Chapter 23 Mila
Chapter 23
Mila
Our final night.
When Fin suggests dinner at one of the hotel’s restaurants, I jump at the chance. I think his offer is a kindness to us both. I know he’s full of feelings—we both seem to have a lot of them. I see his in the way he studies me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. It’s like he’s logging every facet of me for later inspection. For me, these days have been a dream. But now reality awaits just around the corner.
Fin insists I choose a restaurant from the resort’s offerings, and I opt for Japanese. Though I wonder if I’ve made a mistake when we walk into the space and I find it to be all low lighting, dark wood, mirrors, and quiet intimacy.
We’re offered a private dining room, and when Fin looks to me, he declines without needing to ask. We follow the hostess to a table on the main floor instead.
Out of all our days, today is not one where we need to be alone. Somehow, the second-best seat in the house still leaves us feeling like we’re wrapped in our own little world.
Conversation happens. It’s not easy. And though I have difficulty swallowing my food, let alone tasting it, I manage. Fin recommends we dine kaiseki style, which turns out not only to be a multicourse dinner of delicious small plates but also the experience of omotenashi , which means “wholehearted hospitality,” as he explains.
The food is a treat for the eyes, the courses served on hoba leaves, slate, and shell, each serving decorated with watercress and tiny edible flowers. And while the dishes look like works of art, the tastes and textures are where the real art lies. We’re served dainty dishes of tuna tartare and wasabi, seared lobster dressed in coral sauce, and a crab croquette in a sweet-and-sour sauce. Wagyu beef in miso nut next, and unagi seiro , which turns out to be grilled eel. The latter is a little out of my comfort zone, but Fin manages to coax me into trying a little, served from his chopsticks.
We eat sushi to round off our main course before moving on to share our desserts: tonka bean ice cream infused with cherry blossom leaves and a deliciously light chestnut tart. I don’t put up a fight this time, and our dinner passes in a blur of polite interruptions, delicious sake pairings, and carefully curated conversation.
And then it ends. And we walk hand in hand back to the suite, under a velvet curtain of twinkling stars. It’s not quite the perfect ending, until the door closes quietly behind us.
“I might not be able to cook your dinner,” Fin purrs, backing me up against the wood no sooner than it’s closed. “But I hope I’ve showed you a good time.”
I shiver, need blooming deep inside me, my eyes fluttering closed as his lips lightly brush mine.
“Dinner?” I swallow, my voice already husky with need. “You can’t even scramble an egg,” I tease, pressing my hands behind me, mainly to hide how they shake. I want this so badly. Need to feel him over me, owning me, making me forget what’s to come.
Parting is such sweet sorrow ?
No, parting just hurts. Even when you know it needs to be that way.
“That’s true,” he agrees as he presses his forearm above my head. He stares down at me with such incitement as he begins to slowly flip open the buttons on my dress. One, two ... five—he flicks the sides open all the way to my waist.
He gives one of the many smiles in his arsenal, this one seductive, the kind that probably moistens underwear in a five-mile radius. Fin DeWitt could seriously be my undoing.
If only I could let him.
Since our conversation the day before yesterday, I’ve played his words over and over again in my head. What if he wasn’t trying to wangle a situationship? What if he was being serious? About being serious?
Did I get it wrong that day in the outdoor shower? Was I not clear, or did he deceive me? It’s not like I asked him to sign a contract or swear his allegiance to singledom.
Imagine if I’d asked him to promise not to make things complicated?
Hey, Fin, I’ll fake marry you, but you’ve got to promise not to fall in love with me, m’kay?
He probably would’ve laughed in my face.
Not that it matters, because it’s just the setting that makes things feel like this. It’s the magic of the island keeping reality at arm’s length. Our close confines that muddy thoughts and skew feelings. I tell myself that if Fin had felt any sort of attraction to me, he would’ve sought me out after our closet interlude.
“What is it?” he whispers, staring down at me.
“I was just thinking you can’t scramble an egg but you can certainly scramble my brain.”
With a throaty chuckle, he lowers his head, his mouth meeting mine, this time in a slow, teasing kiss. I twine my arms around his neck, my head tipping back as he shifts, the tenor of his kiss changing. His lips chart every inch of mine, his tongue encouraging me to open wider, to accept the seductive brush of it.
“This mouth,” he whispers, but he doesn’t finish his thought as his broad palm slides up my body: hip, ribs, the side of my breast. His thumb coasts across my nipple, the nub tightening under that tiny press.
