Chapter 18
Eighteen
Alaric
The ride back from Waimea Falls is quiet. Liz sits beside me, her sunglasses pushed up on her head. She leans her shoulder against the window, eyes half closed, and I can’t tell if she’s tired or just letting herself drift. Maybe both.
When the bus arrives at the hotel, I stand and step back to let her pass.
“Thank you.”
“Do you have the energy to make the social this afternoon? It’s happy hour.”
She sighs. “Not really. But we should go.”
The lobby is cool after the heat outside. The marble floors gleam beneath the slow turn of ceiling fans, and the faint scent of orchids drifts through the air. I stop at the concierge desk while Liz waits beside me.
“Can I help you?” the woman asks, her name tag polished bright against her white shirt.
“Yes, please.” I give her our room number. “I’d like dinner reservations for two. Somewhere nice.”
She smiles. “I have just the thing. Seafood all right?”
I glance at Liz, and she hesitates a moment, but then nods. “Perfect.”
The concierge jots something on a card. “I’ll text you the details once I get them confirmed.”
Liz arches a brow at me. “You’re planning ahead.”
“Just making sure we eat something that isn’t hotel buffet food,” I say.
“Somewhere nice, huh?”
“You deserve a decent dinner after all that hiking.”
She shakes her head, smiling. “All right. I’ll hold you to that.”
We head toward the ballroom. Liz glances at me like she wants to say something but doesn’t, and I let the silence stretch.
Before we even get to the conference, my cell phone pings with the concierge’s dinner details. This is going to be good.
Inside, the room is packed. We start side by side, but I barely manage to give Liz our dinner reservation time before she’s pulled away by a group of women from her track. I let her go as Peter Sato waves me over.
“Alaric,” he says warmly, “have you met Dr. Raj Poon from Calgary and Dr. Jim Lee from Montreal?”
We shake hands. Someone jokes about the humidity ruining their slides. Another mentions jet lag. The conversation turns to healthcare systems.
“It’s not perfect,” Raj says, pushing up his glasses, “but at least I can focus on my patients instead of billing codes. That counts for something.”
Jim nods. “You can’t measure how much lighter that feels until you’ve worked both sides.”
I nod and contribute where I should, but my focus drifts. My gaze keeps scanning the room, searching for Liz.
When I don’t see her, I check my phone.
Liz: I’m heading up to the room to get ready for dinner. See you soon.
My pulse kicks up. I tell Sato and the others it was good to see them and make my way toward the elevator. The music and laughter fade as the doors close behind me.
Upstairs, the hallway is cool and still. I swipe the keycard and step inside. The scent of jasmine hits me, and for a second, I just stand there, letting the scent pull me back in time.
Then the bathroom door opens. Liz steps out and the sight knocks the air from my lungs.
Her black dress catches the light, the neckline low, the skirt brushing her thighs.
A slit reveals more skin than I should be noticing.
The diamond pendant I gave her years ago rests at her throat, glinting softly. “You look…stunning,” I manage.
Color rises in her cheeks as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you.”
The way the fabric moves when she breathes. The way her blush deepens. It’s torture.
I clear my throat. “Give me five minutes to change. Our ride will be here soon.”
She nods. “Sure.”
I move through my wardrobe shift. Slacks, clean shirt, loafers. I can feel her watching me in the mirror. When our eyes meet, my body remembers, even if my mind tries to forget.
“You ready?” I ask, offering my arm.
She slips hers into mine and nods. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
The elevator is crowded, and the doors open on every floor. Eventually, Peter and Megan step in.
Megan beams at Liz. “You look lovely tonight.”
Liz blushes again, her arm still linked with mine.
Peter grins. “Date night?”
“Just dinner,” I say.
When the elevator stops, Megan squeezes Liz’s arm. “Have fun, you two.”
Outside, a rideshare idles at the curb, headlights washing over the hotel steps. I circle around to Liz’s side and open the door. She hesitates for a beat, eyes lifting to mine, then climbs in.
Once I’m seated, the driver pulls away. Storefronts, palms, and neon are reflected in the window glass. Liz sits close enough that I can feel the warmth of her arm.
When the ocean comes into view, the lights thin out. The restaurant glows ahead, small and warm under strings of white bulbs swaying in the breeze.
We step out into the sound of the surf. The hostess leads us through the open deck to a table by the railing. Beyond it, the beach fades into darkness, the waves flashing silver under the moon. She lights a candle between us, painting Liz’s skin in gold.
