9. Emory
EMORY
The moment we step into my suite, the air between us feels electric enough to power the entire resort.
Vada stands just inside the doorway, her sundress slightly rumpled from our encounter in the beach cabana, her lips still swollen from kissing, looking at me with an expression that's equal parts desire and uncertainty.
The soft lighting from the bedside lamps casts everything in warm gold, and I can hear our breathing over the distant sound of waves.
"Are you sure?" I ask, though every cell in my body screams at me not to give her an opportunity to change her mind. "Because once we—"
"Emory," she interrupts, stepping closer with deliberate movement that spikes my pulse. "I've never been more sure."
When she cups my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones, I'm lost. Eight years of wondering what if, and now she's here, in my room, looking at me like I'm everything she's wanted.
"Come here," I say, pulling her against me.
Kissing her feels natural and like a revelation all at once. Her mouth is soft and eager against mine, hands threading through my hair in that way that made me lose my mind in college. When she makes a small sound against my lips, my control snaps.
My hands explore her waist, the bare skin of her arms, the way her breath catches when I find that sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She's responsive as I remember, but there's something different too—a confidence that speaks to the woman she's become.
"You feel incredible," I murmur against her throat, then prove it by kissing along her collarbone until she arches against me with a gasp.
"So do you," she breathes, her hands exploring my chest and shoulders with focused attention that makes me wonder how I survived eight years without her touch.
We move toward the bed with surprising coordination given how thoroughly I'm being destroyed by the soft sounds she makes when I find her sensitive spots.
The ocean view windows provide the perfect backdrop, moonlight streaming across white linens, but all I can focus on is the way she looks at me when I pause to see her.
"God, you're beautiful," I say. "You've always been beautiful, but now..."
"Now?" she asks, settling onto the bed with grace that makes my mouth go dry.
"Now you know how beautiful you are," I finish, joining her on the soft mattress. "It's intoxicating."
When she kisses me in response, it's with the kind of intensity that suggests we're both done with tentative exploration.
Her dress slides off with surprising ease, revealing skin that's golden from tropical sun and curves that are both familiar and new.
I take my time rediscovering every inch of her, mapping the ways her body has changed while marveling at everything that's exactly the same.
"I missed this," she admits when my mouth finds that spot just below her ear that always made her melt. "I missed you touching me like you're memorizing every detail."
"I am memorizing every detail," I confess against her skin. "Eight years felt like forever."
Making love to Vada feels like coming home and exploring somewhere new. Our bodies remember how to move together, but there's a depth to the connection that didn't exist in college. Every touch, every kiss feels both achingly familiar and thrillingly new.
When she arches beneath me, hands clutching my shoulders as I worship every inch of skin I can reach, the expression on her face is pure bliss and trust that makes my chest tight with emotion.
"I love watching you fall apart," I tell her, honest about how incredible she looks lost in sensation.
"Then don't stop," she manages, though her voice is breathless and unsteady in a way that makes me want to spend hours learning what makes her respond like this.
By the time we're both thoroughly exhausted and tangled in sheets that smell like ocean air and tropical flowers, the moon has moved significantly across the sky, and I'm pretty sure I've rediscovered what it means to feel complete.
"That was..." Vada starts, then trails off like she can't find adequate words.
"Better than I remembered," I finish, pulling her closer so her head rests on my chest. "And I remembered it being pretty incredible."
"Definitely better," she agrees, tracing lazy patterns on my skin that make me want to start all over again. "Though we should probably get some sleep. Tomorrow's activities start early, and I have a feeling we're going to need our energy."
She's right, but falling asleep with Vada curled against me feels like the kind of luxury I thought I'd never experience again. Her breathing gradually deepens and steadies, but I stay awake longer, listening to the ocean and processing the fact that everything between us changed.
My phone is blowing up with the usual social media crap, but for the first time since getting to this crazy place, I don't even look at how many likes or whatever.
Yesterday Vada and I were playing the "friends" card, even though it was clear we had something going on.
Fast forward to now, and we're recovering from the best sex of our lives. It's happening fast, but feels right.
After morning kisses, Vada untangled herself and went to her suite to get ready for the day.
After a quick shower, I’m toweling off when I hear the first rumble of thunder through the bathroom windows.
The sky outside has darkened significantly, with heavy clouds rolling in from the ocean.
According to the resort information, afternoon storms are common this time of year.
Lightning slices across my suite as I'm getting dressed, followed by thunder close enough to rattle the windows. The lights flicker, and the evening I was planning feels like it might end before it starts.
Natural light disappears as the storm intensifies, leaving my suite dependent on artificial lighting that keeps flickering with each thunder crash. I'm debating whether to head to dinner when the power goes out completely, plunging everything into darkness.
"Well, that's just great," I mutter, feeling around for my phone's flashlight function.
A soft knock on the terrace door interrupts my search for emergency lighting. Through the glass, I can see Vada silhouetted against the storm, holding what appears to be several candles and wearing a resort robe that suggests she was mid-prep when the power died.
"Emergency lighting delivery," she says when I open the door, extending candles that smell like vanilla and tropical flowers. "My suite has the emergency candle supply, apparently. Very romantic for a power outage."
"Perfect timing," I say, accepting the candles and trying not to focus on how unreal the flickering light makes her look. "I wonder what this means for the celebration dinner."
"The front desk called," she says, "They've suspended everything until the storm passes, and the restaurant is running on generator power for essential services only."
"So we're stuck here until this blows over?"
"Looks like it," she agrees, "Though honestly, some of my muscles are questioning me about beach volleyball dives, so I'm not entirely sad about quiet evening."
“You want to hang out here?” I offer.
“I like that idea.” She settles into one of my suite's armchairs while I arrange the candles for the best lighting, curling her feet under herself in a movement that's achingly familiar from college study sessions.
I settle onto the sofa across from her, instantly creating a cozy atmosphere with candles and the sound of the storm, escaping the wedding festivities and all the social media coverage we'd been dealing with all week.
"Very nice," she agrees, and something serious in her tone. "I've been curious about something..."
"What's that?"
"Your travel lifestyle," she says, settling deeper into the chair. "It looks incredible from the outside, but what's it actually like? All that constant relocating, always being 'on' for social media, never really settling anywhere?"
The question hits deeper than I expected, mainly because it touches on issues I've been trying not to examine too closely.
"Honestly?" I say. "It's more complicated than the Instagram posts suggest."
"That’s what I thought."
I study her face in the candlelight, noting the genuine curiosity and complete absence of judgment. This is Vada, the person who used to know me better than anyone, who I could tell everything to without fear of it being used against me later.
"The financial reality is pretty stressful," I admit, the words coming easier than expected.
"Maintaining the lifestyle my brand requires—staying in luxury accommodations, eating at picture perfect restaurants, participating in expensive activities—it's all on cards and the hope that the next sponsored post will cover expenses. "
"How stressful?" she asks gently, leaning forward with the kind of focused attention that makes me want to tell her everything.
"Maxed out credit cards, constantly calculating whether I can afford the next trip, lying awake at night wondering what happens if the algorithm changes and engagement drops," I say, surprised by how relieved I feel to voice these fears out loud.
"From the outside, it looks like I'm living this incredible adventure lifestyle, but internally, I'm always one bad month away from financial disaster. "
"Emory," she says softly. "That sounds exhausting."
"It is," I admit. "And the weird part is, I love the travel, I love creating content that inspires people to get out and explore, but the pressure of maintaining this perfect lifestyle image is slowly killing the joy in it."
"You should change it up,” she says. "If you could redesign your career without the financial pressure, what would you do?"