“You’re all mine.”
“I hope you’re not expecting some sort of marathon,” I wince.
“Don’t worry,” she reassures me, with that shit-eating grin on her face. “I’m going to make sure you give me one.”
* * *
This is no longer the worst day of my life. It is, in fact, one of the best. My earlier unease and discomfort and indecision have blown away with the ocean breeze. I’m now filled with an unreasonable satisfaction, sitting here at the dining table on the patio of the main house, the last day of our week of bliss, surrounded by good food and good wine and the crash of waves and conversation and family. Lina next to me, my daughter in her lap. Tagalog lessons for silly words from Tita Gloria and Ollie punctuated with shrieking laughter from Frankie and Georgia. Roses and Thorns, Ollie’s most annoying favorite game since we were kids.
I’m forced to self-reflect, and I’m thinking it’s a good thing I have so many roses I don’t know what to choose. They range from ultra-specific (Frankie’s screams of delight when I flipped her off her paddle board at the Pirate Plunder, getting my hands on Lina for the first time while high in a dark closet) to general (the loose and giddy, free and floating feeling that I found and didn’t know I had been chasing for the last five years).
My thorn? The headache after the patio? That I wasted so many daysnotmaking out with Lina?
Tita Gloria leans over to tell Frankie that she’ll be staying with her tonight, because she’s short enough to fit in the bunk beds, and is that a new rose?
My eyes search for Lina’s. I find them immediately. The smile she’s wearing is soft and quiet, but her eyes are bright and laughing, and it fills me with a slow, syrupy warmth, with comfortable content. I put my hand on top of Frankie’s, linking our fingers together, and Lina places hers on top of mine, entwining hers with ours, and just like that, at the look and the feel of it, I have a new rose.
It’s a special kind of magic, this vacation magic, and it’s all gonna be okay. We’ll be okay, whatever we choose. I’ll be okay.
THIRTEEN
Lina
I takeDom’s hand as we walk up the stairs to the guesthouse. My skin is humming, buzzing with anticipation, the feeling expanding with each step we take. It’s almost too loud, the sound of the wind and the roar of the ocean and the pounding of the blood in my ears.
I drag him through the front door. He shuts it behind him, cutting off all the noise with an abrupt click. He doesn’t turn on the lights. He doesn’t move, just looks at me. It’s silent except for our breaths.
“What’s wrong?” I ask into the dim light of the room.
Dom runs his hands through his hair. “I’m nervous,” he admits. “And thrilled. And I can’t believe this is happening. And I don’t know where to start,” he tells me with a lazy perusal of my body, dark eyes stopping at my mouth, my neck, my tits. “And I’m worried I’m going to be bad at this. Because I feel,” he moves into my space but doesn’t touch me, “really fucking greedy. And it’s been a long time, and I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to last for you.”
“We can take it slow,” I reassure him, unable to stop my hands from traveling under his shirt, feeling the skin on his abs, his chest. “And I have a plan,” I tell him with a grin.
He moves even closer, the tension broken, now tangling a hand in my hair and placing one on my ass, turning us around gently and maneuvering me so I’m pressed up against the back of the door, his weight solid and dependable against me. “What’s your plan?” he asks, before tilting my head to side and running his lips along the line of my jaw, down the length of my neck. His tongue darts out to lick a particularly sensitive spot behind my ear.
My hands move down, feeling the points of his hips, the skin there. He’s already hard. His dick twitches against my belly when I run my fingers across the sensitive skin of his pelvis. “We’re going to make out. Then I’m going to suck your cock like I’ve wanted all week. You’re going to come in my mouth, and I’m going to swallow it all.” He makes a strangled noise, thrusting against me. “Then you’re going to make me come over and over again until you get hard again. And then we’re going to fuck all night.” I gasp when he bites down.
I can’t wait any longer. I push him backwards, all the way back into the room, until his knees hit the back of the couch and he falls backwards. I climb on top and start to eat him alive.
It may be a long time for him, but Dom’s a fast learner, which isn’t surprising given his attentiveness and competence and due diligence for everything he does. He already knows the way I like to kiss, how to maneuver his tongue against mine, how to lick deep, how I like when he’s a little aggressive and all but shoves his tongue in.
I can’t get enough, rising up on my knees, pressing my body closer to his. His head tilts back because of the angle and I drag my fingers down his throat, into his hair.
His hands move up my thighs, around to my ass, kneading and pulling the cheeks apart. His long fingers dip towards the heat of my pussy, sneaking a tip underneath my shorts and panties. I know what he’s going to find. I can feel myself dripping into my underwear. I know it’s soaked. He groans. “Already?” he asks.
“All week,” I answer. “Ever since I snooped in your dresser and saw that you folded your boxers.”
He laughs into one of my tits, before he wraps his mouth around a still clothed nipple and tugs with his teeth.
“Oh fuck. Yes, that,” I sigh.
“Do you even own a bra?” he asks, in between sucking and licking my nipple through my shirt and soaking the fabric. “I’ve never seen you wear one.” His finger moves further into my center, grazing over my opening, soft, gentle, and I’m about to lose my fucking mind.
“I left them all at home on purpose, because that’s what New and Improved Real Life Lina would do,” I sigh, content to stay up here and let him suck on my nipples and finger me, especially when one fucks into me, shallow yet insanely slow. In and out. One. Then two.
He laughs, almost disbelievingly. “Is this for me?” he asks me in real life, and not in my dreams. I can’t answer, because my mind blanked after the second finger.
I’m dying. I climb off his lap, just for a second, so I can tug my shorts and panties down and rip my shirt off before climbing back on.
