by L. V. Lewis
“That’s the plan,” I say, as I turn to look at the woman in question. She’s grinning hard at whatever George and Finn are saying, and I can only assume it’s good, if the surreptitious wink she gives me is any indication.
Twenty-Three
Velaa, The Maldives
DYLAN
It’s settled. If I were to die tonight, I would go to hell for this rendezvous I’ve orchestrated between my band mate and my wedding date in my bungalow today. Somehow, Dani has done what she came here to do. Within a week and a half she has thoroughly ingratiated herself with Finn to a degree that he is willing to piss off his current date by leaving her to her own devices during one of the events she was really stoked about attending.
I have no fucks to give about the fallout, because I have my own problems. I have just a few more days to totally win Alyssa over. The planned events for the vacation have been fun, but Eric is usually with her during those, and unlike me, she hasn’t clued him in to the fact that we’ve let the cat out of the bag about our date subterfuge. She told me that she’s given Eric her word that she would give him a chance to make their sham date a real one, so she feels obligated to allow him to shoot his shot.
I’m not particularly worried that he’ll be successful, but I’m slightly PO’d that he’s taking up time Alyssa and I could have together. We’ve even tried scheduling breakfast or lunch together a couple of times, but this island is so fucking small someone always butts in and alone time quickly became a group social event.
We are sailing around some of the other islands today, and I’m Chelsea’s chaperone for lack of a better term. Both Finn and Dani begged off, citing completely dissimilar excuses so they could hook up without so many eyeballs around to witness it.
Too late, I also notice that Alyssa isn’t here, but Eric is aboard, and he’s struck up another acting conversation with Chelsea, and I am completely indebted to him, because listening to Chelsea talk is like hearing nails screeching on a fucking chalkboard. I’m not surprised that Finn is opting to be with Dani for a change.
I’ve never seen Chelsea on screen, but I sincerely hope her onscreen presence isn’t as annoying as her off-screen presence. She becomes completely animated and almost cute when she’s talking to Eric, though, and if I were wearing my Mom’s matchmaker hat, I’d totally redistribute at least three of the couples here to make six people in this wedding party extremely happy. Immediately.
When Chelsea takes a powder room break, I finally get to talk to Eric.
“Hey Eric,” I say joining him near the prow where he and Chelsea were talking. I don’t offer any preamble or small talk. “Where’s Alyssa?”
“She gets horrible sea sickness on small vessels. You didn’t know that?” He seems to take inordinate pleasure in knowing something about her that I don’t know, but I don’t particularly give a flying fuck right now.
“Okay. That explains it.” I say. “We’ve been having such a good time together at the jam sessions, I thought for sure I’d see her on this cruise, but no big. I’ll see her tonight.”
Then I turn and walk away before he can respond. Asshat. If he hasn’t figured out in the almost two weeks we’ve been on this island that Alyssa is mine, he hasn’t been paying attention.
ALYSSA
Skipping out on the sailing excursion was one of the best decisions I’ve made on this trip, second only to signing a contract to sing lead for The Savages. Having some time alone to think totally cleared my mind to make some important decisions on the relationship front.
As much as I find Eric attractive we just don’t gel as a couple. Within a couple of weeks we’d be fighting like cat and dog, and I can only see the resentment growing from those repeated altercations until we’d hate each other’s guts.
Dylan, on the other hand, has done nothing but prove to me that he’s willing to go the extra mile to make things work between us again. He’s done everything he could to convince me in word and deed that he’s here for the long haul, and despite both of us trying to make the other jealous with other people, it hasn’t worked.
He almost single-handedly convinced the band to accept me, well, with my singing to seal the deal, of course. And since the fitting in LA he’s done nothing but bend over backwards to show me that he wants me. I think it’s high time I show him that I want him, and I plan to do just that when I see him tonight at Sky and Brody’s combined bachelorette/bachelor dinner party, which is more like the engagement party they never had, because practically everyone who’s going to be at the wedding will be there. Besides, we only have three days left here, and I think it’s high time I staked my claim before some other lucky girl does.
