Page 78 of The Fall

Thirty-Eight

The plane hums beneath us. Outside, clouds stretch like pulled cotton, blinding white against the endless blue.

I glance at Blair, sitting beside me in the first-class cabin. He lifts my hand and presses his lips to my knuckles.

“I’m counting the minutes.”

He dozes off halfway through the flight with his head on my shoulder. I lay my cheek against his hair, and, somewhere over Caribbean waters, I fall asleep.

I dream in fragments—his hands skating up my ribs, the hitch in his breath last night, a whispered again against my skin—and I wake to his fingers carding through my hair and a bright, brilliant aquamarine filling the cabin.

Kamara Cay emerges from the sea, an emerald jungle spilling down to white beaches ringed in cobalt and peacock and sapphire waters that run right out to the horizon.

When we land, the heat is a solid wall. The island air smells heady with salt and the tropics, with jungle vines and an explosion of brilliant blooms and crystal-clear air blown in on tradewinds.

Customs is a blur of stamped passports and overhead fans.

Our bags appear on the carousel, and a driver meets us outside arrivals with chilled towels and bottles of water beaded with condensation.

Blair lays one on the back of my neck as we slide into an open-walled Jeep, his other hand splayed warm across my thigh.

Palm trees whip past. The road to the resort clings to the coastline, offering peeks and glimpses of coves where waves curl lazy as cats stretching in sunlight.

Blue, the same shade as Blair’s eyes, reaches to the horizon.

The water is clear enough to trick the mind, sky dissolving into sea.

His fingers tighten on my leg every time we round a curve and catch another impossible view.

The resort lobby is luxurious minimalism.

There isn’t much to it, but what’s there is opulent, top-of-the-line.

We’re driven down a winding, private path of crushed beach shells to our villa.

Heat clings to the air, brimming with wildflowers and salt.

Luminaries and bunches of blooms line the drive, wave after wave of clementine and aubergine, fuchsia and cardinal, the brightest, boldest colors I’ve ever seen.

Our villa sits on stilts over crystal-clear water, connected to the main island by a wooden walkway.

We’re escorted inside, and all at once I’m inside a postcard.

Wide glass doors frame the endless sea while white curtains billow over marble floors.

The bed dominates the room, king-sized and draped in gauzy curtains that stir in the breeze.

Outside, a private dock and a personal infinity pool spill straight into the ocean.

Blair drops our bags with a thud. “Holy shit.”

The attendant pulls the door closed with a soft click, and then we’re alone. He crosses to me in three strides, his eyes never leaving mine. When he reaches me, his hands frame my face before he kisses me as if we have all the time in the world.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “Standing here like you walked out of my dreams.”

A bead of sweat slides down his temple, following the curve of his jaw. I reach up and follow its path with my fingertip, tasting salt when I bring it to my lips. “That’s my line,” I tell him.

His smile unfolds slowly, like he has me exactly where he wants me. My palms flatten against his chest before sliding up to his shoulders.

“We should unpack.” His lips brush my ear.

“No, we shouldn’t,” I breathe.

We lose ourselves in each other before we’ve unpacked, twisting and colliding as we fall onto the bed, and I end up on top, straddling him. There’s nothing between us but heat and hunger. The tropical air sticks to our skin as we move together, his hands gripping my thighs while I rock against him.

“God, Torey,” Blair gasps. His hands slide up my back, mapping every inch of me.

“Want you,” I whisper against his mouth. “Been thinking about this since we got on the plane.”

Blair’s hands move to my hips, guiding my movements as we rock together. Every slide of skin against skin builds the pressure low in my spine. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he breathes.

But I do; it’s in the tremor of his hands, the catch in his breath, and in his eyes when he pulls back to look at me, pupils blown.

His mouth finds mine again, softer now, slower.

I sigh into the kiss, and he rolls us until I’m on my back and he’s hovering above me, braced on one arm, his gaze searching mine.

He drops an open-mouthed kiss to my sternum, then another, then another, each one moving lower than the last, until my thighs bracket his shoulders.

Each kiss, each touch of his tongue leaves a trail of fire on my skin.

He kisses along the inside of my leg as slow as water rising up a sandbar.

“Please,” I breathe.

The wet heat of his mouth engulfs my cock, and my back arches off the bed. My hands clutch at the sheets as he works me with his tongue, bringing me right to the edge before pulling back. “Turn over,” he whispers.

