Broken Enagement

by Gage Grayson

  “You know it, Pennybags. You got a pretty nice fuckin’ cock.”

  Madeline slides her tongue slowly up the entirety of my cock, from bottom to top, seeming to echo my simple technique—a technique which apparently works because, holy fuck, does that feel fucking amazing.

  When Madeline switches it up by moving just the soft tip of her tongue in a zigzag pattern around the top of my cock, caressing the rest of it lightly with her fingers, I actually need to grab my forehead and lay back flat, surrendering to a level of pleasure I can barely process.

  I keep my eyes set on the night sky—the thousands of tiny white dots, the milky haze of the Milky Way—as Madeline’s lips wrap around my shaft and her tongue runs up, down, and around its lengthy girth with abandon.

  Finally adjusting to this crazy fucking pleasure, I lift my head up to Mad concentrating on the task at hand, which she’s so fucking good at, and her amazing tits just floating around gently, coming so close to touching me but not quite making it.

  Like she’s reading my mind, Mad lets my cock fall from her lips slowly.

  “Should be pretty clean now,” she murmurs.

  “Is there a way to be sure?”

  “You wanna test it out?”

  “Not sure what that mean, but fuck yes.”

  “Let’s see then.”

  Madeline grips the base of my cock and rubs it lightly against her right tit.

  “Seems good,” she continues, “but I could use your help up here.”

  I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore, but in two seconds I’m sitting upright and massaging Madeline’s tits.

  “See? That wasn’t so hard,” she chirps excitedly as I start licking around one of her nipples.

  I need to stop and take a breath. It’s not like any of this is new to me—but on this beach it feels like I’m discovering it all for the first time.

  “What does it all mean then?” I leave it open for Mad to make the next move.

  “Not sure. I think it means that I just gave you an incredible fucking blowjob and that you should take that big cock and fuck me like it’s going out of fucking style.”

  I instantly find that magic destination toward the back of Madeline’s neck with my lips, inspiring her to let out an overjoyed shriek.

  “Yes! Perfect place to start,” she screams, loud enough to reach the mainland.

  I move myself around so I’m behind Mad completely, and almost instinctively arches her back, pushing her magnificent ass toward me.

  Madeline starts grinding herself against my hard cock, and with both of us bottomless, it’s not hard to make the transition to fucking right then and there.

  My steely cock slips in easily. She’s so fucking wet. Those waves of immense pleasure start up immediately.

  “Fuck,” Madeline yells. “Fucking fuck me! Come on, Pennybags!”

  “Oh, that’s how you want it?” I grind out.

  So instead of easing into it, I pick up the pace. I start building up momentum with each thrust, and I reach around to squeeze one of Madeline’s tits.

  “Ooh! Oooh! Yes! There we fucking go!”

  We reach a good pace, and I move my hand down to reach between her legs from the front.

  “We started this back at Uloji.”

  Mad whips her hair back and moans with animalistic fervor, and I do the same because it can’t be fucking helped right now. We’re just two creatures in the midst of primal intensity, fucking amongst the volcanoes.

  I feel myself getting closer to an insane full-body fucking climax. As we both groan softly, almost in rhythm, I easily find Madeline’s clit with my fingertips. As I caress it, Madeline’s low moan modulates to a colossal squeal.

  I wait for Madeline to finish coming before finding my own release, emptying myself into her as her pussy clenches and grips my rock-hard cock.

  I drop my head against her back as we both catch our breath, then I chuckle.

  “How am I doing, ‘getting my clothes back’-wise, Mad?”

  “It’s a start,” Madeline answers, still facing forward but reaching up to run her fingers along my jaw.

  Fuck. I can’t even process how fucking amazing she is.

  Mad can keep my clothes as long as she goddamn wants.

  Ethan

  The beach bar is actually open today. Sometimes, it seems like everything that happens is something that's going wrong.

