Finding Carolina's
Copyright© 2026 by duncan idaho
Chapter 3: Exploring Each Other’s Bodies
The door clicked shut behind me, and the sound of the bar vanished. Just the hum of the fan, the soft light through the curtain, and Adrianna standing between me and the bed.
She didn’t rush. Her fingers found the hem of her gold top, and she lifted it slowly, deliberately, letting the fabric slide up over her stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breasts. The top caught on her shoulders for a moment, and she shrugged it free, letting it fall to the floor.
My breath caught. She stood before me, bare from the waist up, her skin golden in the dim light. Her breasts were full, heavy, the nipples already dark and tightened against the cool air of the fan. The gold chain at her throat caught the light as she moved.
“Your turn,” she said.
My hands found the buttons of my linen shirt. I worked them open one by one, slower than necessary, letting her watch. The fabric parted, and I shrugged it off, letting it drop onto the chair by the door.
Her eyes traveled down my chest, my stomach, pausing at the waistband of my shorts.
She stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
“You’re built,” she said, her voice low. “You work out?”
“I run. Lift when I can.”
“It shows.” Her hand came up, her fingers tracing the line of my collarbone, then down the center of my chest, following the trail of hair that disappeared into my shorts. Her touch was light, exploratory, like she was memorizing the geography of my body.
I reached for her. My hand found the curve of her waist, fingers splaying across her hip. The skin was warm, smooth, and I pulled her closer, feeling her belly press against mine.
Her hand stopped its journey, resting flat against my chest.
My other hand came up, cupping the side of her neck, my thumb brushing along her jaw.
She tilted her head, her lips parting slightly. I kissed her. Soft at first. Just the press of mouth against mouth. Her lips were warm, tasted of rum and something sweet. She responded in kind, her hand sliding up to my shoulder, her fingers curling into my skin.
The kiss deepened. Her mouth opened under mine, and her tongue touched my lower lip, tentative, then bolder.
I pulled her tighter, my hand sliding from her waist up her back, the skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat. My fingers found the clasp of her skirt. I hesitated, my lips still on hers, and she answered by reaching down and unhooking it herself.
The skirt fell, pooling at her feet. Now she stood in just a tiny pair of black underwear, her thighs bare, the curve of her hips leading down to that dark triangle of fabric.
My shorts were suddenly too tight.
She stepped back, just enough to look at me. Her eyes traveled down my body again, and she smiled, a real smile, shy and knowing at the same time.
“You’re staring again,” she said.
“Can you blame me?”
She laughed, soft and breathy. Then she reached for the waistband of my shorts. I let her.
She worked the button free, pulled the zipper down, and pushed the shorts over my hips. They dropped, and I stepped out of them, standing in just my boxers. The bulge was obvious, pressing against the fabric, and her eyes fixed on it.
“Good,” she said, almost to herself.
My hands found her waist again, and I guided her backward toward the bed. The backs of her knees hit the edge, and she sat, then lay back, pulling me with her.
I followed, my body covering hers, my weight on my forearms as I looked down at her. Her hair spread across the white pillow. Her chest rose and fell faster now, the nipples hard peaks against the soft curves. Her thighs parted slightly, making room for me.
I kissed her again. Slower this time. My lips traced from her mouth to her jaw, down the column of her throat.
She arched her neck, giving me access, and I pressed my mouth to the hollow where her pulse beat fast against the skin. A small sound escaped her. Not quite a gasp, not quite a moan. Something in between, raw and honest.
My hand moved down her side, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hip, the smooth skin of her thigh. Her skin was hot beneath my palm, and when my fingers brushed the edge of her underwear, she shifted, lifting her hips slightly.
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