by DL White
"Lastly, I have two suites in a villa that we call Lover's Lagoon. These are for your trip planners Angie Blake and Preston Reid."
Andrew hands a folder to me and slides one down the table to Preston. He stops the slide with a slap, glancing at me and catching my eye because I’m looking at him. He’s as surprised as I am.
“Wait! We booked single rooms, not suites. And not in Lover’s Lagoon.”
I look up from the folder stuffed with information, a map, and excursion brochures and photos of a decadent and luxurious room to find Morgan staring at me.
“You did this?”
She grins brighter, so damn smug and proud of herself. “It was Nate, but I was there.”
"Morgan! Getting to come along was enough."
“It’s our way of saying thanks for everything this week.”
“Nate, man…” Preston is rarely speechless, but he fails to find more words.
“It’s done,” says Nate. He glances back at Preston, his thick brows furrowed and his mouth in a terse line— an expression we rarely see, but one we don’t argue with. "Say thanks, and enjoy the upgrade. Damn.”
Preston, slouching in a chair at the end of the table, holds the folder open in his hands. “Thanks for the upgrade. Damn.”
Troy stands and stretches, yawning loudly. "I'm ready for the beach, a beer, and a nap. Can we check in right now?"
“You’re already checked in,” says Andrew. “Your keycards work, wear your wristbands at all times. Have a great week.”
I stand with my folder and map. "I'm going to find my suite,” I announce, wheeling my bags out of the conference room.
A few steps outside the building, tiny wheels sound behind me.
"Hey, what's your room number?"
I stop to check the number printed on the front of the folder. "Building 3, room 864. You?"
"862. Just like I thought." Preston catches up to me and pulls his bag upright, leaning on the handle. "They put us next to each other."
The part of my brain that makes up things to worry about begins to churn. "You don't think they're on to us, do you?"
"Nah. I think they think they're still pushing us together."
I’m both relieved and disappointed. It's killing me not at least to tell Morgan. Now we have to carry this out all week. But also…
I smile at Preston. His grin matches mine, excited by the twinkle in his eyes. "In a villa, near no one else.”
"In rooms next to each other..."
He snickers. “As if we’ll use both of them."
“We could switch back and forth. They would lose their minds if they knew we were sleeping together.”
"I don't know," he says, walking ahead of me, pulling his suitcase behind him. "I think they want this to work. I don't know if they expect it to work."
My bags and I follow closely behind. "It’s going to be crazy when it comes out."
"Let's not think about that right now. Let's think about skinny dipping in our pool."
"And romantic dinners on our private balcony."
“Let's not forget sex in a penthouse bed."
"Can't leave that out. It's the most important part."
Preston marches down the cobblestone path, his bag bumping along every crack until we reach the entrance to our villa. The community is a group of four white stone buildings, each joined by a skywalk above and a path below. The rooftops are dotted with patio tables, sun blocking umbrellas, and outdoor bars.
Since we don't have to check-in, we head straight for the elevators and punch the number for our floor. The cube smoothly lifts us from the ground floor to the eighth floor, and the door slides open again. We step out into the most brightly lit hallway I've ever seen in a hotel and follow the repeating carpet pattern until we come to our rooms at the end of the hall.
I pluck my card from its slot in the folder and slide it through the card reader. Next door, I hear Preston do the same. With a click and a beep, the door unlocks.
I step into the suite…and nearly faint. "Holy shit."
The room is beautiful, from gleaming tile floors to the ceiling fan slowly spinning, circulating island air. There’s a rug under the plush white couch and dark wood coffee table at one end of the room and an elegant walnut four poster bed on the other end. A matching five drawer bureau, a nightstand on either side of the bed, and a large flat screen TV mounted on the wall finish off the room.
“Lover’s Lagoon indeed. Might have to drag my ass out of here.”
Beams of sunlight stream through sheer white draperies that hang over two glass doors. The doors open out to the patio of wide red planks that hold a two-person table and a brightly colored loveseat, all shaded by a canopy.
