thirty-six #4
A year ago, my life had been a rotation of shifts at the club, cheap takeout, and late-night calls with Sam while laundry tumbled in the background. My biggest escape had been an hour on the bus to work.
And now—this.
Now I was half a world away, sitting in Mykonos with a man who had more secrets than I could keep straight, waiting for him to finish showering so we could eat food I couldn't pronounce in a place I hadn't known existed until it was handed to me like an afterthought.
I closed my eyes against the brightness, tilting my face toward the sun.
How had I gotten here?
A sharp knock at the door broke through the quiet.
I startled, glancing back toward the villa. The water was still running inside, so I crossed the living room and pulled the door open myself.
Two men stood there, both in neat polo shirts, our suitcases stacked neatly on a cart between them.
"Miss Hart?" one asked politely.
I nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
They wheeled the bags inside, setting them carefully near the entry. I tried not to look like I'd never had anyone deliver luggage for me before. "Really, thanks so much," I added, smiling as they gave small nods and left as quickly as they'd come.
The silence folded back in, heavier than before.
I grabbed my suitcase handle, tugged it down the hall until I found another bedroom—smaller, but still bigger than my entire apartment back home—and claimed the bathroom attached.
It felt almost wrong to unzip my bag on pristine tile, but the thought of waiting around until Brooks was done with his shower made my skin itch.
The water was quick, just enough to wash off the hours of travel and cool the heat still clinging to me. When I stepped out, I felt lighter, fresher, like maybe I could meet this new version of the night head-on.
By the time we both emerged again—me in a red and white checkered two piece, I hadn't realized I'd even packed, him in a linen shirt open at the throat—the sun had already dropped behind the horizon.
Outside, the air was cooler now, tinged with the faint brine of the sea and the spice of something grilling in the distance. The sky was washed in deep purples and golds, and the villa's lights cast a soft glow against the stone.
We stepped out together, his hand holding mine. The cobblestone path wound away from the villa toward the village, where faint music and laughter drifted up with the night air.
My stomach gave a hopeful little flip. The island was alive now in a way it hadn't been when we landed—lanterns swaying above narrow alleys, chatter spilling from tucked-away cafes, the pulse of something warm and easy stretching into the dark.
And for the first time since we'd left New Jersey, I let myself feel it—the excitement. The freedom.
The streets were alive, narrow alleys strung with lanterns and lined with little shops that spilled their goods right onto the cobblestones.
Couples drifted past hand-in-hand, waiters called out from doorways, and music curled through the air—somewhere between jazz and something older, more romantic.
We ended up at a tucked-away restaurant with tables pressed against a stone wall, vines curling above us and the sea stretching endlessly just beyond.
Candles flickered in glass holders, throwing golden light over his face.
He pulled out my chair—of course he did—and waited until I was settled before taking his own.
"You like it?" he asked once the waiter poured wine and disappeared again.
"It's beautiful," I admitted, glancing out at the horizon. "Like something from a movie."
He smirked. "Then I picked the right spot."
I laughed, shaking my head, but when I looked up he was watching me, really watching. My cheeks warmed under it.
Dinner blurred into a haze of grilled fish and fresh bread, of sipping wine and stealing glances. Halfway through, he leaned across the table and brushed his thumb over the corner of my mouth. "You had a crumb," he murmured.
I stilled, my lips parting just slightly. His thumb lingered a beat too long. He didn't move until I leaned forward and kissed him.
It was soft at first, tentative—like we were testing something. But then his hand curved against my cheek and the kiss deepened, the kind that made the whole world go quiet. I didn't even care that a couple at the next table smiled knowingly.
When we broke apart, I was breathless. "We're in public," I whispered.
He grinned, slow and wicked. "So?"
We ended up kissing again, and again—every time the conversation lulled, every time his hand brushed mine across the table. By the time dessert came, my lips felt swollen, my body humming with a restless, delicious ache.