  Less than a goddamn week ago, the beach bar being open would’ve been annoying, and the beach bar being closed would’ve seemed like just another goddamn thing that’s gone wrong.

  Just a few days—a meaningless, almost nonexistent stretch of time—but just a few days have been enough to turn my well-worn New York City-perfected curmudgeonly approach to every stupid little goddamn thing that happens and transformed it, like some fucking psychological magic trick, into a shiny new appreciation for the things that I do have in life.

  Which is a goddamn lot.

  Maddie’s waving at me from halfway across this odd little section of the beach with the small bar and the sporadic buffet. I give a perfunctory wave back.

  That’s right: Maddie. Not fucking Mad, because that makes her mad. It’s Maddie.

  Maddie from Boston. She finally spilled the baked beans on that one.

  I told you that a few days can make a big fucking difference.

  Maddie’s happily lost in whatever conversation she’s having with Dominique, and Dominique’s daughter, Sally, and that guy who walks around in a shark costume.

  Shark costume guy is supposed to be a mascot or some shit. Whether he’s a mascot for the whole resort or just part of the resort or just this part of the beach, I may never know.

  But he has a pretty sweet gig walking around all day and posing for photos with whoever asks. Usually he ends up posing with families with little kids, like Dominique and Sally, but sometimes adults want their own photo.

  Adults like Madeline. She likes doing things like digging through the props that shark guy keeps around, like those fake mustaches on sticks and plastic tiaras that say Naughty on them in cursive letters. She also likes doing things like posing with the shark guy and a bunch of those props, poking out her tongue or doing her goofy-sexy duckface for the camera.

  Maddie’s looking at the prints from her photo session and talking to Dominique and Sally, who both took a shining to her instantly—from what I’ve seen, literally everyone does. I can’t hear their conversation from where I am, but I hear Madeline break out into her siren-song laugh.

  Would I ever get sick of hearing that laugh? No fucking way. Not that I’ll ever find out.

  I’m only about halfway through my Captain’s Demise as I watch Maddie walking back in my direction in her ocher sundress and pink Chuck Taylors. She pulls off the sneakers and a dress thing with panache—probably a combination of choosing the right pairings and having the attitude and confidence to make it work.

  Speaking of attitude and confidence, is it possible to believe that I still get a little nervous watching Madeline walking toward me? I mean, fucking A, right? Who would’ve seen that one coming?

  Whoever I do end up with probably won’t make me feel like that, but that will be for the fucking best.

  I also feel like the luckiest motherfucker on the planet watching Maddie saunter closer and closer to me, knowing she’s on her way to the barstool right next to mine. That’s one of those things I’ll miss about Hawaii, but it’s not like I can stay here for-fucking-ever.

  I’m rocking khakis for one of the first times in my life, and I feel my usual stirrings underneath the beige fabric as Madeline smilingly sits down to her own Captain’s Demise, which is still nearly full.

  “How’d they come out?”

  Maddie’s poking around her frozen drink with her straw.

  “You should’ve posed with me.”

  It’s still out of habit that I avoid shit like that, but I’m really fucking regretting it now. If nothing else, it’d be a tangible memo
ry of my time here. If anything’s certain in life right now, it’s that I’m never gonna have a week like this again.

  “You’re right, Maddie.”

  “That’s for sure.” Madeline wraps her lips around her straw, draining a decent portion of hard liquor, fruit juice, and crushed ice from her plastic cup.

  “Can I see the prints, at least? How many copies did you get?”

  “Calm down.”

  Maddie’s joking, but she’s right. Again. I need to enjoy this while it’s here instead of worrying about happens when it’s over.

  We finish a few more sips of our sweet, icy drinks in silence.

  “Would you want to get more photos later?” Fuck, I’m still hung up on this, which is a great way to ruin my last few days here.

  “I’d rather just go swimming.”

  I notice Madeline’s watching the ocean. It’s no fucking Charles River, that’s for damn sure.

  “Swimming? In there?”

