by Gage Grayson
“It’s getting dark.” Madeline looks upward briefly. It means she’s going back to her room now, her world.
I’ll say it: I’m blown the fuck away by Madeline. I barely know her, but every moment with her is filled with an electric fun and excitement that I never felt with Audra—or anyone.
But it’s a lesson, I guess. I’ll be newly single when I get home from my honeymoon, and I’ll go out all the time like I used to and meet loads of women, and eventually I’ll find someone else who makes me feel the same way.
Or not. I don’t fucking know. Or fucking care right now.
I’m actually completely content in the moment, something that’s become pretty fucking rare for me if I’m being honest. As Madeline and I walk back to the hotel, I’m thinking about ordering room service, or maybe just a trip to the fucking vending machine.
“I’m getting hungry.” Madeline’s clarion voice slices through my thoughts. “How about you?”
“Uloji it is, then.” The words come out without me even thinking them. Good, it’s about time my instincts showed up again.
“You’re joking. I’m not a millionaire.” She gives me this side-eye glance. “Are you?”
I give her a sly grin. “I didn’t throw my fucking wallet in the water. And you can’t stay here without experiencing the Michelin star restaurant onsite.”
“Uloji has two Michelin stars, actually.”
Madeline is looking downward, almost like she’s embarrassed to know that.
“Really? Since you know more about it than I do, and definitely more than most of the oblivious rubes who are probably eating there now, I’d like to right that cosmic wrong by treating you to dinner, drinks, dessert, and whatever the hell else you want.”
“The people eating at Uloji are rubes?”
“One thing I’ve learned in my line of work is that money can’t buy taste or intelligence.”
Madeline eyes the hotel.
“I need to just run, literally, to the lobby restroom first. Like, really.”
Madeline bolts into the building, and I take the time to just fucking enjoy the moment yet again. Jesus, have I been so caught up in work for so long that I’ve forgotten how to appreciate just being?
Not ten minutes later, we’re about to walk into the Uloji entrance. Madeline looks down at her clothes, realization dawning.
“Isn’t there a dress code? And don’t we need reservations?”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“They’re gonna kick us out, and I’m honestly fucking starving.”
“I’ll go in and check. That way I can spare you the embarrassment, at least.”
“Okay, hurry up.”
I walk swiftly, using sleight of hand to retrieve a few bills from my wallet on the way in.
Madeline’s hugging herself slightly in the cooling dusk air when I get back outside a minute later.
“I thought you knew a lot about this place.” I do my best not to smile.
“What does that mean? I’m the one who said we needed res—”
“Let’s go. They’re ready to seat us.”
I hold in my laughter while watching the look of pure skepticism on Madeline’s face as we walk in.
“Right this way.” The maître d gestures for us to follow, and I finally let out bellow of laughter as Madeline’s eyes widen with happy shock.
Maybe it’s a slow night at Uloji, maybe it’s my doubling of the maître d’s weekly paycheck, but in no time flat, we’re seated by a massive picture window and served an amuse-bouche of caviar and yellowfin ahi with horseradish vodka sauce.
“It sounds weird, but it’s really fucking good.” Madeline’s opining with her mouth full of ahi and her eyes on the sunset out the window.
“Ahi sounds weird?” I ask while spooning caviar onto a water cracker.
“No! I mean horseradish vodka sauce. No reason it should be weird, though.”
“You should have some caviar.”
Madeline shakes her head while taking another bite.
“I’ve had too many strong flavors. It’ll just be a waste.”
Madeline readily finishes the plate while the waiter quietly stops at our table and opens a bottle of Veuve Cliquot Yellow Label champagne. The back-waiter swoops in and collects the empty ahi plate as soon as Madeline finishes.
“You’ve got some ninjas working here,” marvels Madeline.
“Ah, we want to be sure there’s room for your next course.” The waiter’s genuinely enjoying himself.