Liz studies the menu, tilting her head so the light catches her hair. “To not getting lost on the trail,” she says when the wine arrives, lifting her glass.
We order, and I clink my wine against hers. “And to surviving the bus ride back.”
After a few minutes, the server returns, setting down our meals, Liz’s grilled ono with macadamia-nut butter and lime, and my opakapaka, crisped golden, both with jasmine rice and grilled pineapple.
She takes a bite and closes her eyes, a quiet sound escaping. “Oh, this is ridiculous.”
I take a bite and agree. “Indeed. This is definitely somewhere nice.”
She smiles, and the breeze stirs the candle flame, lifting the edges of the tablecloth. For a while, we talk easily. The waterfall, the hike, the little girl with the nut allergy. Safe topics that fill the air without touching the fault lines between us.
I think about telling her the truth, that I’ve spent years trying to outrun what happened, that no matter how far I go, it finds me. Instead I ask, “You ever think about what it would’ve been like if I hadn’t left?”
She studies me for a long moment, then looks down at her plate. “I did when it first happened. But not anymore. We were different people then.”
“I guess we still are.”
“You think so?” she asks.
I don’t know how to answer that. I know I have perspective I didn’t before, but I’m not any closer to knowing how to make space for what I want in the stifling grip that is my family.
The quiet settles again. When the plates are cleared, the server leaves dessert menus we ignore. The candle burns lower, wax pooling at its base.
When the bill comes, I pay without thinking. She doesn’t argue, just watches the dark line of the surf beyond the deck.
“Thank you for dinner,” she murmurs.
“It’s my pleasure,” I say.
Outside, Liz slips off her shoes as we walk along the sand toward the road. We don’t talk on the drive back. The windows are down, warm air rushing in. She stares out at the dark water, yet I can feel something between us—soft and electric.
When the car pulls up at the hotel, she turns to me. “Shall we go upstairs?”
We reach the lobby just as a group of women sweeps in. Bright laughter, half-empty cocktail glasses, perfume in the air. Liz exhales a quiet laugh.
“They’re in the admin track,” she murmurs. “I met them this morning.”
One of them spots her. “Liz! There you are! You disappeared after the mixer!”
“Just dinner,” Liz says, her voice friendly.
They close in, chattering, bracelets clinking, talking over one another. When the elevator opens, they surge forward, then realize it’s full. The doors slide shut, leaving them giggling and pressing the button again.
We wait. The tension between us crackles like static.
When the next elevator arrives, we step in with the group, louder now, joined by another couple. Someone presses too many buttons.
“Oops!” One of them laughs.
The elevator lurches upward. First floor, second, third. Each stop peeling them away in waves of perfume and laughter.
Finally, the doors close again, leaving only us and the other couple behind.
“That was chaos,” Liz says, laughing softly.
“Welcome to conference life,” I say.
The couple steps out on the next floor, and the doors shut behind them. The space feels smaller now. The low buzz of the light, the faint scent of her perfume, the quiet rhythm of our breathing as the elevator rises.
Inside the room, jasmine greets us again. Liz turns on the lamp beside the bed, golden light spilling across her shoulders. She sets her clutch on the dresser and exhales like she’s been holding her breath all night.
I close the door and lean against it, watching her unclasp the necklace. The diamond catches one last glint of light before falling into her palm.
“You’re staring,” she says, voice low.
“Yeah,” I admit. “Guess I am.”
Her lips part, and she takes a slow step closer. “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”
“Then stop being impossible to look away from.”
She doesn’t move.
I reach for her, giving her time to change her mind.
It seems she doesn’t.
The kiss starts soft, cautious, then deepens as her hands find my chest. She tastes like wine and salt and memory.
When her fingers slide to the back of my neck, everything else fades. The room. The ocean. The years we lost. All of it falls away as we stumble toward the bed, her laugh caught between our mouths before it dissolves into a sigh.
I unzip the back of her dress. “Leave the shoes on and get on the bed on your knees.”
She disrobes and presents her ass to me.
My cock stands at attention. I reach into the bedside table and turn the vibrator on. “I can see you’re wet.” I shake my head and force myself to breathe. “Let me know if you’re nervous or uncomfortable.”
She nods as I run the vibe up her legs and move to her nipples.
She moves her ass around, and I want to lick her into a frenzy.
I push the vibe in, and her pussy pulls it deep. I rub my fingers over her throbbing clit. I know exactly what it takes to make her climax. After a moment, I pull the vibe out. Her sounds tell me she’s close.
