. The little bathroom smells like lavender and gets perfectly dark and quiet when I shut the door. Stripped to my boxers, I climb into the tub and pull a blanket over me. Werner can suck it unless he wants to come here and drag me out himself. I’m asleep before I can finish my thought.
God knows how many hours later, I jolt awake with a strangled yell as freezing cold water douses every inch of me. Coughing and shivering, I sit up and rub my stinging eyes.
Victor switches off the shower and studies me in the light of his phone flashlight. His eyes look wide in the dark, his pool-wet hair tousled. The tattered edges of his oversized gray t-shirt hang around his muscular thighs, and when he fidgets I realize he’s not wearing anything else.
I turn away and start trying to dry myself with the corner of my blanket. “What the hell?”
He doesn’t answer until I look at him again. He’s chewing on his lower lip; it’s flushed and a little swollen, like he’s been at it a while. “This isn’t a bed.”
“It’s my bed. Get out.” I intend to lock the door when he leaves. Fuck him if he needs the toilet in the night.
“Not any more it fucking isn’t.” He flips the shower knob again, drenching my bedding and forcing me to scramble out so quickly I almost slip. He points at the queen bed in the other room. “Let’s go.”
“No.” Water coats my trembling skin and runs down into my boxers.
Knowing he’s going to get his way, he pads back to the bedroom and climbs into bed. I fight with everything in me not to check how much of his ass is showing under that shirt.
Grumbling under my breath, I hang my bedding out on the balcony to dry and hunt for some towels. I’m pretty sure the asshole hid them, because I can’t even find a solitary washcloth. My teeth are starting to chatter.
I stand next to the bed, studying its shape in the dark. Victor’s just a lump, the duvet pulled up over his head. His breathing sounds slow and steady, like he might have fallen asleep. Gingerly, I slide off my wet boxers and perch on the edge of the mattress, planning to drip dry until I can put on clothes.
According to the clock, I only slept a couple of hours in the tub—nowhere near long enough to heal my body from the walking, the jet lag, the anxiety. My eyes drift shut and I catch myself just as I start to fall over. This happens two more times before I give up and crawl under the covers, staying right at the edge of the mattress with my face toward the door.
Even with the windows open, it’s quiet except for the sighing of the sea. Victor stirs behind me, sheets against skin, a small sound in his throat.
Behind my eyelids I find only the sight of him standing on the sea wall, arms out, made of things that scare me and things I want that have never had a name. We’re in the same bed, a foot apart, neither of us dressed, all of me against all of him, and I realize, mortified, that I’m getting hard.Again.
Biting the edge of my tongue, I stare at the shape of a dresser across the room, a mirror above it reflecting nothing but darkness. I think about paying taxes on two million dollars, about how I should vacuum the spiders behind my bedside table when I get home, about who might win the current season ofBake Off. I breathe through the ache in my groin and it starts to fade.
Until the mattress shifts under me. Until a warm tongue tastes the water beaded along the back of my neck. My body, so wound up it’s about to snap, shudders and I let out a tight, needy sob.
Hot breath on my skin, the barest brush of cracked, sun-bitten lips, and then he’s lapping thirstily, long licks from the base of my neck to my hairline. I fight to keep quiet, air hissing through my nose, but then there’s a sigh, the softest wet sound, and when he sucks on the protruding bone at the top of my spine I moan.
“You were so jealous,” he breathes, kissing softly, relentlessly, up the side of my neck, taking the lobe of my ear between his teeth. “You don't want to share me, do you?”
“That’s not true,” I grit, gripping my rigid cock. I jerk myself dry and rough, my balls slapping my fist, the bed creaking slightly.
He nuzzles his cheek against my dripping hair like an animal leaving a scent. “You’re mad that everyone knows how good I am except you.”
“No.” It hurts. I pump my hips into my palm.
“You…want…to…know,” he whispers, kissing along my shoulder between each word, sloppy, all tongue, “how good I could be for you.” His teeth scrape my skin for just a moment. I can feel the soft fabric of his t-shirt sticking to my back, but no other part of him touches me.
My breath catches in rhythm with my hand and I wonder, wildly, if this is why everyone’s so obsessed with sex, this unspeakable feeling. I want to fill my hands with the golden skin I’ve been staring at all afternoon, but when I try to roll over he grabs my hip, holds me in place. I don’t think he means to, but I can feel his fingers straying, exploring my ridges and dips in spite of himself, and just that hint, the promise of his skin against mine, undoes me.
When I start to come, a sudden, raw explosion, his hand slips between my damp thighs and traps my balls, twisting them too hard. My orgasm lances through me like I’ve been stabbed—my choking sob into the sheets, the light behind my eyes, thepain, the worst and best and most shameful come of my life.