“The mochi crusted monchong?” Madeline’s wide-eyed, so elated it’s like she’s asking if it’s for real.
“But of course,” the waiter says while filling her glass.
“And the Keahole lobster?”
“As you wish, madam.”
Madeline gives the waiter a little toast with her glass.
“My favorite words.” Madeline takes a liberal swig of champagne.
“I’ll just have the scallops.” I didn’t even look at the menu, but the waiter nods knowingly and leaves.
I reach for the caviar spoon, but Madeline grabs it first and helps herself to a large scoop, eating it right off the spoon.
“What happened to the strong flavors?”
“I don’t know when I’m gonna get this chance again,” Madeline answers with her mouth full. “They don’t serve this stuff in economy.”
“Is it a long flight home for you?”
Madeline takes another smaller spoonful and licks it off. She then takes a slow sip of champagne and flashes a sly, flirty smile that could bring the whole fucking Pacific to a rolling boil.
“Depends on the tailwinds. I don’t mind if it gets long.”
Suddenly, all I can think about is what happened in my suite last night.
I try to calm myself by gulping down more expensive champagne and caviar. The set of plates come out as the sunset is ending. I don’t know what’s in my fried scallop dish exactly, but it’s so good that I almost forget about how fucking hot Madeline looks, even without makeup or a fancy dress.
We end up splitting the lobster, and the meal is somewhat quiet.
“How much longer are you in Hawaii?” I finally ask.
Madeline just shrugs while finishing her monchong.
“Little while.”
“Okay...well, I’ve been having a blast. I’ll be honest, Madeline. It’s because of you.”
Madeline pours the last of the champagne bottle in her glass.
“Cool. I like blasts.”
I slide my chair around so I’m sitting closer to Madeline.
“Hey, I know we haven’t been talking seriously, but this won’t take long, I promise.”
Madeline chuckles a little.
“What’s on your mind, friend?” Madeline laughs again, this time at her own silliness.
“Pretty soon I’m going home, and you’re going back to your life, wherever that is...”
“I’m going back to wherever that is, true.”
Maybe Madeline’s getting extra jokey to avoid talking about this, maybe she wants it to be serious.
“All I’ll say is, the way things are for me right now, it would be a colossal mistake to jump into anything serious.”
“I appreciate your candor, but I harbor no illusions about this. When you go back to wherever-it-is, and I go back to wherever-that-is, it’ll be over—just like that sunset. It’s been nice, though, Ethan.”
“Been nice?” Feeling relieved, I pull my chair in a little closer. Madeline’s blazing, sexy smile returns, and she begins running her fingers around the rim of her glass.
“It is nice, right now.”
Madeline’s brushing the edge of her sandal up and down my lower leg under the table, just barely touching it. I lean in a bit, wanting to see where this goes, and my hand reflexively ends up on Madeline’s chair.
Before I can react, I feel her grabbing my wrist and guiding my hand to her thigh.
“Did you leave room for dessert
?” I’m legit whispering, scanning the candlelit room with my eyes. There are a few people at distant tables, and soft music is playing, but I can’t even concentrate on giving a shit, not when I can feel the silkiness of Madeline’s leg, the tops of my fingers sensing the warmth underneath her skirt...
“I always do,” Madeline purrs, not too concerned with being discreet.
I sit straight up and look out the window, the exposed part of my arm staying still, but my hand is edging through the wonderland between Madeline’s thighs.
My cock’s already starting to stir, and after Madeline lets out a high-pitched squeaking noise, I need to take a deep breath to keep things from really getting…hard.
“What was that?” I inquire loudly, playing it off like we’re just a young, drunk couple having some fun in a fancy-ass restaurant on vacation.
“Maybe someone’ll say, ‘I’ll have what she’s having.’” Madeline’s breathing a bit heavy between words, and I’m reaching into her panties for a few light, teasing touches.
I withdraw my hand slowly, and I hear the waiter’s footsteps drawing close behind me. Madeline looks pleased—for now.
