ii.


On their third night in Sandals, Jan shoves Michael against the door of their resort room, and he groans at the impact, inadvertently opening his mouth as her tongue sweeps inside. He tries to pull back after a moment, says her name against her lips. She ignores him, her hands gliding over his chest, running down his arms. She grabs his hand, and leads him to the bed.


She takes a second to notice that the bed is freshly made, and the idea of waking up again with the comforter tossed to the floor, sheets and pillows in disarray, thrills her. She thinks for the thousandth time since she agreed to go on this trip that she has officially lost her mind.


"Jan, wait, let’s talk."


Out of all the men she’s ever slept with, Michael is the only one who wants to talk in lieu of sex. It drives her crazy in a way she would call annoyance, but what actually feels more like attraction. There’s something alluring about having to work for it. "No, Michael. You’ve talked all day, plus I had to listen to you sing that song about feeling hot a hundred times. And then you bought a drum. I’m tired of talking." Jan sits on the bed, leaning back on her hands, and raises her eyebrow.


"But - "


"Take it off," she orders, nodding at his shirt.


Michael laughs nervously, tilts his head as he pleads with her: "I’m serious, can we slow down? I want - look, last night after the luau was amazing, when we were alone on the beach. Even though sand got in certain places I was not expecting.” He glances down at her lap. "Are you still finding sand...you know - "


"Michael, stop."


He moves on. "And then, this morning? Well, I’ve never woken up to someone literally already having sex with me." He winces and gives her a sheepish smile. "I’m sorry I almost threw you off the bed. You just caught me by surprise."


Jan feels a flush spread across her cheeks, warming the slightly sunburned skin until it is unbearable. She clears her throat, trying to dispel her mortification. "No, uh, I guess I forgot that you were such a heavy sleeper. It won’t happen again, or at least not without a warning." She pats the bed next to her. "Okay, good talk."


Michael steps closer, and she almost grins at her victory, but before she realizes it his hands are on her arms and she is being hauled up to her feet. Their bodies brush against one another, and she can feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, smell the saltwater on his skin from when they took a dip earlier. She’s momentarily dizzy, her blood pounding in her ears.


"Now," he murmurs, his lips close to her ear, "let me do this right for once. We don’t have to talk at all, if you don’t want."


His voice is hot and thick and it makes her shiver, makes her forget who she is. He slides his hands along her bare arms, fingers trailing over already sensitive skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Jan’s taken aback by this side of Michael, firm and confident, and it almost reminds her of her ex-husband, when he actually cared to have sex with her. She pushes this unwanted thought to the back of her mind as Michael pulls back, meets her eyes. She nods her assent.


His eyes search hers briefly before he leans forward, kisses her almost chastely. His tongue eventually brushes along her bottom lip, and she parts her mouth and allows him access, submissive as he deepens the kiss. She’s barely aware when her legs nearly give out, but she feels him grip her hips tightly to hold her steady.


Michael takes his time removing her sarong, her bikini, before lifting her and settling her against the pillows. His mouth travels, exploring her body thoroughly, skillfully, as if surveying - charting new territory on the planes and curves. Jan bites her lip and arches to push against teasing fingers, gripping his shoulders when she can reach them, leaving marks with her nails. She gives in completely, shutting out every thought that isn’t want, need, touch here, don’t stop.


Sometime later, when Jan has lost track of time, Michael’s face is hovering above hers, their labored breathing commingling in the humid room, their bodies pressed together, moving in a steady rhythm they’ve created. She squeezes her eyes shut and chokes out a low moan. He responds in kind, knows what she needs, gives her a hand where she’s most sensitive. He increases the pressure and the pace, and soon they’re hurtling over the edge, her back lifting off the mattress, his hands on her thighs. Her lips find his neck, taste salt. She gasps against his skin: "Michael."


His mouth finds hers once more before he shifts to lie beside her, a deep sigh escaping his lips. His fingers splay across her stomach, his thumb circling her skin until her breathing calms, until the feeling in her limbs return. She turns her head to smile at him, and he’s gazing at her, but his eyes are wet, shining. She draws her brows together, slightly alarmed, thinking this is precisely why she likes to stay in control. So no one like Michael will get hurt from misunderstandings, from thinking there is more than what exists. "Everything okay?" She can’t breathe for a moment, tries to convince herself that she is confusing tears with sweat.


"Yeah," he says, shaking his head once, draping an arm briefly over his eyes as he turns onto his back. "That was just so intense," he mumbles sleepily, reaching out to take her hand, pulling her against him and placing her palm against his heart, where she can feel the dull thump of it. He kisses the top of her head and pulls the sheets over them both. She feels an ache in her chest, struck with a sudden worry that she will be the one to get hurt before this trip is over.