I whisper his name as I pull him closer, my breasts aching and heavy as all those feel-good potions begin to swim through my veins. He’s my champagne wish and caviar dreamboat. A dream, not because he’s a little bit posh or too rich for my tastes, but because I just can’t afford him in my life.
“I love how you touch me,” I whisper boldly. “How your big hands hold me. You make me feel like I’m yours.”
“You are mine,” he says, pulling back. The low light turns his face all angles and shadows. “You’re my wife.”
“Only for tonight.”
His jaw flexes, his tone low and husky. “Better make it memorable, then.”
As if I could ever forget. As if I ever will. It’s like he’s carved away a piece of me that I’ll never get back. But for now, I’m all his and he’s mine, and we feel it everywhere. Skin touching skin.
“Pretty,” he murmurs as his fingertip charts the scalloped edge of my bra, his eyes following the motion.
“I’m glad you think so. Matching knickers too.”
“So I see.”
“Though I think it was unfair of you to only return them to me in exchange for a kiss.”
“A kiss per pair.”
“Opportunist.”
A pulse thrums in his throat as his touch coasts down the valley between my breasts. “Ingenious. Fuck, Mila. You’re truly beautiful.”
My chest heaves, my body straining closer, my sighs all desire and building desperation. I want him to hold me, bend me. I want his rough whispers in my ear and his thick solidness between my legs. I want him to touch me everywhere, and all at once. And then I want to do it all over again until I forget that tonight is all we have.
He cups my breast, his spread thumb and forefinger the perfect frame as he lowers his head, sucking my nipple over the fabric. Need spikes inside me, and I whimper as he curls his thumb inside the lacy cup, exposing my nipple to his view.
“I love your tits.” His base compliment hits all my pleasure buttons, my body reacting viscerally as his thumb glides back and forth over the sensitive peak. “At some point tonight, I’m going to slide my cock between your pretty lips. You’re going to make it nice and ... wet .” Had a word ever felt so seductive? “Then I’m going to fuck you right here.”
It’s not a question, and I’m okay with that as he holds me. Whispers. Squeezes. Sensation layering sensation as I pull his head closer, desperate.
“ Fin. ” His name aches from me.
“You want my mouth?” His breath is a hot burst against my nipple.
“ Yes. Touch me.” I shiver as he presses the flat of his tongue to my nipple, swirling it across the tip.
“You’re so sensitive here, aren’t you?” His eyes shine as they lift to find mine, his body an elegant arch as he pulls my nipple into his mouth. He sucks as though desperate, his attentions rougher than before, but the tide of his actions matches my need perfectly.
“I bet you could come like this.” His assertion is hoarse. “I bet you’d come so hard without me touching you anywhere else.”
The way I feel, it’s entirely possible, and I encourage the return of his mouth.
“Yes, oh, God. Like that.” In his mouth, my nipple is a taut, aching point. My nails tighten against his shoulder as I share this pleasured pain. “Take me to bed.”
“No, darling. I want you right where you are,” he whispers, words peppered in the space between his kisses. “Just. Like. This.”
I watch through watery eyes as his large hands curl around my bare hips, his thumbs caressing my hip bones. He lowers himself to his knees.
“You’re so lovely, Mila. I’m going to miss holding you.” He tips forward, pressing his mouth over my underwear. “And I’m going to miss this pussy.” He inhales so deeply and presses his tongue to my lace-covered slit. “So, so much.”
“ Oh, God. ” My words are sandpapery as I arch away from the wall, my hand clasping his head, holding him there. Hot breath and soft lips, my insides throbbing needily for this. For him.
His eyes catch mine, his thumbs curling into the sides of my underwear. “Look at me, Mila. I want to so badly, I’m shaking.”
I whimper, loving this. Loving how open he’s being. As he yanks the gossamer fabric to my knees, my body bounces from the wall with the motion. I inhale a sharp gasp, twisting, as I seek to fill the space between us.
“Can I touch you?” he murmurs, watching as he presses his thumb to my slit.
“Yes.” I swallow my gasp as the tip slips inside. Consent might be sexy, but I crave this.
“You’re so fucking beautiful here.” His thumb swipes through the already slick ribbon of my flesh. “Mila.” His whisper sounds awe filled as he rubs my arousal between his forefinger and thumb. “So sweet,” he adds, sucking those digits into his mouth.
How do I feel that so viscerally? “Fin, please.”
“Show me where you need me, love.”
My hips begin to buck, meeting his movements.
