by Carter Blake
It was so fucking good.
On this very bed.
Last night.
So where is she now?
So this is what it’s like. Waking up in my own room, alone, after what was arguably the most mind-blowing sexual experience of my life.
Fuck that, it in-fucking-arguably was the most mind-blowing sexual experience of my life.
It’s an experience I’m sure I’ve given others—women familiar with men who provide enough sweetness and romance but lack the prowess and dedication that I pride myself on bringing to the table.
I’m not one to boast, but rocking worlds is what I fucking do, and what I do when I’m done with that is to make myself scarce in the dead of night to go sleep in my own bed and continue with my own life.
You could say that I’ve lacked empathy, maybe more than I’ve realized. The way I typically see it, I can provide a world-rocking, enjoyable time for all parties involved. But I’m not always good for providing what someone may want beyond that.
But if the empty room coming into focus right now is what those middle-of-the-night disappearing acts feels like...let’s just say that it’s fucking time to reconsider my comfort zone for the sake of my own damn sanity.
I throw off the silk linens and the down comforter. I swing my feet down to the floor. I’m still well-rested, at least.
The sun is peeking in brilliantly, and the plush hotel-room carpeting feels fucking awesome against my bare feet.
Audra. That was one instance where I decided I could provide both the bedroom world-rocking and everything else that could come with it, anything she would ever want.
I push myself up from the quicksand-like pillowtop, letting reality flood in like it keeps fucking doing these past few days.
Obviously, I couldn’t fucking do it with Audra. I’d say I tried, but the way she made me feel, it was like I didn’t need to fucking try. I could just act on my heart.
I never used those words with her. Maybe I should’ve.
But now, this—the empty honeymoon suite bedroom that looks so small right now—it gives me some fucking perspective. Maybe my habit is leaving women alone with empty honeymoon suites, over and over, figuratively and, well, sort of literally.
Who knows how many times I did that with Audra, and she definitely fucking did it with me with no small dose of melodrama.
Now I’m pulling up the sheets and comforter, smoothing them out and tucking them under the mattress. Why the fuck am I making the bed?
Madeline’s serving up that karma quite fucking literally herself, and somehow it’s hurting more than Audra—it’s because I don’t really even know Madeline, and it’s because I’m processing that shit right now. But no worries. I’ll be over it soon enough.
Right? Right.
It must really be about Audra still. How can it not be?
But she’s not the one I’m thinking about. She could show up at the bedroom door right now and I can almost guarantee I wouldn’t feel anything. But if Madeline showed up...
Where could she be? This can’t just be projection. Granted, all this canceled marriage and false honeymoon shit is new to me, but Madeline is taking up a clear spot in my mind—my desires—that not even Sigmund fucking Freud would deny is real.
In this case, really wanting to see Madeline is just really wanting to see Madeline.
I finish making the bed so I don’t abandon what I started. I choose a casual outfit from the closet and dresser in about two seconds, and I shower the last of the sleep off and leave a tip for housekeeping on my way through the main suite room and out the door to...to wherever the fuck I’m going.
I’ve still not decided by the time I’m in the elevator heading down to the lobby.
“Just pick something, dude. No fucking wandering,” I mutter out loud to the empty elevator car. “And no fucking talking to myself anymore.”
I look down at the faux-marble floor of the elevator and at my feet.
“The beach it is.” Jesus. There I go again. I don’t know where the fuck that habit’s coming from.
As conflicted and as I am in fucking Hawaii of all places, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of this beach. Walking that paved path toward the clear cobalt sky and the Pacific, I’m thinking that my future may just be right here. I may never fix whatever stupid lovesick wounds I’m bearing, but Hawaii is a pretty damn good salve for whatever ails you.
There are people on the beach—too distant to see clearly—but I know none of them are Madeline.
