How to Honeymoon Alone, page 20
With my body pleasurably sore from the massage, and butterflies dancing in my stomach, I knock on the door of bungalow twelve. Phillip opens the door. He’s in a pair of shorts, feet bare, and another one of his linen button-downs. It’s only buttoned halfway up, and his hair is ruffled.
“Eden,” he says.
“Hey, I’m sorry my massage appointment ran so late.”
“No problem.” He takes a step back, inviting me across the threshold. “Want to come in?”
I step inside his bungalow. I’ve only seen it from the deck and the comfort of the pool through the glass patio doors. Just a hint of a king bed and an armchair.
Now I’m getting the full tour.
The tiled floors are a soft sandy color, and the walls are painted in the same hue. The furniture is mostly rattan, woven into intricate patterns. Cream-colored throw pillows adorn the sofa and armchair. Off to one side is a small kitchenette with a wooden countertop and cabinets stained rich mahogany.
I pause halfway through the living room. “This is all for one person?”
“I think the bungalow technically accommodates four, so it works for families. You’re not supposed to be enjoying it alone.”
I peek into the giant bathroom, and that’s the real highlight. The walls and floors are covered in marble, and the vanity is outfitted with gold-plated fixtures. A deep soaking tub sits in the corner. And as a finishing touch, there is a walk-in shower, complete with a rainfall shower head and an array of oils and shampoos to choose from.
Everything about this place screams luxury.
“That shower is the size of my entire bathroom at home,” I say.
Phillip chuckles behind me. “Yeah, it’s larger than it needs to be.”
“Fits a family of four, too.” I walk through to the spacious master bedroom. This is the room I’ve seen while peeking through the sliding doors. They’re half-open now and let in the familiar sound of Bajan nightlife. Chirps and serenading insects.
His bed is larger than the one in my room. A continental king. It’s neatly made, the pillows stacked into an inviting headrest. The TV is on, but the program is paused.
I read the caption on the screen. “No way.”
There’s a sigh beside me. “It’s good.”
“You’re watching a sports documentary?”
“Yes.”
“No JFK assassination tonight?”
“No, I’m saving that for tomorrow.” He steps past me to the minibar. It’s beautifully built into the mahogany cabinetry that combines the master bedroom with the living room, in an open floor plan. “Want a drink?”
“Yes, please.”
He sets to work with the array of small bottles and mixers he has in the fridge. I spot a plate of beautifully arranged fruit hidden in there.
Oh, to be staying in a bungalow.
There’s a suitcase in the corner next to a walk-in closet. His shirts hang neatly in a row on the left side of the rod.
I want to snoop and I can’t. Turning, I catch sight of a bundle of papers next to a beautiful arrangement of tropical flowers on a table.
The top page has the word itinerary printed on it.
“Oh,” I say. “I’ve found it!”
Phillip glances over from the drink-making. “Did you bring your guidebook so you could compare notes?”
“No, but I should’ve.” I pick it up and start reading. There are names at the top. Honeymoon in Barbados for Mr. and Mrs. Meyer. Below is a detailed itinerary. Pickup at 06:00 from 113 Row Street, Chicago. Takeoff from O’Hare at 09:00, arrival in Bridgetown at 17:45.
“She wrote it using military time?” I ask.
Phillip adds ice into two glasses. “I requested it,” he says. “It’s more accurate. No risk of confusion.”
I smile down at the itinerary. “I thought you said you weren’t involved in the planning.”
“Not much.”
“But you requested the fishing trip.”
“Yeah, I did.”
I flip through the papers. Day by day, activities are laid out. Some of them, I know for a fact, he hasn’t done. Fruit carving with resort staff?
“You planned to scuba dive?”
He shakes his head. “I was never going to do it. She was interested in trying.”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I’ve spent my entire life swimming at the surface. I like that,” he says. “Not interested in trying to breathe underwater.”
