As I lean down to kiss his earlobe, my thigh slipping back between his legs, I feel him getting hard again through his pants. It’s flattering, how little it took to make it happen. But when my hands trail to his zipper, he tenses.

“Everything okay?” I pull back from his neck, where I’ve been trying to kiss him without staying in one spot too long. Can’t imagine a hickey would go over too well at his next shift.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “it’s just...it’s been a while. Since I’ve done anything with someone.”

“You mean sex?”

His blush answers the question for him: not just sex, but literally anything.

“Oh.” I nod, trying to hide my surprise. “Can I ask...how long, exactly?”

Kai shuts his eyes. “Two years.”

“Two years?” I almost fall off his lap. “How? I mean, you must have girls, like, swarming on you all the time. You’re ridiculously hot.”

This cheers him up. He laughs a thank you, then shrugs. “I just...haven’t met anyone who caught my attention, I guess.”

I move my face closer to his. “Why did I catch your attention?”

“Well,” he whispers, “the drowning, for one.”

“Wh— Oh, Jesus.” I burst out laughing, resting my forehead against his as he joins in. Our voices fill up the cabana.

“And two,” he continues, and cups the side of my face in his hand, “you’re beautiful, and nice, and...for some reason, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we met.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why.” Kai’s voice drops, husky and soft as he brushes his lips across my collarbone. “Is that weird to say?”

A sigh escapes my mouth; I can’t control it. The combination of his tongue flitting across my skin, and his hands roaming my body through the thin cotton of my dress.... I feel myself slipping to autopilot. “Not at all.”

Kai pulls the scooped collar of my dress down even farther. It has a built-in bra, and he hesitates—asking, in his silence, if he can pull the fabric down more.

Instead of answering, I wind my fingernails into his hair, letting my nails graze the top of his neck as I reposition myself so his head is just millimeters from my skin. His breath washes across it and sends a shiver through me—but when he pulls the dress down all the way and draws one of my nipples into his mouth, I flat-out tremble.

“Yes,” I sigh, relaxing against him. He leans back in the chair under my weight, but doesn’t stop. I feel his hands wandering up and down my hipbones and spine, fingers nimble, like he’s playing an instrument. When one slips between my legs, touching me lightly as can be through the fabric, I can’t help but grind against it.

“More?”

“God, yes.”

He smiles. The moon is behind him, pouring in through the window. It gives him a strange, dreamy glow, but I can still make out his face as I climb off his lap and undress.

Exposed, I feel more like my usual self—not entirely unsure, but hardly a monument of confidence. This fact isn’t helped when, as I stand in front of him in nothing but my panties, Kai stares at my body for at least ten seconds without a single word. He must be noticing my stretch marks, shimmering and white in the moon, or the last bit of fat still around my stomach.

“Well?” I ask, finally.

He snaps out of it. “You’re stunning. Sorry, I was just...savoring it, I guess.”

This relaxes me. I climb back into his lap and realize I believed his words instantly, no need to scan for sarcasm, the way I always do.

“To be fair, it has been a while for you.”

“Too long,” he adds, kissing me hard enough to send a shiver right through my core. I moan against his lips and, desperate to reciprocate, reach down to rub him through his pants. He breaks the kiss and exhales before letting his head fall back against the chair.

I take that as a major go-ahead. I get up and unzip him. He lifts his hips and helps me tug his pants down to his thighs.

“Boxers, too,” I remind him, teasing. He fumbles with them, too eager, but gets them down.

I take a minute to study his erection. I got a clue it was big, when we were outside on the grass, but I’m still surprised when I see it. I can’t say it is or isn’t the biggest I’ve seen, since my last several hookups were drunken one-nights from campus bars and frat parties—but it’s definitely the biggest I remember.

Kai swallows hard when I straddle him again, my panties still on, and start to pump him while I grind against my own wrist.

“Just getting things ready,” I explain, a little breathless as he kisses me even harder than before.

