I thought I'd made it. I thought I'd slipped back into my room fast enough, quiet enough, that the day could just dissolve into another blank night. Shower. Laptop. Maybe sit on the balcony until the resort lights dimmed and the music shut off. Pretend Charlotte didn't exist, pretend the boat hadn't happened, pretend her laughter hadn't scraped me raw.
I even managed to get the sliding door halfway closed when it happened. Her voice.
"Lifted."
It was low, sharp, like she'd been waiting for the exact second to strike.
I froze. My hand still on the doorframe.
"Don't," she said. "Don't run off again. We're doing this."
My pulse stuttered. I turned, slowly, like maybe she'd vanish if I didn't look too hard. But she was there, leaning against the balcony divider, with her arms crossed, her braid messy from the boat trip, and her wrap sliding off one shoulder. She looked tired. She looked furious. She looked like she hadn't stopped thinking about me any more than I'd stopped thinking about her.
With a thin voice, I asked, "What exactly are we doing?"
Her laugh was short, bitter. "Oh, you don't get to play dumb. Not after—" She broke off, jaw tight. "Last night."
My throat closed.
She stepped forward, right up to the line of the divider. "You think you're clever, don't you? You think that little stunt meant nothing. Just noise. Just you proving a point?"
I swallowed hard. "It wasn't about you."
"Bullshit!"
The word cracked across the air like a slap.
"You wanted me to hear," she said. "You wanted me to lie awake, listening to—" She bit the rest off, but her eyes burned.
I should've denied it. Should've said she was wrong. But the truth clawed up anyway. "Maybe I did."
Her breath hitched. For a second, she looked almost shocked. Then she laughed again, mean and sharp. "You're disgusting."
Something in me snapped. "And you care."
Her eyes widened.
"You wouldn't be out here right now if you didn't." I pressed, the words tumbling rough, and unplanned. "You wouldn't look at me like I just set your whole damn house on fire if you didn't care. You hated hearing it because it wasn't you."
Her silence was louder than the music coming from the pool deck.
And then—she moved.
She yanked her sliding door open, stomped across her side of the balcony, and before I could blink, she'd pushed past me into my room.
Door slammed.
I turned, stunned, half-hard already from nothing but the sound of her fury.
"What the hell are you—"
"You don't get to spin this," she cut me off, rounding on me. "You don't get to sit there sulking, while I—" Her voice cracked, just for a second, then came back sharper. "While I wonder if you were moaning her name just loud enough for me to hear."
My chest burned. "You think I even remember her name?"
Charlotte scoffed. "How convenient."
"It's the truth."
"You're pathetic," she spat.
"Say it again," I growled.
Her chin lifted. "Pathetic."
I stepped closer. "Louder."
"Pathetic."
Another step. We were inches apart now, heat sparking.
"Again!"
Her hand shot out, shoving my chest. I barely moved. Then, she shoved harder. "You're pathetic," she hissed, but her voice wavered.
I caught her wrist before she could pull back, pressed it against me, right over my heart. It hammered so loud I swore she could hear it.
"Feel that?" I whispered. "Still think I don't care?"
Her eyes locked on mine, wild, uncertain, furious. Then her mouth crashed into mine.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a collision. Teeth, tongue, heat. Her nails digging through my shirt. My hand sliding up her arm, into her hair, pulling hard enough she gasped against my mouth.
"God, I hate you," she breathed.
"Liar," I muttered, as my lips dragged down her jaw.
Her laugh broke, half moan. She yanked me closer by the collar, and I stumbled with her until her back hit the door. The slam rattled the glass.
Her thigh slid between mine. I groaned and pressed closer, feeling her heat even through the thin wrap and fabric.
"Is this what you wanted?" she panted, her nails scraping my neck. "Me begging like one of your little bar girls?"
I bit back a groan, teeth sinking into her shoulder. She gasped, as she arched against me. "You're not begging," I said. "You're fighting. And I can't stop wanting it."