She’s probably on a plane back to wherever she’s from. She may or may not find anyone who deserves her, who can give her everything she needs. I wouldn’t mind trying, but all this shit will probably fade with time, and in this moment it’s time to visit that beach bar yet again and maybe see if the buffet is open.
I’m still a few feet away from the bar when I see it’s closed with a makeshift wooden gate. I look up at the sky over the ocean. Fuck, I can’t even picture Audra’s face.
I try to picture Madeline.
Even in the late morning sun, she’s looking damn good. She’s wearing no makeup today, her hair is just pulled back sloppily, with stray wisps going in every which direction. She’s wearing a T-shirt and distressed denim shorts, but...
Oh, okay. Yeah, she’s right here again, in the flesh.
“I love how you just show up.” I’m thinking it, and I can’t help but say it aloud.
The idea is to tell her how happy I am to see her—and already the scenery is looking so much fucking better and my day’s turning around with her here now—but she doesn’t look too pleased with that sentiment.
“Is that sarcasm?”
Her face has no humor in it. Fuck, how can I pull this one back?
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant. I was just thinking about you, and you’re here. It’s not the first time.”
Madeline’s face lights up a little, which is good since I feel like I could be on the verge of scaring her. Fuck.
“You think about me a lot, huh?”
Madeline seems mildly amused, but not thrilled, not excited. She looks bogged down by something. It may be the highlight of my day so far, but I don’t think she’s giving our interaction too much consideration.
“You okay or what, lady? I haven’t seen you since last night.”
Looking in an unfocused way at the scenery behind me, a sardonic little smile flits across her lips, and Madeline shrugs.
“Today was supposed to be the best day of this whole trip,” she murmurs, turning back to me, “but that’s gone down the fucking drain.”
“Hey, I’m no stranger to disappointment these days.” Pull it back, Ethan. Stop being so fucking self-centered. “What happened?”
“Parasailing.”
“You went parasailing? It went okay, right?”
“No, we didn’t go fucking parasailing. That’s the problem.”
Now we’re getting somewhere, but I don’t know if it’s somewhere good yet.
“Who’s we, Madeline?”
“Remember Laura? She saw your cock.”
“How could I forget,” I say dryly.
Madeline rolls her eyes at either my reaction or some annoyance regarding her friend—probably a little of both.
“Yeah, she had this whole thing planned out. We had reservations to go out this morning. We did a shitload of research, we were going to see the coastline, some mountains, volcanos, you know, great fucking views, once in a lifetime. But she couldn’t get out of bed. She said she needed sleep. Too many fucking drinks. I’m not going by myself. So...yeah. That’s all.”
Madeline’s eyes are focused down at the sand. She’s usually so in control, a confident mask in place, but she’s an open book right now.
I put my hand gently on Madeline’s shoulder, and she looks at me, her eyes resigned, full of disappointment.
“Let’s go.”
“What? Get more drinks? I guess that’s all I’m doing in fucking Hawaii.”
/> “No, Madeline, let’s go get those once-in-a-lifetime views.”
Ethan
Madeline’s walking alongside me along the beach, and I feel the electricity from her—even in her denim shorts and T-shirt—but she’s seemingly ignoring me, looking straight forward. I feel like a friend, like an acquaintance.
“Are you sure you can get us out there?” Her question is charged with apprehension but also mild interest.
I’m scrolling through a website on my phone, filling out forms and giving my credit card info and tapping a button that says Confirm.
“As of a split second ago, we’re officially reserved for twelve-thirty.”
I hear Madeline’s platform sandals stop short in the sand, and I stop along with her. We turn to each other. Madeline’s eyes have that same piercing emerald as always, but there’s a soft, innocent happiness to them right now.
“For real? Don’t bullshit me.”
My phone vibrates noisily. I peek at the screen then give her a cocky grin.
“There’s the confirmation text. We can get in some once-in-a-lifetime views before lunch.”
