The sensation is so overwhelming, so perfect, that I lose track of time. The bed squeals, protesting all the movement, as he buries himself in me, over and over, and my hips meet his, as sparks erupt behind my eyes, and I cry out, and then he finishes, collapsing beside me.
Afterwards, I’m frozen, mesmerized by the perfection of what just passed between us, which was more amazing than anything I’ve ever experienced, far more than the fumbling experiences with a few guys in college, that always left me wondering what the big deal was about.
He sighs, and relaxes against me. If anything could be better than the sex we just shared, it’s this feeling that somehow we belong here together, and that he knows it, too.
I curl up beside him, and feel him breathe, one arm wrapped around me. In this moment I feel completely safe and at ease.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
It takes me a moment to realize he mean’s Nick’s invitation to join him tonight, not something sexual.
“I wasn’t, either.” This is a lie; I never doubted that I’d be here tonight. My only doubt was whether I’d end up in bed with him. “I’m sorry that you were upset today—” I won’t apologize for upsetting him, I didn’t do anything wrong, but I hate that he was so distressed.
“It was my fault,” he says. “My life hasn’t exactly followed the path I expected. Lots of abandoned goals…it’s not your fault, as a person who follows your dreams, that I haven’t been able to realize mine.”
“What are your dreams?” I whisper the question so quietly that, when he doesn’t answer, I’m afraid he didn’t hear, and I don’t have the nerve to repeat it.
“I don’t know anymore,” he says finally. “Maybe that’s why I’m so angry. I thought all I had left was loud music, and alcohol to dull the pain, and being surrounded, constantly, by friends so I wouldn’t be alone.”
“You don’t have to be alone,” I murmur into his chest, and his arm tightens around me.
We lie there together for a long time, maybe an hour.
“Maya?” he asks.
“Hmmm?”
“You weren’t drunk, were you?”
He sounds so concerned, but isn’t that what he and his friends do? Drink and screw?
“The drink you were holding was almost full. But the more I think on it. You didn’t…you weren’t…”
“Are you asking if I had sex with you because I was drunk?” I ask, hearing laughter in my voice. What girl would need to be intoxicated to be talked into having sex with him?
“Yes.”
I might’ve been a little buzzed, and that buzz might have helped loosen my inhibitions, but I knew what I was doing when I came here tonight. I was looking for that defining summer experience.
I move against him.
“I’m definitely not drunk.”
“Oh?” I hear the interest in his voice, but he’s also relaxed into the blankets. Isn’t this the guy who parties all night? I think back to all the tips I heard my college roommates trade, tips for arousal…
“Not drunk at all,” I repeat, though maybe I still have a bit of a buzz, because the normal boring Maya would never consider sliding down his body, until I’m poised, right over his cock. I hesitate, looking up, and our eyes connect. He raises one eyebrow, a definite challenge, and I lower my eyes, surveying him, and after a long moment of agonized waiting, I take him in my mouth.
He groans, and his hips move beneath me. The advice from every single women’s magazine, perused in the check out line at grocery stores, passes through my mind, as I focus on giving him pleasure. I don’t have much experience with guys, but I know that he’s angry, that he’s distrustful of the world. I know that I want to feel him in me again, and re-experience that moment when he relaxed into me.
I take the entire length of him into my mouth, and then let him ease out and back in. I could continue, I would, but he’s pulling me back to him, up the length of his body, until he pulls me into position and I straddle his hips, gasping as he enters me again.
“God, that feels good,” he groans.
A wave of jealousy makes me wonder if he’s this incredible with every girl, but then his hips move, and all I can think of is the sensation of him inside me, as he reaches up to play with my breasts, and then slides his hands down to guide my hips, faster and faster, until the motion is nearly frantic, and we’re both panting.
I shift, and it changes the angle of his cock, which feels like it’s going all the way through me. I can’t keep quiet, despite my care for the occupants of the other villas, and Cruise responds to my half-scream with his own shuddering orgasm.
This time I collapse onto him, and we lie, intertwined, gasping, sated.
Eventually we both relax, and I must fall into the deepest sleep I’ve experienced since coming to the hotel. When I wake up I’m disoriented, and alone. The bed is cold.
As my eyes adjust I see Cruise, silhouetted by the window, looking out. Everything in his stance speaks of anger.
Somehow he knows, without turning, that I’m awake.