How to Honeymoon Alone

I brace my palms on his chest and tilt my hips into position. He grips his cock and aligns us, right at my core.

Being on top was never my favorite position. I enjoyed it, but Caleb complained that I went too slow. I think about that now, about how I need to speed up my tempo, but then I’m sinking onto Phillip, and there’s no thinking at all.

His eyes are locked on my body, on the place where he’s disappearing inch by inch inside of me.

The stretch is total, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I’m finally down, taking all of him in.

His face is etched in lines of pleasure-pain. The hands locked on my hips tighten their grip, his thumbs dig into the hollow above my hipbones.

“God, you feel good,” he mutters.

I roll my hips, testing the limits. He groans, so I do it again, and then again, rocking my hips against him in a slow but steady rhythm. It stokes the fire inside, and I can’t believe it, but I might be able to come again.

This never happened before.

I look at him, stretched out beneath me-long torso, wide shoulders, and tanned skin. His jaw is tense and his eyes are locked on mine.

He doesn’t look like he needs me to speed up. He looks like he’s enjoying every single moment.

Phillip’s hands slide over my body. My thighs, my hips, my arms. He cups my tits and teases the nipples, his breath audible.

And when his hand returns between my legs, rubbing circles? My hips stutter in their movement, and then falter entirely; my body riveted on the pleasure radiating from his touch.Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

“Let go,” he says. “That’s it, let me feel it, how you’ll-oh my God.”

I come, and my hips lose all their rhythm. My fingers turn into claws on his chest, and I can’t breathe, can’t focus, can’t think.

His arms are an iron grip around my lower back. He’s breathing fast, and there’s something unrestrained about his body beneath mine, like he’s a hairsbreadth away from losing control.

“Phillip?”

“Mmm,” he says harshly. “Fuck, I’m close. You were squeezing me so tight.”

“I was?”

“Yes.”

“Flip me over, then,” I say. “If you want to, you know. Go hard.”

His fingers brush my burned upper back, surprisingly gentle compared to the tight grip his right hand has on my thigh. “Not tonight,” he says. “Stay like this. Hold on to my shoulders… that’s it.”

His hands slide down my body until they grip my ass. He tilts me forward, and then he’s thrusting into me from below. It’s sudden and powerful, and I collapse on top of him, my forehead bracing against his chest.

He fucks me like that, with the heat of his body against mine and my legs splayed on either side of him, and his groans in my ear.

It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

“Tell me when you’re close,” I say against his neck. I want to hear it when it happens, to savor it.

His voice is rough in my ear. “I’m close now. So fucking close.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. God, you take me so good.”

My exhale turns into a shudder. I can’t come a third time, but still, my exhausted body makes a valiant effort. I dig my nails into his shoulders instead.

This is a vacation me, vacation self, and I have no inhibitions. They were behind in Pinecrest, checked at the gate, and never picked up at baggage claim.

“I want to feel you when you come,” I say. I’m too turned-on to be embarrassed. Dirty talk is new to me.

“You will,” he grunts and lifts a hand to slap my ass. His hips jerk, his thrusts still powerful but irregular, and then he comes. His body turns tight beneath mine, his arms nearly crushing as he holds me close. His groan is a broken, harsh sound in my ear, and I can feel him pulsing deep inside.

It takes both of us a long time to come back down to earth after that.

He finally tilts my hips up and eases out of me, and I shift onto my stomach on his bed.

I watch him get up and throw away the condom. He moves confidently through the room. Being naked doesn’t seem to bother him at all.

“Are you getting our food?” I ask.

“Yes. Want your drink?”

“Yes, please.” I grab a pillow to rest my head on. My body feels molten, and my hair is a damp weight on my burned shoulders and back.

Phillip returns. He’s put on a pair of shorts and is now setting the tray down in the middle of the bed. His hair is mussed, and there’s a sharp color staining his cheekbones.

His eyes dance as they travel over my naked body. “Hey,” he says.

I reach out and take a french fry. It’s still crunchy, even if it’s no longer warm. “Hi,” I say. “So… it wasn’t a corkscrew.”

He looks at me for a surprised moment before he breaks into laughter.

It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.

I draw my knees up on the lounge chair and rest my head on them, looking over at Phillip. He’s reading on my phone. There’s a frown between his eyebrows.

I feel like I’ve jumped off the deep end.

He makes a humming sound, and his thumb flicks as he scrolls through the contract. His patio umbrella casts a shadow across us both, and that’s good because the midday sun is scorching.

“Okay,” he says. “So the royalty clause seems pretty standard, but I’m not an expert in the publishing field.”

“Right.”

“The rights clause though… They own the rights in perpetuity. There is no time limit set for renegotiation.”

I sigh. “Yeah, they do. That’s pretty airtight, right?”