Distantly, I’m aware of one hand moving to my hipbone, holding me still. The other slowly slips in between my wrist and my panties.

“Mind if I cut in?” he whispers against my mouth, smirking again.

I try to say something witty in response. Something sexy. Instead, when his fingers pull my panties to the side and slip into me, I whimper.

Mollie bites her lip when I push my finger deeper, following up quickly with a second. Her sex is slick and hot; it feels like a vice when I force my fingers against her G-spot. I match my rhythm to hers, her hand still wrapped around me.

“Oh, God, Kai,” she gasps, when I pick up speed. Her wetness spills down her thighs, my hand; her panties, so carefully pushed aside, are getting soaked. After a minute, she moves her hand faster, too.

We get caught up in it, to the point I don’t even want to stop and remind her of the blow job I’m positive I was about to get. Hell, I can’t even stop long enough to mention actual sex.

My orgasm’s dangerously close. If she tightens her grip or adjusts her speed even a little, I know I won’t be able to stop myself.

Something weird happens then, at the moment I should be lost in my own feelings, my own world: I happen to look at her. Just a glance, but I see her face, molded like a statue in the moonlight, and feel a flurry kick up in my stomach. It corkscrews right up to my chest.

“Mollie.” My eyes lock on hers when she opens them. “Kiss me.”

She seems surprised. Hesitates.

Then she leans down and does it, and the second our lips connect, that’s it—game over.

We come together, both of us shuddering and holding our breath. Her other hand, nestled behind my head, scratches my scalp as the tremors roll through.

I just watch, amazed that I can be so caught up in another person’s pleasure—especially when it’s been years since I’ve been touched by anyone but myself. But I am. Amazed isn’t even the right word: I’m enthralled.

I want to see more of it. More of her.

When we come down from our highs, melting into each other, shivering and gasping sips of air through our laughter, I go to kiss her.

She lets me—but she doesn’t kiss me back.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, too quickly. “I just.... What time is it?”

I look at my wrist before remembering I don’t have a watch. “Two-thirty, maybe three?” She’s looking at the door, not me, and I feel a definite change here. How could we go from that intense, weirdly amazing moment...to this? Did I imagine everything?

“I, um...I should go.” Her legs shake as she slides off my lap, which makes me proud, but even sadder she’s leaving: we could do a whole lot more of that if she stays. I could make her legs shake so hard, they give out completely.

Say something. Anything to change her mind.

Then I remember: I’m not supposed to get attached. She’s a tourist. A summer girl.

Summer girls don’t stay.

“Okay.” I get up and dress myself. I even turn my back to her, as much as it kills me not to watch her slip back into that dress.

The air outside the cabana feels cooler than before. We take deep lungfuls of it, clearing away what just happened.

“Do you, uh...need a walk back to your room?” I ask. It’s a tough line to toe: gentlemanly hotel employee, and pretend-not-to-care hookup.

In reality, I want to ask her to my house, or a private room, or back into the dusty little storage hut so I can get her naked again. Prop her up on my lap like a permanent fixture. Get her moaning so loud, I’ll remember the echo forever.

“I think I can manage,” she laughs, rubbing her arms like she’s cold. I recognize the gesture: she wants to leave, but feels awkward about saying goodbye. Definitely doesn’t want to hug.

Well, screw it. I’ll make it easy on her, then.

“Goodnight,” I say, pushing my hands into my pockets and walking backwards towards the property’s edge, where the back road to my house begins. “I’ll see you.”

“Yeah.” She starts for the hotel. Both of us are moving slower than we should, until I turn and face forward, ordering my feet to pick up the pace.

I’m all the way at the property’s fence, a wrought-iron border the resort slapped together for a feeling of posh exclusivity that just looks tacky, when I look back over my shoulder. She’s up on the hill already, near the path that leads to the restaurant.

It’s hard to tell with so much distance between us, but I think I see her hand lift in a quiet, motionless wave.

Despite my efforts to play it cool, I wave back. Just in case I’m seeing things correctly.