“Here, is this the spot?” he purrs, bringing my wetness to the soft rise of my clit.
It feels so desperately dirty like this, pressed against the door, half-undressed, my underwear stretched wide between my legs.
“You like that, my wife? Does that feel good?”
“Stop playing.”
“I’m not playing, love. I’m making dreams come true.” His whisper is hoarse as he pressures and pets, as he swipes and swirls, as he steals my breath, making my body shake. “Such a good girl, getting yourself off on just my thumb.”
“More ...” My fingers still tremble as I reach for him. “I need more.”
“You need me to kiss you here? Suck on this clit? Do you need me to fuck you with my tongue until you come on my face?”
“ Yes! ” My answer leaves my mouth in a tight, tiny sound. “Please, Fin. Please. ”
“Then when I kiss you later, you can taste yourself. Because you get off on that, don’t you?”
I roll my lips together to suppress a moan, his gaze dragging liquid fire across my flesh. The pictures his words paint slide another layer of sensation to the experience as he presses his tongue to my swollen clit.
“Oh, God, yes!” My hips meet his tongue as he licks and laps, and he sucks, not to savor but to devour.
“There’s my good girl. My sweet, filthy girl.”
I cry out, relief and sheer bliss washing through me as Fin whispers such wicked words, such filthy things.
How delicious I am.
How he can’t wait to fill me.
To feel me throbbing around him.
How he owns me. Completely.
And in that moment, he does.
But I fight the sensation—I’m not sure I can do this standing up, my legs shackled by my underwear, my body weak and shaky.
“Oh, God, Fin, please. I can’t. Not like this.”
“Stop wriggling.” His teeth are a sudden reprimand, pressed to my thigh.
“Oh!” The smarting throb seems to fall in time with the desperate beat of my body as Fin slides my underwear the rest of the way down my legs.
“Or I won’t let you come until I’m inside.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to stop me.”
His attention flicks up, humor and wickedness shining there. I smile, hoping it doesn’t look too wobbly. This right here, good sex and connection, laughter when you least expect it. It could be real. If only I could trust it.
The moment breaks as Fin takes my ankle, sliding the scrap of abused lace from my foot. He discards it behind him somewhere but doesn’t lower my foot again. Instead, he lifts it to a leather box that wasn’t in the hallway last time I checked.
He slides my dress out of the way as he presses my thigh open. I feel so deliciously exposed. Powerful somehow.
“So fucking pretty.” His gaze lifts, but not his head. “I’m going to destroy you, Mila. Fuck you so well that I’ll ruin you.”
“Do it,” I whisper, my breath taut, aching. I want him so much, I shake with it. Every second of tonight has built to this. Our final night together before tomorrow, when we’ll leave behind this perfect messy moment of us. It’s the way it must be. The adult thing to do. We’re just too different. Too separate. We’re no dream come true.
“There will be no other men for you.” His eyes catch mine, and he watches my expression as he drives two fingers between my legs, the motion slow and rhythmic, illuminating just how wet I am. I arch as his head lowers, and as his mouth meets my pussy, he sucks my swollen clit between his lips.
Tomorrow, I’ll be back in London, worrying about my life and my choices. So tonight, I’ll just switch off my brain and revel in this.
His mouth meets my pussy again, the vibration of his groan vibrating to my bones as he presses his tongue to my clit, painting a wet stripe across it.
“ Oh! Fin . . .”
He begins to feast on me—there are no tentative tastings or licks as he devours me, piece by piece.
“That’s it—you make those fucking noises for me,” he says as his lashes flutter closed, and his tongue licks into me like I’m a pudding bowl.
My hands scrabble for purchase, the wall, then his shoulders, using them as leverage to move my hips. To fuck his face. I’m writhing and desperate as Fin takes ownership of my body. Licking and swirling, lapping and sucking, he peels me apart with his tongue until I’m begging for more. Which he gives. And gives. Until it all feels too much. Until I’m bursting from my skin.
I make to move my leg, not sure I can stand it, or even just stand, when his hand tightens on my thigh, pressing it back.
“Open your legs. Open your fucking legs right now.”
My reaction to his command is visceral, my body throbbing and twisting with need. I shouldn’t be turned on, not at the rasp in his tone or his command. But I can’t help it. I can’t help but give in. I spread my knees wider and beg him with my body and my words.
With a grunt, he drives two fingers deep inside me, aiding this spiral of pleasure. A brush of his stubbled chin and the barest threat of his teeth draw me higher and higher until I’m fit to burst from my skin.
