Broken Enagement

by Gage Grayson

  “A blender drink,” I add, staying simpler this time.

  “Yeah, my blender at home is screwed. Just another thing I’m indulging in here: blended drinks, fresh fruit.”

  “Where’s home?” For all I know, she lives a mile away.

  The bartender is quick with Madeline’s plastic cup full of red and white swirled, icy whatever the fuck it is.

  “It’s mostly fruit, but they didn’t give me the big pineapple wedge this time. What gives, Ethan?”

  Yeah, it’s a bit outright fucking startling to hear Madeline say my name. I can’t explain why exactly.

  “If you want a pineapple, I can get that for you. I can make that my personal mission right now.”

  Madeline sips through her straw.

  “Oh, that’s fucking good, though.”

  “Should I get one?”

  Madeline takes another sip.

  “I don’t know, if you like things that are fucking good.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  I order the fruit-blasted icy drink. We sip our Lava Lavas as night overtakes the islands.

  “I appreciate someone who likes a lot of fruit in their poison,” she tells me.

  “I like whatever you like,” I return.

  Madeline chuckles into her drink. I don’t know if it’s my goddamn fucking cheesiness, or if she actually enjoyed that.

  And I don’t care. I’m fixed on her, and she seems fine with my gaze as she drinks casually.

  “You can’t be here by yourself,” she informs me.

  “That’s news to me.”

  I’m torn between the urge to tell her everything and the need to hold back about my pitiful circumstances.

  No. She doesn’t need to know that, and no one wants to hear about that crap.

  “Do you live here?” I semi-ask, knowing that it’s the second time I’ve asked basically the same damn question, and she’s probably getting bored as fuck.

  “Do you?”

  “Touché.”

  I hope she gets what’s implied—that I don’t want to answer, either.

  Madeline seems to get something, because her eyes are meeting mine again.

  “You’re gonna be finished with that drink soon,” is what I say for some fucking reason.

  “I’m only halfway through.”

  I don’t dare look away to check her cup. “I’ll take your word for it, but order whatever you want next.”

  “You own this place! I knew it!”

  I point to the bartender, who’s serving someone else, with a mock sigh.

  “No, you’re thinking of that guy. I just stay here on what’s supposed to be my honeymoon.”

  I let it slip out, and Madeline just picks up her drink and takes the straw gently between her fingers for another sip.

  “I’m supposed to be here for something like that.” I feel Madeline’s tone change for the first time.

  “I think I’m witnessing a rare iteration of serious Madeline. Do tell.”

  Madeline shrugs, of fucking course. “Two-week vacation, my first one in fucking years...anyway, I was getting tired of going with my friends to bars and clubs and all that crap.”

  “Tired of drinking?”

  Madeline kills the last of her drink before answering. “Oh, fuck no! Just wanted to drink somewhere else...with the same friends, but different people, or something.”

  Madeline absentmindedly picks up her empty cup and puts it back down.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Don’t believe what?” Madeline glares at me, legitimately annoyed.

  “Serious Madeline, indeed. I mean I don’t believe you have trouble meeting people.”

  For the second time at the bar, Madeline makes earnest eye contact. “Are you really trying to give me the same compliment I gave you earlier?”

  “If I enjoy something, I like to show my appreciation in kind.”

  “Good to know you’re the mutual kinda guy. Come up with your own lines, though.”

  We order another round, Madeline demanding pineapple wedges. What the bartender ends up serving is an entire chopped pineapple on a plate.

  “I’ll just say it: people who’ve never had pineapple in Hawaii haven’t really had pineapple,” I declare while taking a big bite of fruit―the first food I’ve had in over a day.

  “The mass market ones are from here, I don’t think they’re anything special. Fresher, though. They don’t ripen after picking.”

  It looks like Madeline enjoys her pineapple more than she lets on after taking a bite.

  “Fresher. Exactly. It can’t not make a difference.”