She shuddered. Her hand slipped under my shirt, dragging nails across my stomach. I hissed, half-buckling.
At some point the wrap slid off her shoulders, and crumpled to the floor. My shirt ended up tangled on the chair. I didn't remember pulling it over my head. Didn't care.
Her skin was warm, salt still clinging from the sea. She tasted like sweat and sun and fury.
"Charlotte," I gasped into her neck, desperate, almost pleading.
"Shut up," she growled, dragging my mouth back to hers. Her teeth caught my lip hard enough I tasted blood, but I didn't stop.
We stumbled toward the bed, still clawing, still biting, like stopping would kill us. We collapsed into the sheets tangled, breathless, her leg hooked over my hip, her hand fisting in my hair.
"Tell me you don't want this," she demanded, eyes blazing.
"I can't," I rasped.
Her mouth crushed mine again.
Then I slowly went from her mouth, to her jaw, to her sweaty neck. I could taste the saltiness all over her neck, as she moaned lightly, while clinging to me tightly. All the while, my fingers were performing the miracle of undoing her bra. Unconsciously, all parts of my body were working different parts of hers individually.
I couldn't get the picture of how good her breasts looked away from my mind. As I was nibbling and sucking her already hard left nipple, I was fondling her right breast, burying my face in between, as I couldn't stop enjoying the pleasure of making her moan lightly above my head.
I lifted myself up, and watched her face as best as I could. Her hands wrapped around my neck, as she drew me in to kiss me. "I've never had a woman use so much tongue before," I said in my head. I couldn't bring myself to stop, because it was so good. I continued enjoying the company of her lips, as I reached down inside her panties. All wet. Her hip was moving in a certain rhythm. My hand joined in the rhythm, rubbing her clit passionately. She kept moaning into my mouth.
"I want you. Deep inside me." She whispered into my ear, as she unbuckled my belt, and zipped my pants down. She lifted herself up with her arms around my neck, kissed me, and reached down. "Make me feel every inch of you, Lifted," she said, shifting her pantie to the side with one hand, and pressing the head of my penis into her with the other.
I lowered myself, sinking deep into her, watching her face as I go. Her lips parted slightly, and gave way for a low gasp. She kept opening her mouth in silence, her eyes staring right back into mine, as I thrust deeper. Her arms tried pushing me off, but her legs tightened around my hips. She was rising with the same rhythm I was thrusting her with, holding on firmly with one hand, as she tried covering her mouth with the other. I could feel her about reaching climax. I thought of stopping. I didn't want it to end.
I stopped, looked into her eyes, kissed her, and started thrusting again. Each time I stop makes the eventual orgasm a more powerful one. So, I reduced my pace, making her quicken hers, as she held on firmly, moaning into my ear, "yes, just like that." I could feel her inner walls collapsing on me, tighter than it was, bringing me also to the brink of coming.
Moans got louder. The bed creaked louder. The thrusting increased with pace, strength, intensity, and we were going like it was the end of the world. She came, holding on to me tighter, and pulling me in deeper, as I came seconds after.
We burned each other down. That's the only way I can put it. Fury to hunger, hunger to collapse. By the end, the room smelled like sweat and salt and the faint trace of blood where her teeth had marked my neck.
The silence after was brutal.
She lay half-turned away, sheets tangled at her hips, breathing uneven. I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, hands over my face. My pulse wouldn't slow.
Finally, she spoke.
"This changes nothing." Her voice was raw, shredded.
I laughed, in a hoarse and bitter way. "Keep telling yourself that."
She didn't answer.
I wanted to look at her. Wanted to memorize her, burned into my brain like a glitch I couldn't fix. But I didn't. I stood, found my shirt, and tugged it on without caring if it was backward.
"Lifted," she said quietly, as I reached for the sliding door.
I froze. Waited.
Nothing else came. Just silence.
So, I left.
And the sound of that silence followed me all the way out, to the edge of the railings.