“Yes, come for me, Mila. Come for me as I suck on this clit.”
I cry out, my hips arching away from the wall for the last time.
“That’s it, beautiful. Come on my fucking tongue.” He slides his hand behind me, pulling me to his face, where he just ... inhales me.
My whole body twitches—like I’m suffering a seizure. I press the back of my hand to my mouth, my throat hoarse thanks to his torturous assault and an orgasm that seems unending.
Fin
I tilt my head to take in all this loveliness. The rounds of her pale hips marked red by my hands. Her head tilted skyward, her eyes closed, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. Her nipples pink and hard, her chest rising and falling as though she’s been running.
“You’re so beautiful when you come for me.” As I press my lips to the soft pout of her inner thigh, Mila tilts her head, committing my kiss to memory. The slide of my hands to the past.
Or so she thinks.
Her lashes flicker closed as I stand, her bottom lip trembling. I press my mouth to the corner of her eye, and one salty tear transfers to my mouth. “Hush now.”
She nods but doesn’t reply, choking back the things she might say as she lifts her hand to my neck.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” I whisper as I brush my thumb across the wing of her collarbone. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”
“Yes, let’s do that.” Her chest moves once with some semblance of a laugh, the words lazy and long.
“Then I’m going to take you into the bedroom and start again. From the tips of your toes to the top of your head, I’m going to worship you, Mila.”
Her lashes flutter, her eyes dark inky pools. But she says nothing.
“You’re going to cry out my name so the whole resort knows who you belong to. And when you’re back in London—”
Her finger finds my mouth. I bite the tip in admonishment.
“When you’re back in London, you’ll think about me. You’ll remember the way I touched you, and you’ll miss me.”
“Fin, don’t.”
I reach for my fly, but Mila pushes my hands away. My heart beats like hooves as her fingers fold around my cock, pulling it out.
“You’ll remember how I made you laugh.” My words come out husky as she swipes my silky crown with her arousal, making herself shiver. “You’ll think about the times I held you, the shapes I bent you in, and you’ll realize that no one will ever fuck you better. Hold you better.”
Let me in, Mila. Let me in, please.
“ Yes. ” A sibilant hiss as she presses me there. I need you.
My pulse pounds so hard it echoes in my ears. I tighten one hand on her thigh, lifting, spreading, my other finding the base of her throat, where I feel her gasp. As I drive myself inside, her cry vibrates through my hold.
“Mila.” I press my cheek to hers, her walls a tantalizing throb. Breaths mingle, our bodies fused as I hold her there, just absorbing the moment. “You’ll miss me. And you’ll call me.” I slide the damp strands from her face when she closes her eyes, denying me.
Veiling her thoughts.
“You’ll call me,” I persist, pressing my lips to her chaotic pulse. “Because you’ll realize what we have is too good to let wither.”
“And too hard to make work,” she whispers in response.
My curse is delivered through gritted teeth, the grip of her body around my aching cock enough to make me burst. I flex my hips, and she groans, undulating into my next thrust. “Wrong, darling. I’d work so hard for you.”
She makes a noise, a tight breath, something inside her opening.
“I want to be inside you so deep.”
“You are,” she whispers, her lips by my ear. “So deep. I’ll remember this time until I’m old and gray.”
And I’m sitting in the rocking chair by your side, my mind supplies.
“Goddamn,” I moan, grinding against her. Pleasure crawls along my spine, tightening my balls, making her grunt as I thrust harder.
“It hurts so good.” Breath more than words. She grazes my earlobe with her teeth and shatters the last vestiges of my civility.
I give a long, raspy groan. I can’t think or process as a wave of Fuck yes ripples through my insides, pleasure coiling so low. A second later, everything becomes urgent and frantic, the darkened hallway filling with the sounds of our coupling.
“Don’t look away.” My fingers unfold to find her chin. “That’s my girl. That’s my good girl. Watch me, Mila. Watch how I make you mine.”
My heart feels like it could burst, my mouth meeting hers on an upthrust; our wet, messy, tongues twining as this need, this desperation to have her, own her, fills every inch of my being.
“Oh, God, Fin . . .”
Her body begins to throb my name, milking me for all I’m worth.
“I’ve got you,” I rasp into the soft skin of her neck. “Let go. I’ve got you, my darling girl.”
Still holding her wide, holding her eyes on mine, I drive myself inside her one final time.
This woman is mine. She’s not just my wife, but my why .
Tonight, or forever, I’m not letting go.