  Maddie takes out the straw and swigs down the melting remains of her cocktail.

  “I would like, Mr. Barrett, to spend some time in the fucking ocean. Swimming, fighting the current, forming our own whale-watching expedition, whatever...and I’d like to do it with you.”

  Maddie’s smiling, but it’s not her usual “hotter than the sun”, “set the world ablaze with her sexiness” smile. This smile contains depths of sweetness, sincerity, and warmth that just fucking blindsides me.

  I was pretty sure I had a handle on things by now, but...but what, really?

  How does a smile change anything?

  The mantra I’ve been inundating myself with over the last couple days is truer than ever:

  I just need to enjoy this while it lasts.

  I return Madeline’s smile with all the warmth I can muster.

  “Come on!”

  And she’s off, launching herself from the stool and charging across the sand on a singular mission to get into the fucking ocean.

  “Woooohooooo!”

  Maddie’s bellows resonate across the beach as I follow her. I’m not doing any woohoo-ing myself, but I am running behind Maddie at breakneck speed.

  If only all those day traders, index fund managers, and financial analysts back in New York could see me dashing headlong into the Pacific, not even wearing a fucking bathing suit.

  If only the person I was last week could see me now. What would he think?

  That I’m being weird? Or that I should be embarrassed?

  And would it really be me thinking that, or would it be my then-fiancée?

  Madeline’s seamlessly ditched her Chucks in the sand on her way into the water.

  Thanks to that run, my endorphins are going full throttle as I reach the water just a few feet behind her. Does she even see me?

  “Hey,” I call out, trying to project my voice over the din of the crashing waves.

  Maddie spins around, a huge grin plastered on her face. Instead of what I’d expect at this point—for her to be laughing, frolicking, caught up in the pure joy of the moment—Madeline happily swings her arms into the ocean and sends the largest splash of salt water that she can amass in my direction.

  It all gets me, soaking the bottom half of my shirt, along with the entirety of my pants. I’m still phoneless, but now my wallet, cards, ID, and my suite’s keycard are all saturated with briny ocean water.

  Seeing Madeline’s grin, feeling the Pacific soak into some of the priciest clothes I packed, there is no fucking doubt that this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time—since well before I even met Audra, since I can’t even remember when.

  “Oh, lady. Do you know what you’ve done?” I send a splash of at least equal size back to Maddie, drenching the lower half of her sundress more than it already is.

  I start running toward Madeline through the water as she howls in amusement.

  “I can’t believe you followed me wearing shoes and everything!”

  “I can’t believe you would splash me.”

  We splash at each other a couple more times before Maddie’s outright paralyzed with hysterical laughter. I wait for her laughs to die off a bit as she looks at me.

  “Do you know anyone else who would follow you into the ocean dressed the way I am?”

  “Probably not, Ethan.”

  Another of the handful of times she’s used my actual name. And maybe the last.

  She’s wading toward me calmly now, and I stride through the water toward her. The tide is rising, though, and we’re both a little more than waist deep by the time we’re face-to-face.

  “Are you glad you met someone in Hawaii willing to follow you into the ocean if you asked?”

  On one hand, I’m sort of asking myself that question. On the other hand, I’m not certain why I’m asking it at all.

  The response seems positive, though. Madeline finds both my hands in the water and takes them in hers. Her smile—that deep, poignant smile that I’m just discovering now—resurfaces as we draw closer to each other.

  “You dope,” Maddie whispers, her smile widening.

  We fall into a kiss as the tide begins to wane. Instead of yielding to the moment entirely like I usually do, I start trying to think of a good reason that this really needs to end.

  Ethan

  Madeline’s still here, enjoying the resort and enjoying Hawaii in ways that only she can, but apparently the last couple days of her vacation are days that she agreed to spend with her friends.

  I’m back here where I started―at the honeymoon suite, sitting at the sad, undersized excuse for a dining table and looking at my vending machine-purchased feast of a microwave “barbecue” sandwich and a small can of pineapple chunks I could have gotten at a fucking Gristedes in Manhattan.