“Would the table care to continue with a cheese course? Or a dessert?”
I turn around to see the back-waiter wheeling a dessert cart toward us. I look at Madeline for her answer.
“We need to get going. Thanks. Someday I’ll be back, though, with my lottery winnings.” Madeline’s already standing up, ready to go.
I peel four fresh hundreds from my wallet and hand them folded to the waiter.
“Sorry if this is gauche, but we’re in a hurry. This is for the meal, champagne, and excellent service.”
“No worries at all, sir. Have a wonderful—”
I hand over another several c-notes.
“If you could have a sampling of desserts and cheeses sent to my room, that would be fantastic. You can just leave it outside. Ethan Barrett.”
Madeline and I practically run out of the restaurant door.
Ethan
The words “Sure thing, Mr. Barrett!” echo through the door behind us as we pretty much run toward the hotel.
My instinct is to go back to my suite, but I notice Madeline already stopping—then I notice she’s gaping at me incredulously.
“What are you, the fucking Monopoly man?”
“You mean Rich Uncle Pennybags?”
“Uh, yeah, exactly.”
“No, I just believe in tipping generously, and I sometimes like to wear a top hat, although I don’t know how you’d know about that part.”
“Do you own this resort, along with some railroads?”
“Not quite.”
Apparently, we can’t even wait until we’re ten yards away from Uloji. Madeline’s got a firm grasp of my left wrist, and she’s steering it toward her thigh, hoping for a continuation of what we started in the restaurant.
I’m caressing her ass through the thin fabric of her skirt with my right hand. Madeline lets go of my wrist and digs her fingers into both my shoulders, pulling me down closer to her, and gives my earlobe a healthy little bite as I squeeze her ass.
If most of today’s small, modest kisses were like mild tremors, barely registering on the Richter Scale, the way we swiftly begin devouring each other is like the Big One—an apocalyptic, off-the-charts quake that carries the weight of the day’s built-up passion with an underlying ferocity that seems to be taking us both by surprise.
Madeline’s holding my head in her vice-like grip, drawing my face to hers as her tongue glides around with mine. It’s like she’s feeding off the collective desire of both of us, and the sparks feed back into my own limitless well of yearning.
With my hands free, I further explore the majestic form of Madeline’s ass, then her tits, as we remain sealed in our frenzied kiss.
I could be overloaded by taking in all the unapparelled features of Madeline at once—her plump lips, her skillful tongue, her faultlessly curvaceous tits and ass—but my focus only grows. I thought my longing reached its summit when we left the restaurant, but my thirst for Madeline, my driving need to give her immense pleasure, to share pleasure with her, keeps building on itself, making me feel on fire as our kiss dwindles.
We pull away from each other a fraction, less than an inch. Madeline moves her hands glacially around my waist, with the clear intention of undoing them at a pace that she sees fit. I brush a few stray hairs away from Madeline’s neck with my hand, and I slowly land my lips on that same spot of her neck.
As I let the kiss endure and move my lips up and down ever so slightly, Madeline emits a sexy as fuck little “ooh” sound, letting me know I’m on the right track. She also starts grinding against the front of my slacks with a teasing slowness, so I’m certainly on a good path, but this path is about to go further.
I move an inch over on Madeline’s neck, closer to her shoulder, and place my lips down on her again. She emits another “ooh,” a bit higher in register, but we’re not there yet. I move once more, around toward the nape of her neck, and nip at her with a little more vigor.
“Oooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”
The change in vowel sounds means that I’ve finally arrived where I was headed, and I celebrate the moment by giving the spot a few quick flicks with the tip of my tongue.
A deep, primal groan vibrates through Madeline. The sound is startling, and I can feel its power as I run the tip of my tongue up and down the magic spot.
I stop just short of letting Madeline’s coursing pleasure reach its conclusion, and we both take another small step backward into reality, staying swaddled in each other’s arms.
