Chapter 10: Vacation Tease

The resort lobby smelled of sunscreen and salt air when we finally checked in after the long drive. Dad stood at the counter joking with the clerk about ocean views while Lauren pressed close to my side, her sundress brushing my thigh. The mix-up hit like a gift we didn’t deserve: one king suite for “the kids” because the single rooms were overbooked for some conference, Dad reassigned to a smaller unit two doors down for his work calls. He laughed it off, slapping my shoulder. “Guess you two get the fancy bed. Don’t stay up too late gaming.” Lauren’s fingers grazed mine behind his back, a secret spark that sent heat straight to my groin.

The elevator ride up felt endless. Dad’s room was first; he waved goodnight with a yawn, door clicking shut. Ours was at the end of the hall—wide balcony overlooking the waves, king bed dominating the space like an invitation. The moment the lock clicked, Lauren turned, dark hair loose and wild from the car ride, eyes gleaming. “One bed, Alex. Dad right next door. We’re really doing this.”

We pretended normal at first. Unpacked, showered separately—me rinsing travel dust while she hummed in the bathroom. But the thin wall carried every sound: Dad’s low snores starting early. Lauren slipped into bed in a thin tank and panties, pressing her back to my chest under the sheets. “Just sleep,” she whispered, but her hips rolled slow against me, ass nestling my growing length. I slid inside her raw, one careful push that made her bite the pillow to stay quiet. We rocked like that for an hour—tiny movements syncing with the waves outside, her walls fluttering around me while Dad’s snores rumbled through the wall. She came first, body tensing in silence, then pulled off and rolled me onto my back, straddling to finish me with her mouth, swallowing every drop before curling against me. “Night one,” she breathed against my neck. “Tomorrow we get bolder.”

Day two started innocent enough: beach towels, umbrellas, Dad buried in his phone. Lauren wore a bikini that hugged her curves, skin already glowing from sunblock. At lunch on the resort deck she slipped her phone under the table. “App’s ready,” she texted. The remote egg was already nestled inside her, slick from earlier teasing in our room. I tapped low while Dad rambled about work emails. Her fork paused mid-salad; thighs pressed together, cheeks flushing rose. “Pass the water, honey?” she asked Dad, voice steady but breath shallow. I bumped it higher during his golf story. She came right there—silent clench, hand gripping my knee under the cloth, waves crashing below to cover her tiny gasp. Dad noticed nothing but “You’re flushed from the sun, Lauren.” She excused herself to the restroom; I followed thirty seconds later for a frantic kiss against the stall wall, her taste still on my tongue.