Chapter 4 Tian
FOUR
Tian
I was still buzzing from sucking him down in the bathroom, my lips tingling, my throat raw in the best way, and we never made it to the steak. Jack’s body dwarfed mine, big hands and heavy muscle, and when he lifted me up as if I weighed nothing, I clung to him as heat curled low in my belly.
“I want you inside me.”
“Not steak?” he asked, and fake-pouted, although his jokey tone didn’t match the apparent reluctance to let me go.
“Now.” I was happy to beg.
He paused, his breath rough at my ear. “Negative, PrEP. Condoms.”
“Same. Safe’s the only way I play,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to his, heart racing.
He kissed me once, slow and deliberate, before hoisting me up.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he freaking carried me to his bed.
I kind of hoped he’d toss me, but no, he was a gentleman, and he set me down gently, then fumbled inside a wash bag for foil packets and a small tube, tossing them between us.
My breath caught when he caged me. I’d had him in my mouth, I knew it was thicker than anyone I’d ever taken, and my body clenched in anticipation.
This could be the worst pain or the best freaking thing to ever happen to me.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, voice low.
“I want all of it,” I answered, firmer than I thought I could manage.
The first slide of his slick fingers worked me open, patient, careful, stretching me until I writhed against the sheets, moaning into his mouth when he bent to kiss me.
He whispered over my lips, filthy praise tumbling out between gentle reassurances—telling me how tight I was, how gorgeous I looked spread out for him, how he wanted to ruin me and worship me in the same breath.
He sat back on his knees, fingers still inside me, his free hand teasing over my chest, finding my nipples, rolling one between his fingers until I arched into him with a whimper.
He pinched lightly, soothed with a thumb, then tugged again, alternating pleasure and sting until I was gasping, my cock leaking against my stomach.
Each curl of his fingers had me begging louder, kissing him back hungrily, tasting the salt of his sweat as he called me perfect, beautiful, brave, until I was shaking and pleading for more.
“Look at you opening up for me,” he murmured, kissing the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then the hollow of my throat.
“So beautiful, Tian. Taking my fingers like you were made for me.” His voice was rough, praise spilling from him, dirty and reverent all at once.
I moaned into his kisses, clutching his shoulders as he worked me wider, whispering promises that he’d give me everything, that I’d never forget how it felt to be filled by him.
Each filthy word made my cock leak, every gentle press of his lips steadying me even as I begged for more.
“Now, Jack. Now. Please, I need you,” I begged, my voice raw with urgency.
He stared down at me with something like surprise, as if he couldn’t quite believe how desperate I was for him, how badly I wanted him inside me. His hesitation made me hold him tighter, tilting up for another kiss, showing him with every gasp and wordless plea that I craved all of him, right now.
I begged when he hesitated, and when he finally rolled the condom down his length and pressed the tip in, waiting for me to relax, the world narrowed to the heat and stretch of him filling me, inch by glorious inch.
My breath broke on a cry, half pleasure, half disbelief someone this big could fit inside me.
But he carried me through it, murmuring encouragement, his chest pressed to mine, his strength surrounding me.
“Tell me I’m not hurting you, please,” he groaned, his forehead pressed to mine, eyes searching. He winced when I cried out, but I cupped his face and kissed him hard, reassuring.
“So, fucking good, Jack. You’re perfect. Don’t stop.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again, voice breaking, almost desperate. “Please don’t let me—”
I moved then, grinding up against him, my nails raking down his back, forcing his eyes wide. “Move, Jack,” I panted. “Move.” When he bottomed out, my toes curled. “Fuck,” I gasped, nails biting into his back. “Fuck!”
“You good?” he asked, sweat beading on his temple.
“Better than good. Move.”
He did. Long, slow thrusts that stole my sanity, building a rhythm that had me meeting him eagerly.
Every push lifted me closer to the edge, his weight grounding me, my cock trapped between us, delicious friction with every thrust, rubbing against the ridges of his abs and the coarse hair on his belly, making me cry out as his mouth silenced my moans with desperate kisses.