Tap tap tap sounds from the door. I open it to find Preston leaning against the doorjamb, holding a bottle and an opener in one hand and a pair of flutes in the other.
"Compliments of Andrew," he says, walking past me into my room.
“What about Andrew?"
"This was in my room, with a card that said, with my compliments, please enjoy. So, let's enjoy." He's already attacking the bottle with a stainless-steel contraption. The cork pops off and shoots across the room.
Preston pours two glasses of bubbly champagne. He hands me one and holds the other aloft, waiting for me to bump my glass against his.
"Champagne in the middle of the afternoon?"
"On vacation. Come on, we have to toast." I bump glasses with him, the sound ringing out into the quiet room. "Okay, so... to uh...." The room is silent. Preston's face is blank. "Uhm..."
I'm trying to stifle my amusement, but speechless Preston is a sight rarely seen. "You realize, Best Man, that you have to make a toast at the reception?"
"I have that one written. This one's impromptu. Stop distracting me." He clears his throat and lifts his glass again. "Okay, to reviving the love of my life, with the love of my life. Or something. I don't know. Drink."
We each take a few sips of peachy champagne, alternately watching each other and taking in the view of the ocean rushing toward the sand. Preston moves toward the patio doors and swings them open, then grabs my hand and pulls me with him toward the wood railing of the balcony. From this vantage point, our view is the expanse of the beach. Ahead is the indigo blue sea.
I never want to leave this spot.
“I liked your toast. It was fitting, impromptu as it was."
Preston leans onto the railing, his glass balanced precariously between two fingers before he brings it to his lips and sucks down another mouthful.
"You did, did you?"
"I thought it was sweet."
"I wasn't trying to be sweet. I was going for a moment."
“You made it a moment.”
I glance over at him a few times and can't suppress my smile. After my third session of sneak a peek, chuckle a little, and look away, Preston seems self conscious.
“What? You keep looking at me and laughing. What?”
I reach for his hand and wind my fingers around his. I take in the facial hair, the baseball cap planted backward on his head, hairs peeking out from underneath the brim. "You look the same."
His head doesn't move, but his eyes cut over to me. "I what?"
"You look the same as you did when we were together."
He smirks, but I spot his shy smile. “Fuck outta here with that, Angie.”
"You do. I was thinking about it this morning, on the way to the airport. The moon roof was open, John Legend was playing. It reminded me of when you first got the Jeep, and you wanted to go everywhere all the time.”
I watch the nostalgia wash over him, evidenced by his thin smile and dreamy eyes. "Back when gas was cheap. It was nice to have a ride of my own. I could pick up my girl and head out."
"And your goatee was starting to come in. It takes me back."
Preston is quiet for a few beats. Maybe he's reminiscing, too. "You look different,” he says, finally.
"How? Older?"
"Yeah." H
e laughs when I smack him on the arm. “Hey! I mean that you look womanly."
"Okay, clean it up."
"I mean it—a woman's figure. You were cute back then. Right now?" He grunts with appreciation, and downs another gulp of champagne. "I’m into the grown and sexy version. A lot.” He smoothes a palm down his mussed facial hair. "I grew the goatee because I had a babyface. I hope I look like an adult now."
"Oh…trust.”
I move closer and let my hand travel from his chest, down his abdomen to the lump in the crotch of his shorts. I stroke the length of him through the thin fabric, enjoying him growing longer and arching toward me. In no time at all, he is hard.
"You are most definitely an adult. It was a warm memory, but much like you love how I look right now? Grown-up Preston did not come to play.”
"Keep those memories in mind, though,” he murmurs, his eyelids at half-mast. "Remember what we felt for each other, how much fun we had together. Especially out at the lake."
"I remember."
“Do you remember what you promised me a couple of days ago? I'm hoping you're going to follow through on what your hands are doing."