My eyes snag on a note next to day eight. Lauren, the massage is booked for 10:00 at the bungalow.
So that’s her name.
Phillip comes to stand beside me. His forearm rests against mine, his breath fanning the hair at my temple. “So?” he says. “Care to finally admit that my travel planner knew her job?”
I flip to the end of the trip. To the day fourteen where his flight is listed. A stopover in Miami, and then to O’Hare. Airport transfer back to 113 Row Street.
And back to his normal life.
“You stayed in the same place,” I say.
“Eden?”
“After the two of you broke up, I mean. How was that?”
He shrugs. “Okay. She’d moved in two years ago, and now she’s packing up all of her stuff.” He takes the itinerary out of my hands and puts it back on the table. “Here,” he says and hands me my drink. “How did you and the dipshit do it?”
“We both moved out. Our place was too expensive for one person.”
Not to mention I hadn’t wanted to stay another night, never mind weeks, in the space where we’d lived together.
He nods and sits down on the edge of his bed. Behind him is the documentary, still paused, a basketball player is poised to make a beautiful layup shot.
“You’ve been relaxing,” I say.
“Yeah, and catching up on some emails.” His gaze drifts down, over my bare arms. “How was the massage?”
“You’re not allowed to work, I’ve told you.”
Phillip half-grins. “Yeah. But you weren’t here to see me.”
“Good thing I dropped by, then.”
“Yes,” he says and takes a long sip of his drink. “It is. So?”
“The massage was good. Great, even. There was soft music playing and… and… well. I almost fell asleep.”
“Is that a good thing?”
That makes me chuckle. “I think so, yeah. Best present ever. But I didn’t stop by my room to shower, though.” I hold up one of my arms, and it glistens in the dimmed lights of his bungalow. “She used a lot of oil.”
“Right,” Phillip says. He gets up off the bed and comes closer, his eyes on me. “That’s fine.”
“Is it?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I still think I should shower,” I whisper. “Plus, we were lying on the beach today for such a long time.”
“You can shower here,” he says. “Use all the weird soaps you want.”
“Thank you. Will you save my drink for me?”
“Yes,” he says and clears his throat. “I can order room service for later. What do you want? I feel like having a burger.”
“Oh, I’ll have that, too.”
“Okay,” he says. “Well, make yourself at home.”
I do.
There are tons of big, fluffy towels in his bathroom, and the rainfall shower is every inch as perfect as it looks. I stand beneath the steady stream and let it wash everything away, leaving only nerves and excitement in its wake. The combination of hot water, steam, and luxurious oils creates an aromatic escape from reality.
And he’s right out there.
I haven’t had sex with anyone but Caleb. Ever. And I knew this day would come, hoped it would, but I never expected it to be here. On a vacation, on my honeymoon, with a man who couldn’t be more different from me or my ex.
Maybe I shower too long. Maybe getting into a shower at his place was weird, too. Or maybe I should have invited him in.
I let go of all my second-guessing as I step out and wrap myself in a giant fluffy towel. I wring the water out of my hair and take a deep breath.
And then I look in the mirror.
“Oh my God,” I say and shift, turning so I can see my back and shoulders. I push my long, light-brown hair out of the way to assess the damage. “That’s going to hurt so bad.”
“Eden?” Phillip’s voice comes from the other side of the bathroom door. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just a bit sunburned.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I drop the towel a bit, giving it a cowl neck in the back. The outlines of the straps from the sundress I’d worn today are clearly visible across my shoulder blades. They’re white lines in the surrounding redness.
“There’s after-sun lotion on the counter,” he says.
“Oh, awesome! You don’t mind?”
“No,” he says. There’s silence for a long moment “Need any help?”
I meet my own dark-brown gaze in the mirror. My hair is wet around me, and I look rosy from the hot shower steam. My eyes are wide and excited.
“Yes,” I say and walk across the sandy-colored tiles toward the bathroom door. I crack it open a few inches. “Come on in.”