Blair’s hands caress my back, my thighs, before gently spreading me open. The air goes thin, and my thoughts narrow to the warmth of his tongue, the shock of it circling me, then pressure, oh ?—

The first touch of his tongue rips a desperate sound from me. “Blair,” I gasp, burying my face in the pillow.

He takes his time, his tongue circling, teasing, before pushing inside.

My hips rock back against him, seeking more, and the world dissolves into the slow drag of his lips and his tongue over me and within me.

He licks deeper and I keen, my nerves fraying, my voice breaking apart on his name. He doesn’t stop, and doesn’t let up.

Every inch he claims with his lips and his tongue redraws the map of me. He has me so open, so bare to him; he’s all I know. There is nothing else.

Blair lifts his head only enough for his voice to reach me: “Touch yourself.”

I get my knees under me and fist my cock. “Blair, fuck, fuck—” His tongue is relentless, and I’m gasping. Heat knots behind my eyes; I stroke myself faster.

Blair pushes his tongue deeper into me as I’m reaching the edge, and that’s it. Everything contracts, my throat closing around a shout, nerves sizzling and crackling, muscles seizing up from toes to fingertips to the crown of my skull. I come, hard and helpless, everything forced out of me.

“Torey,” he whispers when I go limp beneath him. He rests his forehead on the back of my thigh, his breath ragged. Finally, he crawls up beside me. “You’re perfect like this,” he says.

I’m still trembling, aftershocks rippling through me, my skin hypersensitive where his body meets mine. “Look who’s talking,” I say. Blair’s lips are swollen, his cheeks flushed. His eyes are dark, only a thin ring of blue visible.

I pull him closer until our bodies align, skin to skin. His cock is hard against my hip. “I need more of you,” I whisper.

He kisses me deeply; I taste myself on his tongue. His hand slides down my back and cups my ass, pulling me tighter against him. I reach between us, wrapping my fingers around his cock and stroking him.

His breath hitches against my mouth as his hips push forward, seeking more friction, more pressure. He’s perfect in my hand, his hot, hard, and silken skin sliding under my palm. I twist my wrist on the upstroke, thumb circling the head, and the sound he makes burns straight through me.

He pants against my ear, gripping my ass, urging me closer. His thighs tense against mine, muscles bunching under smooth skin. The heat between us builds.

“Don’t stop,” Blair groans.

My hand moves faster, grip tightening. His hand tangles in my hair, tugging. I gasp, and he swallows it with a kiss. “Torey, yes,” he moans. “Yes, yes.” He comes with my name on his lips.

I stroke him through his release until his body goes slack beneath me. I release him slowly, drawing gentle lines down his spent cock. We stay locked together, hearts hammering.

Eventually, he lifts his head, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “So,” he says. “What do you want to do? Beach? Pool? Dinner?”

I wrap my arms around his neck and roll on top of him. The room smells of sex and salt, and outside our window, the ocean stretches endlessly blue and beautiful.

“None of the above.” I’m not ready to leave this bed.

He raises an eyebrow. “No? The resort has five restaurants. We could try that seafood place on the pier.”

“Later.” I drop my lips to his jaw and suck.

“What are we going to do then?”

I push up onto one elbow, looking down at him: his tousled hair, the flush still fading from his chest, the way his eyes are shining, the grin he’s trying to hide.

“I think you know exactly what I want to do.”

His smile is slow and devastating. “Yeah. I think I do.” He pulls me into a kiss. A low sound rumbles from him, less a growl than a tide dragging loose stones along the shore. My arms lock behind his neck; I pull him closer until there is no space between us.

Blair breaks from my mouth only long enough to trail kisses down my neck. His lips brush across my chest, a slow circuit around one nipple, then the other. I move on his lap, grinding my cock against his. He grasps my ass and squeezes, guiding my movements.

“Yes, that’s it,” he whispers. Our foreheads touch, eyes locked as we move together. Sweat beads along his hairline; I taste salt when I drop my lips to his temple.

I cradle his face in my hands. Every roll of my hips draws a soft sound from his throat and I capture each one with my mouth, swallowing his pleasure as if it were my own. My thighs tremble, muscles straining as I ride the edge of control.

One of his hands slides between us, wrapping around both of our cocks. I drop my head to his shoulder, my breath coming in short pants against his neck. “Blair?—”