“Roll on your back and open wide.”
I look down at her, arms high above her head and legs spread wide, her pussy open and flexing. “I wish I could take a photo of you like this.”
“Don’t you dare.” She starts to close her knees.
I push them wide and shake my head. “I can wish. Instead, I’m committing it to memory.”
She relaxes, and I tap her hip. She lifts so I can place a pillow under her. I pick up her vibrator.
“So you thought you might need orgasms while you were in Hawaii?”
She shrugs. “It’s better than planning a one-time hook up.”
I lean the vibe against the outside of her pussy lips. She can feel the sensation, but I don’t think it will be enough to get a release. She whimpers, her hips looking for the friction she needs.
My cock is weeping in my pants, but her toy will make the task ahead so much more fun. “Does this feel okay?” I adjust the vibrator, and her hips move, pleading for more. “You’re so responsive. This gives me ideas.”
I stand and undress for her. I give my cock two hard tugs to keep it from exploding. Tonight is about Liz.
I join her on the bed and circle the vibrator with a light touch around her clit. She tries to grind into the toy.
“What do you want, Liz? Use your words and tell me.”
“Ric. Ple—aaah—” I put the vibrator into her with one sharp push. “I need you inside me.”
“Do you like this?”
She nods, and her hips rock.
I pull out the vibrator, and she whimpers.
My fingers roam her body, careful not to touch her breasts or her beautiful slit. If I wait too long, I’ll come without ever pushing into that stunning pussy, but I can’t stop yet. Her body is so responsive. I return the vibrator to her vagina and twist it to a faster setting. She moans.
“You like this plastic cock inside you.”
Her breathing is labored, so I know she’s close. I pull the vibrator out, and moisture escapes.
I tap her lips with the toy, and she opens her mouth. “That’s it. Clean this off.”
She licks it. “Holy fuuuuuck.”
“Do you use other toys?” I ask.
“Sometimes.”
“What else do you like?”
“I love my clit sucker and my nipple—”
I place the vibrator on her clit and her voice fades. “Don’t stop.”
I reach for her nipples to pinch and pull as her hips undulate.
“I sometimes like nipple clamps.”
“Did you bring those too?”
“No, but don’t stop what you’re doing. My pussy’s on fire, and I’m ready to hump anything for some friction.”
I lean down and kiss her. I can taste her on her lips. I lie down beside her to continue the kiss. “Do you want to come?” I whisper.
She shivers. “Yes, please.”
“I’ll let you,” I promise. Although probably not as quickly as she’d like.
I move down her body, kissing reverently as I go—her clavicle, nipples, belly button, and hip bones all get little pecks, unlike the bruising bites of back in the day.
“Please. Please. Make me come,” she begs.
My tongue licks a path down to her center and moves gently across her pussy. It’s time. “I want you to watch me.”
My fingers move to her clit, matching the rhythm of my tongue. I suckle the bud. She’s so close.
With two fingers, I push inside and find that special spot. I rub it hard while increasing the sucking on her nub.
“Come for me,” I command, barely taking my mouth away from her pussy. I press my tongue into her, and she can’t hold back. I’m bathed in her bliss, the nectar I was eager for.
I continue to strum her clit as I reach for a condom and roll it on as the last waves of her orgasm move through her. Then I turn her over and push into her pussy. “You’re so fucking tight.”
I spank her, and she moans her delight as we push and pull together. “I’m close,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Harder,” Liz demands.
I push into her and spank her again, and I can feel the twitches inside her. As she reaches her climax again, her pussy grabs my cock and pulses out my seed.
“Holy shit!” she yells. “These are the best orgasms I’ve ever had.”
My dick rises to the occasion, proud of himself. I hold her tightly. “Me too.”
When it’s over, I stay close, bracing my weight beside her. Her chest rises and falls.
I roll to my side, and she rests her head against my chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her hair spills across my arm, warm and soft, her scent mixing with salt air and candlelight drifting through the open balcony door.
The room is still.
I stare at the ceiling, tracing the shadows the light makes across the plaster. I know how fragile this is. How easily it could break. How quickly one wrong move could ruin it all.
After all, we specifically agreed not to do this—right before we did. Yet she’s here. Curled into me. Breathing with me. Choosing to stay.
And that feels like something.
Maybe an opening.
Maybe this only exists for tonight. Maybe it lasts the week. Maybe it burns out as fast as it flared.
I just know I don’t want to waste a second pretending it doesn’t matter.