  Madeline proceeds to take in about a third of her fresh drink through the straw.

  “What-fucking-ever.”

  “There’s no reason not to appreciate some tropical goddamn fruit.”

  I sip my own drink, and Madeline actually fucking laughs for real.

  “I hope we can do better than that tonight,” she fires back.

  I put down the fruit wedge and see Madeline smiling meekly at her drink.

  “Your call. Everything’s better in Hawaii.”

  Madeline does her famous shrug.

  “Eh, we’ll see about that.”

  With only part of a slice of pineapple in my stomach over 24-plus hours, it doesn’t take many rounds to get me back to the same unsteadiness.

  And then Madeline’s leading me onto the beach, towards the ocean.

  “You think you’re gonna get me with this again? I’m down one set of clothes already.”

  “You’re complaining about losing clothes, Pineapple Man? What the fuck did you come to Hawaii for?”

  It’s like she didn’t take my flippant honeymoon comment seriously.

  “Maybe a few romantic walks on the beach…but not too many nights sleeping under the stars.”

  I look up at the night sky, and holy shit, there are a lot of fucking stars visible.

  I look back at Madeline, but she’s staring up at the sky herself.

  “There’s the Milky Way. Can’t see that shit from the city.”

  I want to ask what city, but I don’t.

  “It’s nice to look at, but I prefer sleeping indoors.”

  “Even tonight?”

  We’ve both stopped now. Madeline moves in closer.

  “Sleeping or not, I’d like to end up back in my suite at one point.”

  Madeline’s eyes widen. “A room’s not good enough for you? I want to see what a suite looks like here.”

  “That can be arranged,” I respond calmly. “That can be so very fucking arranged.”

  Ethan

  Madeline and I are falling into sync more and more as we trot back to the main hotel, through the lobby, into the elevator―we already have a quiet connection, which is a good fucking sign for things to come.

  “You better be telling the truth about this suite, mister.”

  Madeline’s wearing a farcically pouty face, her plump lips jutting out, her ruby-red lipstick like an unquenchable fire in the midst of the pale, milky heaven of her face.

  Is she really trying to be funny with that? Her face is turning angry now, with the same jokiness.

  “Or what?”

  Madeline slowly closes the distance between us as the elevator slowly clambers up to the penthouse floor.

  “Or this kiss will be the end of it.”

  I have what I’m led to believe is the largest, most expensive, and generally just the best fucking suite in the resort, and possibly the state, but just in case Madeline’s threat of leaving things with a single kiss comes to pass, I throw myself into it.

  My lips meet the pillowy paradise of hers softly at first, and I pull away at a slow pace, lingering on her lower lips as I feel her breath softly.

  Now I’m close enough to Madeline to look down and see her eyes, that glowing emerald color which fills me with blistering desire every fucking time.

  Madeline’s left hand is on my back, and she’s starting to grip
me hard, grabbing my shirt and a bit of muscle.

  “Not a kiss like that, a kiss like this.”

  Madeline grabs my head with both hands, and I receive the message as quickly as I can by meeting her in a frenzied flood of freshly unfettered yearning. Her tongue shoots up past my lips, and a marvelous weakness overtakes me for a second―I don’t know if it’s the continued intoxication from fruity drinks or a new kind of extreme pseudo-honeymoon passion I’m feeling, but I’m happy to take it either way.

  After we let the kiss evolve and fade naturally, I relish the sensation of Madeline’s hands traveling over my backside, working their way lower and lower as her verdant eyes pierce through me. I slowly caress the small of her back, getting a sense of the very top of the curvature of her ass.

  Since I’ve mostly been focused on her eyes during our drinking sessions/dates, another wave of inebriated, lust-drunk elation passes through me as I squeeze her superbly well-rounded ass.

  I sense the strong turn from passion-drunk to passion-driven as the elevator door opens.

