Chapter 8 Beneath the Stars, Between the Lines

I stood in my Kirkland kitchen, phone in hand, heart thudding harder than it should’ve. Six months since that alley—six months of Coco turning my world upside down—and I was falling hard, deeper than I’d ever planned. This wasn’t just lust anymore; it was something bigger, and I wanted to make it special.

I dialed her number, and her voice purred through, teasing as always. “Ginger, you miss me already?”

I grinned, gripping the counter. “Every damn day. Ever been to the Mediterranean?”

“The Mediterranean?” She paused, just a second too long. I could almost see her blinking—caught off guard. Then came her smirk. “No, but I’m guessing you’re about to fix that. What’s the play?”

“Six-month anniversary,” I said, voice softening. “I’m falling for you, Coco—hard. Rented a yacht near Santorini. Wanna sail with me next week? Just us, the sea, the stars.”

Her laugh was warm, but the edge had softened. “A yacht? Ginger, you’re pulling out all the stops.”

Another breath. Then: “I’m in—when do we jet off?”

“Monday,” I said. “Business class again—fold-down seats, champagne—just like last time. Pack that bikini—you’re mine for a week.”

“Done,” she purred. “See you at the gate.”

Monday night, we boarded the overnight flight from SeaTac to Athens, settling into the plush business-class cabin—wide seats, privacy screens, fold-down beds. Coco was a vision in a tight tank and skirt, her silver-threaded mane loose, her tanned skin begging to be touched. The crew poured champagne as we climbed, and I clinked my flute to hers.

“To six months—and you driving me crazy.”

“To us,” she winked, sipping fast, the bubbles loosening her grin. “Better than Paris, huh? What’s my anniversary treat this time?”

I smirked, the fizz hitting me warm and quick. “Keep sipping, and you’ll find out.”

As we settled in, I reached into my carry-on and handed her a tiny box. A silver compass pendant, delicate, simple.

“So you never get lost,” I said.

Her fingers brushed mine as she took it. She blinked, visibly moved—but something in her jaw twitched, just for a second, like this kind of gesture didn’t come easy. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, slipping it into her bag.

The cabin dimmed after takeoff and dinner, passengers folding seats into beds, the hum of engines lulling them to sleep. Coco’s eyes glinted, daring me like always.

“Everyone’s out,” she whispered, spreading her legs under the blanket. “Your move, captain.”

I didn’t hesitate. I slid down, ducking under the blanket, her skirt already hiked up—no panties, just her pussy waiting, pink and glowing faintly in the dim light. Soft, curly pubes framed her slit, lips swollen and glistening, her stiff clit poking out like a tiny, hard pearl. I inhaled her—musky, sweet, a hint of salt like the sea we were chasing—and dove in, my tongue lapping her folds. She tasted like honeyed wine, rich and tangy, her slickness coating my lips as I sucked her clit, rigid and pulsing against my tongue.

“Fuck, Ginger,” she hissed, barely audible, her thighs trembling around my head. I worked her slow, savoring every drip, her juices flooding my mouth as I flicked that stiff nub, relentless. She came with a soft “oh oh,” a gush soaking my chin, and I lapped it up, drunk on her.

I surfaced, wiping my face, her dazed grin meeting mine. “Quiet enough?” I rasped, cock throbbing.

“Barely,” she panted, pulling me up. “You’re too good at that.”