Phillip’s eyes are cautious as if he’s expecting me to be naked. But then they drop to my shoulders and widen. “Fuck, Eden.”
“Yeah, it’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Your poor skin.”
“I must have missed this whole area this morning when I put on sunscreen.” I turn and let the towel drop further along my back, holding it tight against my front. “Remember when we ate lunch today?”
“Yes,” he murmurs and grabs the lotion.
“I was sitting with my back to the sun, and it was hot, so I put up my hair.”
“Yeah. This’ll feel cold.”
“It’s okay. I’m—oh, damn.”
He runs a steady hand with cool after-sun over my back, and I let my head fall forward. My skin feels taut and too hot beneath his palm.
“Mmm. At least I had fun today.”
His hand continues its smooth sweeping motion over my shoulder blades. “I didn’t know today would be the day I finally learned how many pigs were cast in Babe.”
I smile down at my toes. “I’m glad to have enlightened you,” I say. “You’re finally an educated man. How do you feel?”
“Nervous,” he says. “There’s so much pressure to use this knowledge responsibly.”
“With great power, you know,” I say. Our conversations are banal. Sometimes serious, often not, and never predictable.
“Mm-hmm.” His hand glides down the small of my back, his fingers trace along the edge of the towel. I’m not burned there, but I feel hot all the same.
“Your shower was really nice.”
“Oh? Good,” he says. Then he tuts and bends, and I feel the touch of a cool hand along the back of my knee. “You’re burned here, too.”
“I burn easily,” I say and reach out to grab a hold of the marble counter for support. His hand strokes up my leg, along my calf, the back of my thigh, until he reaches the edge of my towel.
“Maybe,” he mutters, “but you have beautiful skin.”
“Oh.”
His hand moves up, just a few inches, along my inner thigh, and my breath whooshes out of me in a sharp exhale. Anticipation tightens in my stomach.
“Eden,” he says and stands up. “I want to make sure—”
I turn around and meet his gaze, and his words falter. We look at each other, and the large bathroom suddenly feels very small, and very warm thanks to the steam from the shower.
Maybe my old self wouldn’t say this now. Wouldn’t be so open with it. But my vacation self doesn’t have the same restraints.
“I am sure,” I whisper. “It’s just, I’ve only slept with one person.”
His mouth parts. “Ah.”
“We started dating when I was in college, you know.”
“Makes sense.” Phillip’s eyebrows draw into two dark lines over his eyes. I can see unasked questions swimming in them. “The last thing I want is to pressure—”
I drop the towel before I lose my nerve.
It falls to the floor, a heap between our feet, leaving me in nothing but an uneven tan.
Phillip’s words die for the second time. His eyes drink me in, and it’s not the comforting darkness of the night that surrounds us now, but the spotlights in this exclusive bathroom.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he mutters, almost like he hates that it’s true, like it pains him. He lifts a hand and traces his fingertips down my collarbone, down to where the tan disappears and the white outline of my bikini top starts. He traces the line across my skin, following the curve around my breast. “It’s like these are no-go zones.”
His hand brushes down, over my tanned stomach and to the pale white triangle where my bottoms have shielded me for the past week and a half. “So pretty,” he says.
He’s still fully clothed, and this might be the most turned-on I’ve ever been in my life, in this moment, having him watch me with burning eyes.
Words rise to my lips. “I don’t want you to compare me to… anyone. Compare this. I want us to leave the past behind, both of us, with this.”
His eyes return to mine. They blaze. “Eden, I can’t think about anyone else right now. I can’t even think about tomorrow.”
I laugh, half-embarrassed and half-pleased.
He must think I don’t believe him because he pulls my hand tight against his body. His erection is a hard length beneath my palm, and even through the fabric, he’s hot. “It’s true,” he says and kisses me.
The kiss is hungry yet slow at the same time, like he’s savoring it, savoring me.