  The thrill of Madeline holding my arm softly and leading me across the warm sands of the beach was like a small but unflagging flame.

  Madeline digging into my forearm with vicelike intensity and dragging me down the hall is like the unstoppable, explosive advent of a brand-fucking-new universe.

  I don’t see an end in sight, not one within human comprehension. This is all I know, and all I want to know, really.

  “Do you know where the door is?” I ask to keep myself grounded in the moment.

  “I can tell!”

  Her voice rings through like a snarky, angelic siren-song, one that could lull me to shipwreck any goddamn time it wanted. In this unexpected moment, as time is in turn slowing down with anticipated ecstasy and speeding up along with my pulse, it’s leading a stumbling path, along with me, down the carpeted hotel hallway.

  We’re reeling along in tandem by the time we reach the main door.

  “I hope you have a card or something.”

  I take in Madeline’s eyes, sparkling with laughter at her own half-formed joke, for another tiny moment as I fumble for the keycard in my wallet.

  “I wouldn’t lose the key to my happiness.”

  With that I find the magnetic card and hold it up in triumph.

  “My happiness, too, I hope.”

  “I am a mutual kind of guy,” I say with a smirk.

  Madeline’s expression is suddenly oozing enough smoky sultriness to ignite the whole damn hallway. It’s enough to nearly turn me into a useless pile of jelly, and I turn away to at least finish the task at hand of opening the door.

  Madeline lightly leans up against my arm while I insert the card into the top of the lock. The sensation of the outline of her perfectly-formed tits, just the front of them, radiates from my arm throughout my being as I watch the light on the door turn green.

  I don’t want to waste another fucking second, so I turn to Madeline while opening the door. She keeps leaning into me, even after I move my arm to wrap it around her, so her tits are pressing hard against me as we dissolve into another zealous kiss.

  Our innocently tipsy stumbling down the hall has transformed into a dance of ravenous passion into the suite. Our lips stay decisively locked, our arms remain tightly folded around each other as we spin in jagged circles across the floor.

  Say what you will about instinct because even in our blind staggering, we end up right outside the door from the living room to the bedroom when we finally pull away from each other for a breath.

  Madeline looks up and contemplates me for a hot moment, but the calm interlude ends as her hands begin drifting up and down my ass, migrating slowly around to the front of my pants.

  I’ve got both cheeks of her ass resolutely in my grip, luxuriating in the feel of them in my palms.

  Then we stop entirely to look at each other in silent bliss once more, to take a breath before diving head first into the deep end.

  “I hope the suite is everything you were hoping for,” I quip.

  Madeline takes a quick glance around.

  “It’s not bad so far. Lots of promise. Let’s see how things go.”

  Staying in sync, we entwine ourselves into an even hungrier kiss, our tongues getting down to business as we teeter through the bedroom.

  Standing by the bed, we stop for another breath. My cock is bulging, throbbing, straining against the meager fabric that makes up the front of my pants. Usually, my plan at this point would be to make sure that Madeline gets off at least once, maybe several times, before we resume.

  But Madeline continues to buck trends by slowly sinking to her knees, her hands softly running down the sides of my shirt until she grabs hold of my belt.

  Madeline fixes her bright green stare at me as she moves both hands towards my belt buckle at a fucking glacial pace. As much as I’m looking forward to that moment―so soon yet so far―when my cock gets the chance to bust out of its cotton confinement, I’m mainly thinking about how I’m going to throw every fiber of my being into giving Madeline the best fucking night of her life.

  I close my eyes, taking in the tactile rushes of pleasure from Madeline’s fingers exploring my rock-hard cock through my pants leg.

  Ready to move on to the best parts of the evening, I hasten things just a touch by undoing my own belt buckle.

  Still in sync, Madeline immediately yanks my pants and boxer briefs to the floor.

  It takes about half a second for Madeline to register my throbbing cock, pointing straight up at the ceiling, but I hear a delighted squeak escape her inviting lips as she gets her first glimpse of the sizable underside of my shaft.