Our timing couldn’t be better, as the front door of Uloji chooses that moment to swing open loudly. As Mad—I’m trying that one out—and I turn to the door, we probably look like a couple scared, guilty teenagers.
An older lady, wrapped up in Burberry outerwear that looks way too warm for the weather, steps out with dignity, followed by a man in his early seventies—probably her husband—decked out in what looks like a Brunello Cucinelli dinner suit and a driving cap.
The man tilts his cap to us in greeting as the couple passes by, and I watch in as they continue to stroll at their stately pace toward the hotel.
“Should we sprint past them?”
I snap back around to the playful sound of Madeline’s voice and absorb the sight of her eyes shining with their usual laughter. I don’t know if she’s amused at that idea or keyed up by the notion of finding a spot less obvious than the honeymoon suite to quench our well of want.
Because I sure as fuck am.
I point up to the sky.
“No need for that, Mad. We’ve got the Milky Way right above us, and the beach just seems to keep calling our names.”
“Did you just fucking call me Mad? That’s no way to earn your clothes back, mister.”
A sort-of-run is great for, say, leaving a Michelin star restaurant in a hurry, but a voyage to the pleasures of the island coastline calls for something a bit fucking quicker. I don’t know what it looks like from the outside, and I don’t care, but the pace that Madeline and I take to the beach sands feels like a damn hundred-yard Olympic dash-style sprint, if there ever was one.
The feeling of fucking tearing across the sand and watching the ocean approach rapidly with a stomach full of pricy seafood and champagne is not as bad as you’d think. Although the feeling of Madeline’s hand hungrily gripping mine and my growing desire at the thought of making her come like crazy under the star-filled sky might be softening the blow a bit.
We slow down as we near the quiet, remote section of the beach, far enough from the main resort buildings, roads, and parking lots that it’s like we’re on a desolate desert island—the only two people around for hundreds or thousands of miles.
“I remember this,” discloses Madeline as she scopes out the scenery.
“I don’t.”
That small wood building, with its weird mid-beach location, catches my
eyes.
“Let’s take a jog,” I pronounce loudly as I start trotting to the structure.
“The fuck’s this now?”
Madeline’s muttering and a bit peeved, but she follows me and is easily caught up with me by the time I throw open the unlocked door.
Stepping inside, we’re immediately enveloped by the fragrance of industrial-strength laundry detergent. It’s dark, but Mad—I’ll try it one more time—somehow finds the switch and turns on the harsh, overhead fluorescents almost immediately.
We’re suddenly in a forest of clean, white beach towels. Towels are piled up in large bins, folded in stacks on top of washing machines, lying in rumpled heaps on shelves and some just sitting on the ground.
“This seems private, and...clean, I guess,” Madeline notes.
“We can’t see the Milky Way, though,” I respond, pointing at the ceiling. Mad delightfully looks up, as if to make sure.
“You’re right. Lets’ go where it’s starry.”
I grab the nearest towel, and we sprint the fuck back out there, then down the beach a bit, then north toward the pier, ending up by an abandoned little patch of boardwalk that’s little more than a couple sturdy wood poles.
“Good spot for a picnic,” I state blankly while laying out the beach towel.
“You’re hungry again?”
Madeline’s question is hardly finished by the time we’re consumed with each other again, making out with wild fierceness, grasping at each other with a blind desire that overshadows everything.
The sand softens our fast, mad fall onto the towel. We’re on our sides now, our lips still fastened tightly, our tongues tangling in a sort of savage ballet.
We stay like this for a span of time that falls somewhere between an instant and an eternity. All I know is that we gently fall out of it at one point, the waves still splashing softly against the sands and the dense tapestry of stars shining overhead.
Our shared intuition now stronger than ever, Madeline rolls smoothly onto her back as I move down to my favorite fucking position to be in life.
“This time, I go first,” I remark.
Madeline’s already grabbing handfuls of beach towel in preemptive pleasure while I undo her skirt’s only button.
