Chapter 5: Last Night of Freedom

The door clicked shut behind me and the room swallowed the last traces of ocean breeze, leaving only the heavy thud of my heart and the damp cling of the emerald bikini still plastered to my skin. I stood there in the dim lamplight, fingers pressed to my lips where his stubble had scraped a faint burn, the memory of his tongue sliding against mine still electric on my tongue. My other hand drifted lower without permission, slipping beneath the soaked bottoms to find the evidence of what we’d done in the waves—hot, slippery, undeniable. I was drenched from more than seawater. The grind against his hardness had left me swollen and aching, every tiny shift sending fresh sparks through my core.

I shouldn’t go back tomorrow. The thought hit hard, a desperate attempt at sense. This trip was supposed to mend the fracture he’d left in me, not chase some bartender with a smile that promised trouble. Vacation hormones, that’s all it was. A rebound itch. I’d come here to heal, not to spread my legs for a stranger whose bungalow sat two hundred meters down the sand like a trap waiting to spring. Yet even as the lecture ran through my head my nipples stayed tight, scraping the wet fabric with every breath, and the insistent pull between my thighs refused to fade. My body had already cast its vote.

The day stretched long and restless. I skipped the beach chair entirely, pacing the small room instead, bare feet padding across cool tile while I tried to lose myself in the novel I’d brought. Every page seemed to mock me—strong hands pinning wrists, rough voices murmuring filthy things against flushed skin. I tossed the book aside and paced faster, the memory of his palms on my waist in the surf looping on repeat. Rough hands. Strong arms. The way he’d held me steady while the water tried to knock us over. I couldn’t sit still.

The shower was my next mistake. I cranked the handle to cold, hoping the shock would settle the fire under my skin. Water needled my shoulders and streamed down the full swell of my breasts, tightening the peaks until they ached. I leaned back against the cool tile, eyes closed, and let my hand slide lower. One slow glide over my clit, then another, circling with deliberate laziness while I pictured his mouth there instead—hot, insistent, tongue flattening and dragging until I shook. Two fingers dipped inside, velvet heat welcoming them with a soft, wet sound that echoed off the walls. I curled them, stroking that sensitive ridge, hips rocking in tiny helpless motions. Pleasure coiled tight and fast. A low moan slipped out, bouncing around the small bathroom. I was right there, trembling on the edge, when I forced my hand away.