  I move the process along again, only slightly, by pushing my cock down from its upstanding position so it’s facing Madeline.

  The grin that grows on her face as she watches makes me feel hotter than I already am, which in turn makes me feel like I’m about to fucking spontaneously combust, but I keep things calm by focusing on Madeline, watching her let her hair down and toss it mildly―the soft, blond strands brushing up against my thighs and my dick.

  It’s a fucking amazing feeling, and it’s a good thing I have such excellent self-control, because otherwise I would be coming real fucking hard right fucking now. Instead, I close my eyes again and inhale deeply while Madeline runs her tongue methodically up the entire length of my cock.

  I’m used to ensuring that my partner has had a surfeit of pleasure before getting into stuff like this, but this early in the night, I’m already unable to hold back a low moan.

  I try to keep my breathing slow while Madeline moves her tongue around the thickness of my hard-on. By the time I feel her taking my cock inside her mouth, deep into her throat with ease and confidence, I swear that the whole fucking world begins to shake.

  I grasp two handfuls of Madeline’s golden hair as she moves her head up and down at an ever-increasing pace.

  Fuck.

  My eyes roll up to the ceiling, and I let out another moan, low in pitch but fucking loud.

  Luckily, Madeline slows down and lets my cock pop out of her mouth entirely before I start to get too close to coming.

  There’ll be time for that later. This is a night I want to savor.

  And right now, it’s Madeline’s turn.

  Ethan

  Madeline pulls her hair back with her left hand, looking at the wall with a smile. It’s just now that I notice she’s reaching into her skirt from behind with her right hand. From the looks of it, she’s caressing her own pussy gently, maybe not fully consciously.

  At this point, she’s all about maximizing the moment.

  But I can make it so much better for her.

  Madeline’s still on her knees as I drop to the floor, on my own knees, so we’re at something approaching eye level with each other.

  I’m trying to think of some clever banter. Usually this shit comes to me so naturally, but now I’m mentally running through all the possibilities as fa
st as I can.

  Should I go funny? Sincere? Seductive? All the above and then some?

  My train of thought is derailed in the best fucking way possible: with another greedy kiss. Again, we both just seem to be in agreement that it’s time for that to happen.

  This time, instead of stumbling around the room while making use of our tongues, we collapse onto the floor fully, with Madeline on top of me as we kiss, and the silky fabric of her skirt rubs in slow, exhilarating ways against my exposed, unyieldingly stiff cock.

  Before ending the kiss, we roll over so Madeline’s below me.

  “Your turn now,” I half whisper just after the kiss ends.

  “Already? This suite is great, after all.”

  “If you think it’s great now, just you wait. This suite’s about to get fucking mind-blowing.”

  I don’t wait for Madeline’s reaction. I just begin sliding down the floor, moving down her body until I’m looking right at the print of her skirt.

  I start moving the skirt up Madeline’s never-ending legs. This time she helps move the process along by grabbing and lowering her panties past her knees.

  And then she just rips off her fucking skirt in one fluid movement and throws it across the room.

  Jesus Christ. Just when I was thinking I couldn’t be any more fucking turned on.

  My hand makes its way straight to Madeline’s cunt with gentle deliberateness. I move my fingers smoothly up and down her left inner thigh, getting closer to her pussy each time but not quite arriving. Teasing. Driving her wild.

  I do the same with her right inner thigh, and Madeline’s already beginning to writhe softly on the carpet, her breath picking up pace.

  This time I don’t just keep it a tease, I touch her pussy for the first time, although this first time it’s especially subtle and brief, creating another sort of tease.

  “Don’t stop,” Madeline demands quietly between breaths. And I don’t.

  I start stroking Madeline’s pussy lips with the lightest touch I can muster. I continue for a few seconds as Madeline’s breath starts to come in shallow gasps.