  I know this seems like some serious sad-sack, feeling sorry for myself type schtick, but none of it is as bad as it sounds. I knew that a vending machine meal was probably inevitability before the honeymoon was over. Maddie and I finished all the cakes and cheeses from Uloji days ago, and I just don’t fucking feel like shelling out for room service or any of that shit today.

  And honestly, after two minutes in the microwave, the sandwich smells vaguely edible.

  As for Maddie, well, it’s going to be tough saying goodbye no matter what, so I’d be lying if I said there isn’t some relief to getting that over with and getting on with whatever my life is going to be now.

  She probably feels the same way. She’ll take something different from this, and she’ll continue on her own journey, and that’s weirdly reassuring.

  Fuck, I can’t even bite into this sandwich, it’s so goddamn hard. I might as well have bought one of those fucking petrified lava plates from the gift shop and tried to cook that in the microwave.

  And the stupid, pathetic reality is that I am sitting here in self-pity. There’s no reason I can’t leave the honeymoon suite and get a decent meal for myself. Hawaii’s not over yet.

  Part of the reason I’m reluctant to leave right now is the dry-cleaning bag hanging on a hook right next to the front door. Maddie finally returned that outfit she confiscated, and even had it dry-cleaned, which is completely unnecessary for those items, but I understand why she did it.

  What I don’t understand is her having the resort staff bring it back to my room instead of returning it to me herself.

  Well, unfortunately, I think I do understand. Now that the week is winding down, it’s time to wind down anything that could be remotely construed as fun or flirtations or playful in any goddamn way about the fling. Sending my shit back in a dry-cleaning bag through a third party actually makes perfect sense―but I don’t enjoy looking at it right now.

  But I suck it up. It’s just a dry-cleaning bag, and as I pass it on my way out, it occurs to me that I need to get a new phone.

  This chapter’s ending, most likely, and I’m going to need a goddamn phone for the rest of the story―beginning the moment my plane touches down at JFK, when I’ll suddenly have a flood of harried v
oicemails, emails and texts about every single fucking thing that’s occurred south of Chambers Street during my honeymoon, no matter how fucking minute―and how it’s all a giant crisis that I need to fix this instant or the world will fucking fall apart.

  In other words, I’ll need to go back to work, and I’ll need a stupid smartphone as always.

  I ride the elevator down to the lobby, which is more crowded than I’ve seen it yet. If nothing else, it looks like I’m leaving the resort at the right time, before the tourist rush starts.

  I have another little bit of luck when I see that no tourists are monopolizing the concierge desk, which means I can stop there quickly on my way out.

  The lanky, mustachioed concierge’s face lights up when I approach, like he recognizes me.

  “Ah, Mister Barrett! We haven’t been seeing much of you.”

  Huh. That’s all a little strange, but I don’t have the time to care.

  “Right, well...long story short: I need a new phone. I mean, a new personal smartphone with my old number and service plan. Is that possible within a couple days?”

  I realize how farcical this is to ask at a fucking hotel as I say it.

  “Just put me in touch with your provider; I’ll have a new phone ready for you by tomorrow.”

  Word of my generous tipping must be getting around.

  “Yeah. Great, thanks.”

  My body perks up reflexively as I notice a very familiar laugh and voice resonating through the lobby from somewhere behind me.

  Madeline is standing by a small, potted palm tree close to the exit, ensconced in a conversation with Laura...well, at least Laura is ensconced. Madeline is glancing at me, trying not to look too obvious about it.

  To be fair, she shouldn’t be too surprised to see me here, but I understand if it makes things difficult, if she just wants to let it all fade.

  But fuck that. We should talk, just to wrap things up, just to say goodbye. It’s not like we didn’t know this was coming, and the healthiest thing to do is at least try and be adults about it.

  Maddie doesn’t flee out the exit when she sees I’m approaching her, so that’s something.