And I get what he means. Because I can’t think of tomorrow, either, never mind our exes. There’s no room for anything but this.
He fills his hands with my ass and pulls me tight against him—me naked and him fully clothed. I’m about to protest that fact when he spins me around.
We stand in front of the mirror, him at my back. In the reflection, his eyes are heated. “Look,” he mutters, and wraps an arm around my bare waist. “You’re so unbelievably hot.”
I look.
And I don’t laugh it off, not as his hands skim the indent at my waist and the flare of my hips, or as he traces the outsides of my thighs. There’s nothing funny at all about the intensity in his eyes or his hand pushing my legs apart so he can reach between them, just like he did in the pool, touching me like he already knows all of my secrets.
I lean my head back against his shoulder. “Did you order that room service?”
“Hmm?” he says, eyes focused on the two of us in the mirror. He’s pressing the heel of his hand against my clit.
My breathing speeds up. “You’re usually so articulate.”
“Yes,” he says.
“What did I just say?”
He forces his eyes to meet to mine. The dark-blue looks almost black. “I have no fucking clue.”
I laugh, and then he’s smiling, too, bending to kiss my neck. “Was it important?”
“It really, really wasn’t.”
“Good,” he says, and his hand delves deeper. His middle finger pushes inside of me. “Because I have work to do.”
“And you really like your job.”
“That’s right,” he says. His hand circles and parts and speeds up as we both watch. Maybe it’s the watching, or the fact that it’s so bright in here, or the strong feel of his arm around my waist and his free hand gripping my breast, but I’m at the edge quicker than I expected.
I squirm against his hand. “Why are you still wearing your clothes?” I ask, the need inside of me growing. “This is just like last time… I…need…”
His arm around me tightens, and I can see it flex in the mirror. His dark hair is a smudge against my neck as he kisses me. “Stay still,” he says.
“Okay. But I’m… oh.”
The fidgety restlessness, the pleasure-pain, all of it breaks into an orgasm. I come around his hand, and my legs threaten to give out, or maybe they do, but he supports me through it all. And when it’s over, I feel him hard against my backside, and I know this isn’t going to be a repeat of the pool.
Not again.
I turn in his arms and kiss him, my hands move between our bodies to make quick work of his shirt. His skin is warm to the touch, his chest hair a soft scrape against my fingertips.
“Eden,” he mutters with a groan when I find the button of his shorts.
“You didn’t let me last time.”
“I didn’t have a condom last time,” he says and looks down between our bodies.
The word flashes through my brain. Condom. “Oh. I didn’t even think about that.”
“No, I noticed,” he says. “But we stopped at a mini-mart today.”
“That’s what you bought? I thought you needed a new phone charger.”
“Well, I needed that too,” he says. “Eden.”
I pull down his zipper, going achingly slow. There needs to be payback for all the taunting he’s done. The bulge beneath my hand is big, growing larger with every slow inch unzipped.
The sharp, loud sound of a doorbell rings out.
Phillip takes a ragged breath. “Damn.”
“What is it?”
“Room service.” He takes a step back, his face drawn in pained lines, and pulls his zipper back up. “Stay in here.”
“Yeah.”
He pushes the bathroom door shut behind him, and then I hear a loud fuck, where’s my wallet?
Five minutes later the hotel attendant has left, none the wiser, and the scent of fresh french fries spreads through the bungalow.
Phillip locks the front door and walks across the room to me. “I thought I told you to stay in the bathroom.”
“You did,” I say and walk backward toward the bedroom. “But I don’t like doing what I’m told.”
He wraps his arms around me, kissing me, his hands roaming over my body. The gentleness of when he put after-sun lotion on me is gone.
I shove at his shorts, impatient with the zipper, and he helps me push his shorts down. His cock springs free, and I reach for it, wrapping my hand around him.
If I’d thought he was warm before, he’s burning hot now.
Phillip’s breath catches when I stroke, clumsily and at a weird angle, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