I lean in to kiss him, letting my lips linger on his with a long, low, vibrating hum. "Sex in the middle of the day?" I say, pulling back. "Well, I never!"
“Liar. We had sex in the middle of the day last week. And yes, sex during the day on vacation. On an island. Especially before people start calling to find out where we are."
I grip his bicep and start to pull him toward the open patio doors. "No one is going to call.”
Preston allows himself to be pulled through the door and back into my room. I grab his glass and set it next to mine on the coffee table, then lead him toward the bed, kick off my shoes, and climb up. He follows suit, stretching out next to me.
"We have to finish that champagne today," he says. "I don't know where the cork went."
“Don't worry about it, baby.” I reach toward him and unceremoniously unzip the fly of his shorts. "We will."
He sits up halfway, leaning back on his elbows. "You plan on working up a thirst?”
I undo the button at the waist and pull them open, revealing a pair of white boxer briefs. He is outlined plainly, straining against the cotton. I pause, glance up at him, then dip my head toward the tip and mouth him through the fabric. I smile at the sound of him groaning. His hips buck toward me, ever so slightly.
"Remember the first time you did this with me?"
"Mmmhmm," I hum, running my tongue around the rim before rolling my eyes up to meet his. "And you almost passed out?"
"I did not."
"I had to stop to tell you to breathe."
A chuckle rumbles in his throat and erupts from his lips. “And to let go of your hair."
"See? You remember."
"It felt good. No one ever did that before you."
I glance up at him, looking for the tells that say he's lying—an inability to look me in the eye, licking his lips, looking everywhere but at me. He stares straight at me and not moving a muscle.
"I was the first?"
"And the best."
I laugh. “Liar. I was messing around, trying to get you to make funny sounds."
"It worked. You were good. You still are."
I grunt and go back to stroking him through his briefs. I don't believe him, but I'll take the compliment.
"Are you planning on doing anything more than that? Because..."
"Getting to it. Patience." I reach into the opening of his boxers and pull him out. His dick seems happy to be free, pointing skyward. He is thick and pulsing. Without preamble, I take him into my mouth and suck him in. Deep, deeper still until I've almost swallowed him.
He grunts, his arms slipping out from underneath him. He falls back onto the bed and lies spread eagle, in submission.
I try to drag it out, tease him, make it last, but it isn't long before his hands curl up into my hair, and he's pumping his hips as I lick and suck and swirl my tongue around him.
After he comes, he heaves a sigh and shrinks into the mattress.
Proud of myself, I crawl up the bed to lie next to him. A light sheen of sweat coats his forehead. He's still coming down, inhaling deep breaths and emitting light moans.
"We've been here, what? An hour and a half? And you already came? Bodes well for the week."
He laughs, then falls into a coughing fit. When he's calm again, he kicks his shorts off and rolls to his side, propping himself up on one elbow.
“It’s going to be a rough week."
"We’ll see each other."
"Have you seen you? That won’t help.”
"I’ll make it worth it."
He leans over to kiss me while his fingers roam the waistband of my shorts. They don't have any zippers or buttons, only a drawstring, so I untie the string holding them on and pull them down. My thin cotton panties go with them, tossed over the side of the bed.
I'm more than ready for him as he moves himself to hover over me without breaking the kiss. His body settles onto mine.
Smooth and sudden, Preston pushes into me, filling me in a few long strokes. We both moan and sigh as if it's the first time we've touched each other in days and not hours. I cling to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck, his body arching as he thrusts into me. I receive and push back, a beautiful symphony of movement and sound and sheer enjoyment.
"Sex," he huffs into my ear. "On vacation. In the middle of the day. In a penthouse suite. On an island. Tell me this shit isn't perfect right now."
I can only pant and wheeze and moan oh my God over and over, but I nod as I catch his eye. He smiles and dips his head to my neck, bathing me with his tongue. His stubble is pricking my skin, but it doesn't bother me; instead, it adds another point of pleasure that brings me the edge of climax. I'm pulsing around him, trying to hold back, make it last.