I put the finishing touches on my hair and emerge from the bathroom where Eric is waiting. For tonight’s theme, the men are wearing tropical shirts and khaki shorts, and the women are wearing sun dresses. This mandate is specifically for the wedding party, but others are welcomed to join in, and Eric unsurprisingly doesn’t look ridiculous in his theme-wear. Chelsea, for one, might actually appreciate his effort.
Eric whistles when he sees me, and while I appreciate his compliment I don’t have the energy to pretend anymore. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say. “But we don’t have an audience right now.”
“That’s true, but can’t a guy just appreciate the hotness of his date?”
“Yes, he can.” I pick up my Louis Vuitton wristlet, which contains my bungalow key, lip gloss, pressed powder, and cell phone. I face Eric squarely. “Thank you for taking this gig and supporting me here, but I don’t think we’ll continue once we leave here.”
His smile fades. “So, you’re getting back together with your ex?”
“We haven’t discussed it yet, but that is my hope, yes.”
Eric sneers. “I hope you don’t regret this move.”
“If I do, that won’t be any concern of yours. You’ve fulfilled your obligation to me for this occasion. That is all that’s important.”
He shakes his head, as if in disbelief. “You know what? You’re right. Thank you for including me in this lavish paid vacation.”
Eric doesn’t offer his arm as he has to all the other events we’ve attended together. We walk without touching to the party at the Aragu restaurant, neither of us interested in continuing the charade we came here to perpetrate. Sky and Brody’s dais is decorated with Bride and Groom emblazoned above their chairs with fresh flowers and lights strung behind them creating a heart. Their seats are empty, and I don’t see them in the crowd with the other partygoers. There are also less elaborately decorated seats designated for the wedding party and their plus ones on either side of them. Ellie has certainly gotten their money’s worth out of the Velaa Resort for this wedding vacation.
Eric and I find our seats and I drop my wristlet onto mine and head for the bar. I need a stress-relieving or celebratory drink, I’m not sure which, just yet. The crowd has swelled to include other wedding guests, but even so the total number of attendees is just shy of one hundred people. Sky’s parents manage to keep a respectable distance from one another even though her father has an entourage including his current wife and other extended family members with him. Elaine is here essentially alone, unless you count her feckless date among her number.
I’ve been so good about not drinking past my limit on this vacation I haven’t had anything but a social glass of wine or champagne since I’ve been here. Tonight, I deserve a shot or two of tequila. Erring on the side of caution, I begin mildly enough with one shot, which I chase with a frozen margarita, my mixed drink of choice.
When I take my first refreshing sip, I turn back toward our seats to find that Eric is already engaged with who else? Chelsea. Not desiring to be a third wheel in that conversation I make my way through a sea of varying hues of flowered shirts and pastel colored sun dresses trying to find my favorite dirty blond among them. Dylan, Finn and George are posted up near the dee-jay, nursing drinks of their own. They razz me as I make my way toward th
em.
“Speaking of new blood—” Finn says.
George looks around as if he doesn’t see me. “Who? Where?”
“If it’s not the front woman herself—” Dylan says.
I rush them pretending I’m about to tackle them which is no mean feat with a frozen margarita in my hand.
They throw up their hands as if in surrender, and I pull up short and wave them off. “You guys are wusses.”
“Yeah, but we’re your wusses now,” George says.
“True. True. I might need a few minutes to get used to it, though.” I say.
“When we’re back in LA writing songs together we’ll drive you crazy enough to get used to it real quick,” Finn says.
“Right. As will I; I’m sure. Just ask Dylan.”
Dylan raises one hand in pledge. “I plead the fifth.”
“Bros before—” Finn begins, and I cut him off.
“If you complete that sentence, you can forget us being friends,” I say.