Madeline raises her arm up in the air, and the scent of roses and vanilla mingles with the salty sea air when she does. I’m not sure what’s going on, though. Madeline has her hand raised like a teacher’s pet who knows the answer and desperately needs to share it, but the look on her face—eyes wide, lips in a subtle duck-like pout—strikes a perfect balance of goofy sexiness.
That’s a phrase I never thought I’d fucking say.
I’m sure Madeline can see my confusion, but she stays with her hand up, her goofy-sexy face unrelenting, until I finally fucking figure it out. I raise my hand to give Madeline a high-five, and as our palms slap, Madeline grabs my hand and interlocks her fingers with mine, pushing my hand and my entire arm so it rotates down toward the sand, and we’re holding hands like normal.
Watching Madeline’s goofy-sexy expression transform into a sassy, frisky grin as her hand grips mine sends exhilaration racing through me. Fuck, this girl and what she does to me. I don’t even fucking get it.
“Let’s do this shit,” I say, pulling her closer to me as we walk. I shoot her a grin, but she just keeps looking forward, toward the ocean, the same smile on those lips I’m suddenly dying to kiss again.
I don’t know how long it takes us to walk to Lahaina Harbor. It could be ten minutes, or fifteen, or maybe even a half hour, but it feels like a fraction of a second, and it also feels timeless as Madeline and I take in the beach, the aroma of salty ocean air, the gorgeous coloratura-soprano melodies of indigenous birds, and the distant sound of waves and tranquil conversation, our hands locked and our comfort reaching the point where we can enjoy our surroundings and take each other in without having to fill every fucking second with needless words.
We keep walking north, leaving the fantasy world of the beach and the resort and entering another fantasy world of actual roads, houses, businesses, and natural vegetation that hasn’t been landscaped and engineered to death for tourist consumption.
“How do you know where we’re going?” Madeline keeps looking straight ahead after asking the question, as if she knows where we’re going.
I can tell from her persistent grin and her lively tone that she doesn’t really care how I know; she knows we’ll end up there.
“I wouldn’t be showing you around if I didn’t know this island like the back of my hand.”
Madeline reaches over with her free hand, leaning over with just the right blend of recklessness and grace, and she grabs my other hand as we walk.
We’re now facing each other, walking slowly. Madeline’s face is full of mirth.
“Oh, you’re showing me around. Is that what you think is happening?”
“If you know the way to the slip, or anywhere else, by all means show me. I’ll follow you.”
Madeline’s stumbling intentionally, dragging us both toward the poorly paved ground and bouncing back up.
“I don’t know how to get places, is what you’re saying? My sense of direction sucks?”
I’m not usually the tripping, stammering type myself, making it a point to carry myself with confidence, to move with purpose and pay attention to what the fuck I’m doing. When she intentionally falters and moves in random directions like this, it puts my own sturdy, dependable swagger to shame.
“It doesn’t matter,” I respond, pulling her in closer. “If you wanna lead, I’ll follow you. I don’t care where the fuck we’re going.”
Madeline stops and takes a step closer to me, then another, and then a final step so our bodies are pressing against each other lightly, and then we meld into a starved, all-consuming kiss under the North Pacific midday sun.
From that point on, Madeline stays in front, pulling me in the right direction, not missing a fucking step until we get to the pier.
It’s not like parasailing’s on my usual agenda for this honeymoon, or any vacation for that matter, but when I get my first glimpse of those waiting speedboats and several rainbow-striped parachutes already soaring hundreds of feet above the ocean and traveling toward the horizon, I feel like a little kid getting his first in-person glimpse of Disneyland.
I can’t see her face as she strides in front of me, but I don’t doubt that Madeline’s electric excitement is sending a strong current back in my direction as she grips my arm.
Madeline she spins around to face me.
“Here we are, ye of little faith. I know how to get places.” Her voice rings through the mild cacophony of the pier and the boat engines starting up.
“I told you I’d follow you anywhere.”
“But you didn’t know we’d end up here.”