"I feel you," he says, watching me, not skipping a beat. "You're close."
"Mmmmm!"
"I got mine. Don't hold back; I want to watch."
That’s all he has to say before my climax weaves through my body, arching my back, pointing my toes, pulling the oddest sounds from my throat, and sapping my strength.
Preston's thrusts slow and then stop. He pulls out and then lays next to me, slides one arm across my body and listens to me try to catch my breath.
"Sex with you. On vacation. In the middle of the day. In a penthouse suite. On an island. This shit is perfect, right now."
He leans down to kiss me, a sweet, light, quiet peck on my lips. I open my mouth to ask him something, but I'm interrupted by a loud, shrill ring that makes me almost jump out of my skin. Preston's drops his head to my shoulder. His body shakes with laughter.
"Right. There are phones in the rooms." He nods his head toward the white corded phone on the nightstand near me. "Get it. You know it's one of your girls."
"Because you're not here with your boys?” I roll over and reach for the phone, grumbling. “Hello?"
25
Deep slumber is interrupted by the click of the door lock. I’d left Preston at the bar regaling our friends with stories and jokes. I was exhausted and had passed out minutes after tucking myself into bed.
I sit straight up in bed and yelp, "Who's there?" while blindly flailing my arms about, searching for a lamp.
"Who else would it be, Angie?”
Soft light floods the room. Preston stands next to the bed, gazing down at me while the corners of his mouth twitch with the effort not to laugh. He's wearing the hotel bathrobe again, so he'd gone to his room first and changed.
"Do you want me in here, or should I go back to my room?"
I lay a hand over my heart, which may gallop out of the left side of my chest. "I forgot I gave you a key." Reaching across the bed, I pull the covers down, making an opening for him. "I want you here."
"Good," he said, untying the robe and kicking off the flip flops he'd worn from his room t
o mine. "Because I wasn't leaving."
"Then why ask?" I say, grumbling as I scoot over and make room for him. Clad only in boxer briefs, he slips under the covers with me and reaches to snap off the lamp before he lies down, wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. This gesture makes me smile. I'm snug up against him, his chest hair and beard stubble molding me to him.
"Common courtesy," he answers. "Ever hear of it?"
"Sure, I have. Surprised you know the meaning of it, though."
"If I don't surprise you once a day, I'm not on my job."
"Well, you're on your job," I mumble. My eyes drift shut, and I am on my way back to sleep.
"Did I do okay, tonight? I mean, did I play the role okay?"
I nod, my forehead swishing against the crisp fabric of the pillow. "Perfect. I was annoyed with you."
His head lifts from the pillow. "What? When?"
"When you sat down next to me on the bench outside the bar, practically pushing me off of it, dropped a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek and yelled, ‘what's up, roomie!' loud enough for most of the island to hear. You're irritating when you want to be."
"It's a gift. But you're not mad at me right now, right?"
I snuggle even closer to him and lay my hand over his, draped across my thigh. "Not a bit."
A few hours later, the fiery orange glow of the sun rises over the island. We didn't think to close the drapes over the windows nor the French doors, so as soon as the first rays break the horizon, the room is a pink glow. Shards of sunlight poke at my eyelids until I force them open.
All is quiet, save the muted sounds of the ocean running over the sand at the shore: that, and Preston's snore. During the night, he'd rolled away from me. My view is his back and the tight curls in a mess all over his head.
I sit up and stretch, then work my feet out of the blankets and crawl out of bed. The room is cold; I rub my arms to alleviate the chill bumps. I pad to the bathroom and empty my bladder. At the sink, I wash my hands and then my face, brush my teeth, pull off my scarf, and head back into the bedroom.
Preston is where I left him, lying on his side, both arms hanging off of the edge of the bed. His mouth is slightly open; his eyes shut tight. I can't suppress my urge to lean over and drop a kiss on his forehead. My lips gently brush the smooth skin near his hairline and the cowlick at the top of his head.