After dinner, we wandered the streets, stopping to look at jewelry stalls and stray cats weaving between tables. He bought me a tiny ring with a red stone—"matches your outfit," he said casually, like it was nothing—but my heart wouldn't stop flipping over it.
By the time we reached the villa again, the night was thick and velvety, the pool glowing pale blue under the lights. I slipped off my sandals, dipping a toe in the water.
"Feels warm," I said. "We should swim."
His gaze skimmed over me, lingering where the hem of my dress flirted with my thighs. "Swimming, huh?"
"Don't act like you don't want to."
He chuckled, stepping close enough that his chest brushed my shoulder. "Careful. We know how swimming went for us last time."
I tipped my head back to look at him, every inch of me sparking under the weight of his stare. "You're so annoying," I said softly.
The air between us tightened. His hand lifted, almost like he couldn't help it, skimming down my bare arm. And I definitely wasn't going to stop him.
Back In the room, I dug through my suitcase, pulling out the first thing that resembled swimwear.
At the mirror, I twisted my hair up, securing it with a claw clip. A few strands slipped free, brushing the back of my neck. I reached for the tie at the top, fumbling with the knot. The fabric refused to give. My shoulders ached from trying to angle my arms just right.
And then, in the mirror, I saw him.
Brooks filled the doorway, shirt gone, skin golden from the lamps. He didn't say anything at first—just leaned there, watching me struggle, like he had all the time in the world.
"Can you help me?" I asked, exhaling a laugh that came out softer than I meant.
He crossed the room in three unhurried steps. When he stopped behind me, the heat of him slid up my spine before he even touched me. His hands found the tie easily, fingers brushing over my skin as he tugged it loose.
"You looked really good today," he said, voice low, smooth, like the words weren't even a compliment but a fact he'd been holding onto all evening.
His palms smoothed down my sides, lingering at my hips before skimming lower, wrapping over the front of my thighs. I shivered, caught between his touch and his reflection in the mirror.
"Thank you," I whispered. My head tilted back before I could stop it, resting against his chest.
He bent down until his lips were just above mine. The kiss landed soft, careful—like maybe he meant to keep it that way. But the way his hands tightened against my thighs said otherwise.
When he tried to pull back, I caught the back of his neck, holding him there. Our mouths met again, deeper this time, no hesitation, the kind of kiss that drowned out everything else.
His mouth covered mine again, harder this time, and my knees nearly buckled with the heat of it. The mirror fogged with our reflection—his body pressed flush against mine, his hands kneading over the curve of my thighs, slipping higher.
I arched back instinctively, hips pushing into him, and the hard line of him pressed right against me. The sound that escaped my throat was small, but I felt it vibrate into his mouth.
Brooks groaned low in response, his grip tightening as though he was barely holding himself in check. "Amira..." My name came out rough, strangled between restraint and need.
"Don't stop," I whispered, pressing harder against him, feeling the sharp jolt of his body against mine. Every inch of me was lit up, nerves firing where his hands traced, where his chest pushed into my back, where his mouth found the side of my throat.
I tilted my head, letting the words spill before I even thought about them. "Brooks."
The sound of his name from my mouth made him curse, low and broken, and it gave me courage I hadn't had a second before. I twisted in his arms, dropping to my knees in front of him, hands already sliding over the line of his abs to his waistband.
"Amira—" He started, but the rest of the protest dissolved when I freed him, thick and heavy in my palm. His head dropped back, a rough exhale tearing from his chest as my mouth closed over him.
The taste of him, the way his thighs tensed under my hands, the hiss of his breath as I took him deeper—it had me wetter than I'd ever admit. I moved slow at first, teasing, then faster, tongue and lips working until his hips jerked forward, until his fingers tangled tight in my hair.
"Fuck—baby, that's—" His voice cut off into a sharp groan, hips twitching like he was fighting not to lose it. Then his grip tightened, pulling me up before I could finish him.