“How about bandmates before dates?” George says.
“Now that’s a slogan I can get behind.” I say. My eyes are drawn to Dylan who is smiling at our repartee. “Can I have a word with you?”
“Right now?” He asks, either in clarification, or because it’s shocked the shit out of him that I’m even asking.
I look around to see if Sky and Brody have arrived. They haven’t. “Might as well.” I shrug. “The couple of honor isn’t here yet.”
“Hey, what gives?” Finn says.
“You already showing favoritism?” George chimes in, too.
“Listen, Dylan and I have history, and after our chat, we might have a future. Do you guys really want to hear what I have to say to him right now?”
Dylan takes my hand and immediately begins pulling me away from them. “Drummers before strummers. Go find your own dates, dudes.” Then he grins at Finn. “Or not.”
They give Dylan and me grief until we’re out of earshot, and out the door.
I gather my thoughts as we walk and I’m certain Dylan is doing the same, but he doesn’t let my hand go. It feels so right for us to be together like this after such a long time. I’m not even sure words will do this moment justice. Yet, there are things that need to be said.
When we can no longer see the restaurant, and we’re approaching one of the beach villas that has no light coming from the windows, we stop in a sandy area almost surrounded by palm trees, and we walk inside, away from prying eyes. There is a pavilion with a lounger inside, which I’m sure is attached to the residence, but the area is currently not occupied and should be private enough for us to talk in the moonlight, since everyone is currently at the party.
Dylan takes a cue from me and sits next to me only after I’ve swallowed the last of my margarita and taken a seat on the lounger. I know there are words I need to say, and probably words he wants to say, but right now feeling trumps everything, and I lean in and kiss him. I don’t have to encourage him to kiss me back, and soon we’re lying down on the lounger, our bodies entwined, straining to get as close as we can.
When we’ve kissed so long, we’re unable to stand it, we find a way to expose the pertinent parts of our bodies and we join as one for the first time in a year, not bothering with protection or making any declarations about our medical statuses. I trust that Dylan’s been living like a monk, and I’ve certainly not been with anyone since him.
Clearly, I’ve taken leave of my senses, though. I’ve never had unprotected sex in my entire life. Jacob raised me to view every man I sleep with as someone who might turn out like him, particularly his non-salient qualities. At the very least, I should most certainly view any sexual partner as someone I might have to either co-parent with or be saddled with a whole other person to raise on my own without. The prospect of either situation has made me so deeply paranoid, that no cock, however glorious, has touched me without protection even though I am on the pill. But here I am allowing Dylan to slip inside me like we are both naive virgins whose genitalia has never hosted another’s.
“Fuck,” I rasp, clenching my muscles around him while he simultaneously groans deep in his throat indicating that it feels as amazing to him as it does to me.
It takes us both a few seconds to remember to move, and Dylan grasps my hips, as I grab his ass, gasping as he slips in deeper. The lounger is sandy, and the rough surface will likely bruise my skin. Sand will invariably end up in some weird places, but neither of us has any fucks to give as we proceed.
We move slowly, shifting our hips to avoid bruising me mercilessly on the unforgiving surface of the lounger. I don’t care about the bruising so much as experiencing the mind-blowing sex I know Dylan is fully capable of providing, so I don’t mind a little discoloration or discomfort later. Right now I just want him so badly I’ll take him sand and all.
As he thrusts into me, he kisses my lips, my neck, my shoulders, my breasts, before meandering back to my lips. He covers my mouth with his as if he is afraid I will open it to put a stop to our tequila-infused Maldivian tryst. He traces a path from my lips to my ear with his tongue and sucks my earlobe into his mouth and I liquefy.