I was lost in him—his size, his strength, the way he seemed to hold all of me and give me everything back.
When release tore through me, it was with his name on my lips, my body clenching hard around him, dragging his climax out of him with a guttural growl.
He buried himself deep, trembling as the condom caught the heat of him.
He stayed there, holding me, kissing me softly as we both came down, until I could only sigh and collapse under him, utterly undone.
“Fuck, that was…”
“Okay?” he asked, and there was that fear back in his tone, as if he needed reassurance.
He eased himself out as he asked, and I rolled with him to lie on top of his broad chest. He let me sprawl there, his big hands rubbing lazy circles over my back. I took my time kissing him deeply, then pressed my forehead to his.
“That was the best casual limited-time on an island fuck I’ve ever had,” I confessed, breath still shaky.
“You have a lot of casual limited-time on an island fucks?” he asked.
“Nope.” I kissed the skin I could reach. “Your cock is fucking amazing, and what you do with it… Wow.”
“Really?” Christ, he sounded so doubtful.
I lifted my head, searching his face. His expression was shadowed, a wince flickering across his features.
Had someone told him otherwise? Maybe his ex?
Or other hookups like me? The thought made my chest tighten.
I stroked his jaw gently, willing him to believe me.
“Someone did a number on you, didn’t they? ”
“No, I…” He closed his eyes again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Shit, Jack, you’re perfect,” I murmured, kissing him again, sealing the words with my mouth. “I’m going to enjoy every single second of the next two weeks with you—every kiss, every touch, every time we fuck until neither of us can move.”
“You want to do this again?” Again, doubt flickered in his eyes, as if he couldn’t quite believe I’d want him again. I hated that. I’d prove it to him, show him what I craved, and if that wasn’t enough, I’d tell him outright until he understood.
I chuckled, then buried my face into his neck and hung on like a limpet.
“Yep, you, me, tangled up together for fourteen days straight—sex, sweat, kisses, every filthy, perfect thing we can cram into the best damn holiday hookup ever. Then home. Work. Win.”
“Yeah,” he said on a sigh. “Best hookup ever.”
By day two, we gave up on the idea of me having my own room and shoved all my things into the corner of his suite.
By the end of that second day, I had closet space—my riot of bright colors hanging beside his neat rows of navy and gray—and by the start of day three, we were already making a run for more condoms and so much lube I doubted the island had any left.
Maybe I was exaggerating, but I couldn’t get enough of him.
We took each other everywhere—on the cool tiled floor when we couldn’t make it to the bed, over the arm of the sofa, half-submerged in the bath, and once he even had me braced against the shower door, slippery with oil from the couples massage we’d booked on a whim.
Not that we were officially a couple, but two-for-one was too good to pass up, and the way he kissed me before and after, I could almost believe we were.
Not sure how that would work. I didn’t do relationships—I never had.
I’d always been focused on one thing and one thing only: securing a spot on the Olympic team, pushing myself harder than anyone else, X Games gold, being the best. That was the plan, the dream, the only thing that mattered.
Everything else—dating, hookups, messy feelings—was just noise in the background.
Or at least, that was what I told myself.
But lying in Jack’s arms last night, his heartbeat steady under my ear, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
Somehow, without me even realizing it, he was slipping past every wall I’d built in my battle to get to the top of my game, prying open the locked doors, making me want more than just sex and gold medals.
He was working his way under my defenses, and the scariest part was at that moment, right there, I didn’t want to stop him.
“I’m not sure about this,” he said for the tenth time as we stood on the sand with boards tucked under our arms. We were going surfing—something I’d done a few times before.
Not a whole lot of surfing in Colorado, where I grew up, and I hadn’t had many chances since—training, competitions, always on the mountain instead of the beach.
I had some transferable skills from snowboarding, enough balance and awareness of edges to make me decent on a board, but he was adamant he’d be down and out in seconds, convinced the ocean would eat him alive.
This was Jack’s first time, and the way he eyed the rolling waves made me grin.
“Come on, big guy, you strap knives to your feet and face down guys who want to knock you into next week. You can handle a board and some water.”