We fall into another kiss, shorter but just as fucking hot. Her mouth is sweet and soft, and love the way she tastes. Fuck, I could do this all day. Fuck the parasailing. Let’s just stay right here.
But then she’s pulling me toward the pier again.
I get my phone out as we walk toward the slip to double-check the confirmation and get the text message ready in case they need to see it.
“Who are you texting?” Madeline asks, no longer clutching my arm.
“Getting the confirmation ready, just in case.”
She raises her eyebrows and smirks. “Okay, if you’re that worried about it. Nerd.”
That magical mirth fills Madeline’s face again, and I’m pretty sure she’s purposefully reminding me of the countless measures of beauty surrounding me just outside my little smartphone screen.
I take that lesson fucking seriously, and the next few minutes become a haze as I focus on the surreal majesty of the Pacific in the background and the smoldering hotness of Madeline so close to me in the foreground.
Speaking with the boat dispatcher, listening to the little safety speech, getting prepped and boarded by the staff who have this down to a quick science—it’s all a blur in the background as I watch Madeline’s complete joy and anticipation.
She’s not in her own world, though; she’s giving me long, secret looks that make me feel like I’ve got my own personal Haleakala Volcano inside me that’s about to fucking erupt.
When the speedboat pilot is boarding and we’re getting ready to fly, I give Madeline a similar look, wanting her to feel that same magma-level heat. But now, she’s just fixated on the ocean and the sky, and she looks so fucking adorable in her orange lifejacket.
She turns to me, vibrantly beaming and looking genuinely fucking thrilled to be where she is at this very moment.
“Are you worried about getting wet, Ethan? With your phone and all? Wanna check your email one last time?” she teases
I didn’t think I could love Madeline’s smile any fucking more than I already do, but seeing the teasing edginess sparkle around her face makes it so much fucking better.
“What about your phone? Is the Great Madeline too much of a free spirit to care?”
“Oh,” she drops her voice to this low, reverberating p
itch that goes straight to my cock, “I’m not worried about getting wet.”
I chuckle and shake my head. This woman.
When we start gliding away from the pier and zipping across the sparkling blue ocean surface, we don’t actually get wet. We’re strapped into a tandem harness, and the transition from sailing straight ahead to rising through the clear, clean air is smooth and natural.
Even the breeze whisking against us is peaceful, and the views of the Maui coastline and mountains are unreal, like some gorgeous fever dream.
The view gets even better when I turn to Madeline, especially since she’s already staring at me in delight.
“Didn’t even get wet,” I observe to her while we swing gently in the harness.
“Good, you need your phone,” she pokes back at me, her eyes full of warmth.
“You’re right. I should check it now.”
Madeline chuckles while I reach into my pocket and retrieve my ever-present smartphone. I look at it for a second, pretend to poke at the screen like I’m doing something important, and then proceed to chuck it into the fucking Pacific.
I turn slowly back to Madeline. Her eyes are wide with glee, and for the first time, I hear her abandon herself to full-on cracking up, her melodic laughter easily filling the sky around us as the pilot picks up speed and we start drifting up further.
I’m kind of pissed about this when it makes Madeline turn away from me and watch the view as we rise, but when she thrusts her hands into the air and belts out an exhilarated scream, her excitement is super fucking contagious.
It feels like only a few more seconds before we start to descend.
As much as I’d like to float above the Pacific with Madeline all day after an unexpected parasailing stint, I can’t fucking wait to see what happens next.
Letting the flow of the day take over, I don’t ask Madeline to stay with me after we get back to dry land and start walking back toward the resort. Even if this is all the time we get together, it’s taken my mind off things and made this sad honeymoon experiment much better than I could have ever imagined.
But I’m not gonna lie, I’m thrilled when Madeline doesn’t make a beeline back to her room the minute we get back to the beach and walk by the hotel. She walks with me, even though I’m doing little more than wandering.