He flexes within me, the wide head of his cock exerting an exquisite pressure against my g-spot, answering my reaction with one of his own. He rocks inside me with alacrity, ratcheting my arousal higher and higher, all while managing not to pound my body into the sandy lounger. The sheer muscular control that allows him to do this boggles my liquor-addled brain. But my thoughts don’t remain befuddled, I soon spiral out of control, shouting incoherently, shuddering and trembling as an orgasm of such force and magnitude rips through my body so thoroughly, I momentarily lose all senses except the sensations and feelings rolling through me.
Surprising me with his strength, Dylan rolls me above him and continues to thrust inside me. My core feels impossibly tight and sensitive in the wake of my orgasm, but nothing can convince me to not to allow this to come to completion. My incoherent babbling becomes sobs as he pumps into me with short staccato strokes.
At first I am tentative when we change positions, but soon I am rolling my hips again, riding incredible waves of pleasure until another climax hits me like a tidal wave. My nerve endings spark like a live wire as my body acclimates to my waning orgasm. I feel Dylan’s when it hits, too, and he groans again as his cock jerks so deep within me, I cry out his name. Thankfully no one is within hearing distance and the trees that surround us also are a natural barrier to the noise we’re making.
Dylan opens his eyes, searching mine, as he takes a few more lazy strokes. “Are you okay?”
My face becomes hot with embarrassment at my outburst. “I… um, yeah. It was just intense with no, um…protection.”
“Bareback?” he says finally stilling, almost regretfully. “That really was amazing, and I’m clean Alyssa.”
“So am I,” I say and bury my face in his neck.
The trepidation I suddenly begin to feel is not because I didn’t enjoy what just transpired between us, it is because we’ve gotten our freaks on without any conversation about anything. How uncouth of us.
Dylan kisses me before I can think another condemning thought, and all I can do in the interim, before we both come to our senses and go back to our best friends’ party, is to feel. Yet, I’ve gone into something resembling a catatonic state.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” The tenderness in his voice, in the way his hand caresses my cheek feels like a declaration.
“Yes,” I manage to say, although my pulse has ramped up to a speed I can’t categorize.
Despite his sweet concern for me after the act, I am okay. I am better than okay. I am just totally fucking in love with Dylan Castle. And I am totally freaked out about it.
We do our best to tidy up so it won’t be obvious that we’ve just been rolling around on a lounger together when we go back to the combined bachelor/bachelorette party. The segregated events were not enough for most of the couples, including the bri
de and groom, so they opted for us to party together rather than separately tonight.
Dylan holds my hand as we make our way back to the pier leading to the restaurant.
When we’re halfway there, he pulls me close, and kisses me again. “This isn’t a one-off, Alyssa. I want you back. Can we begin again? I know our contract will have us together as band mates, but I want more than that. I hope what just happened between us means you do, too.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it softly. At least he had the wherewithal to say the words I lost when our kisses made me too drunk with lust to talk.
“I want that, too,” I say, my eyes glazing with tears that I will myself not to shed. “Sorry it took me so long to realize that.”
He cups my cheeks with his hands. “You have nothing to be sorry for. That’s all on me.” Then he kisses me one final time in that all-consuming way he has. I stop at the ladies room while he goes back inside first, and I take my time using the attendant’s full repertoire of product to get myself back to my pre-fucked state. I just hope no one notices the slight difference in my makeup color scheme.
Since, Eric isn’t my real date, I don’t think he will be too disappointed when I tell him I’m going to ask Sky and Brody to let me room with Dylan for the duration of our stay, because he’s been quite happy to spend as much time with Chelsea as he can since they went sailing together. Finn and Dani have been operating on the down low within the group, but have been sneaking off on the regular since the end of the first week. I only noticed because Dylan told me what her true motivation was early on.
Since the party tonight is much bigger than those we’ve had before, I’m able to slip back among them as if I haven’t been gone for more than half an hour. As expected, I find Eric with Chelsea, and they are deep in conversation both nursing their drinks of choice.
“Hey, Eric?”
He turns to me and seems annoyed that I interrupted, then he schools his face into impassivity so quickly I might have imagined it, but I am not that gullible.