I grip her thighs tighter, pulling her closer still, our movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. Olive’s nails dig into my back, her body arching into mine as she moans my name. Her breath is hot against my ear, her voice a mix of pleasure and surrender.
“Ash, please,” she pants, her hands clutching at my shoulders. “I need you.”
I don’t need her to finish the sentence. I know what she wants, what we both need. I reach down, unbuckling my belt with trembling fingers, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Olive’s eyes darken with anticipation as she watches me, her lips parted, her chest heaving. I slide her lace panties down her legs, the fabric catching on her ankles before she kicks them off, leaving her bare and exposed. Her skin is flushed, her core glistening with anticipation, and I groan, my control slipping further.
“You’re so wet for me,” I murmur, my voice thick with desire. “So fucking ready.”
She bites her lip, her cheeks staining with a deep blush. “Shut up and fuck me, Ash.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I position myself at her entrance, teasing her with slow, deliberate movements, savoring the way she squirms and begs for more. “Say it again,” I demand, my voice dominant, my eyes locking with hers.
“Fuck me, Ash,” she whispers, her voice desperate. “Please.”
I thrust into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely, and she gasps, her head falling back against the mirror. The sound of skin against skin fills the small space, our movements frantic, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. I pull her closer, our bodies fitting togetherperfectly, the friction sending sparks through my veins. The air is thick with the scent of her, of us, and I’m lost in it.
Olive wraps her legs tighter around my waist, her heels digging into my ass as she meets my thrusts, her body moving with mine in a rhythm that’s becoming increasingly desperate. “Harder, Ash,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “I need it harder.”
I don’t hold back. I pound into her, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing in the confined space. Her walls clench around me, tight and wet, and I know she’s close. “That’s it, baby,” I growl, my voice hoarse. “Let me feel you fall apart.”
Her eyes squeeze shut, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her body trembles around me. “Ash—I—”
Her orgasm rips through her, her body shaking, her nails digging into my shoulders. I follow her over the edge, my release crashing into me like a wave, my name on her lips as I fill her. For a moment, we stay like that, entwined, our hearts pounding in unison. The bathroom is humid, the air heavy with the scent of our passion.
Finally, I pull back, my hands gently sliding down her thighs as I set her back on her feet. She leans against the sink, her chest heaving, her green eyes shining with a mix of satisfaction and amusement.
“Well,” she says, her voice teasing, “that was one way to pass the time on a flight.”
I chuckle, running a hand through my messy hair, my body still buzzing with the aftermath. “Yeah,” I agree, my voice rough. “Definitely better than watching another in-flight movie.”
As we step out of the bathroom, the captain’s voice crackles over the speakers, announcing our descent into L.A..
Olive glances out the window, the city skyline just beginning to take shape against the horizon. Her expression shifts—like she’s tuckingthe memory of the last few days into some private place before reality can reach us.
I watch her, feeling the weight of the change in the air. The villa, the sun, the salt water—that was our bubble.
This… is the real world creeping back in.
And I’m not entirely sure either of us is ready for it.
27
OLIVE
The Blow-Up
The city feels louder when we get back—horns blaring, streetlights flickering, the air thick with that particular Los Angeles mix of exhaust and coffee. It’s jarring after days of warm ocean breezes and the lull of waves, but Ash looks completely unfazed, lounging back in the car seat like he owns every block we pass.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he says, tipping his head toward me. His hand brushes mine on the seat between us—deliberately casual, like he’s testing how much he can get away with in front of the driver.
“Just thinking,” I reply, shaking my head absently. I’m already somewhere else entirely—mentally arranging the scene I want to write next. The lines of dialogue, the way the light would fall in the opening paragraph, the heartbeat of tension between my characters. It’s all right there, bright and insistent, and I’m terrified that if I don’t capture it soon, it’ll slip through my fingers.
The second we step inside the mansion, I beeline for my bag. My journal and laptop are inside, and the sight of them feels like a lifeline.
“Wow,” Ash says, following me in and dropping his keys on the counter. “Straight to work? You’re not even gonna unpack?”
I’m already flipping my laptop open. “Priorities.”
He leans against the doorway, watching me with that half-smile that’s equal parts amused and intrigued. “Alright, Miss Priorities, how about I order us dinner? Something sinful and carb-loaded. Might help with your post-vacation blues.”
