Chapter 11
Sawyer
The moment Charli says yes, the word barely more than a breath between us, something inside me snaps. Not in a chaotic, out-of-control way, but like a steel cable finally giving after too much tension. I don’t hesitate.
My hand closes around hers, warm and firm, as I guide her down the hallway, the carpet muffling our footsteps. The room is only next door and I slide the key card in with one clean motion, the soft click of the lock disengaging echoing in the quiet corridor.
I push the door open, and the second we’re inside, I pull her in, kicking the door shut behind us with a resounding thud.
The sound reverberates through the space, final and decisive.
Charli’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, and I cage her in with my body.
My hands brace on either side of her head.
Her breath stutters, and her eyes flick up to mine, wide and dark, filled with something that’s not just desire—it’s raw, unfiltered trust.
That trust does something to me. Undoes me in a way I didn’t expect. It’s not just the heat in her gaze, but the vulnerability she’s offering me, the way she’s letting me see her, really see her.
I swallow hard, my throat tight with the weight of it. The room feels smaller now, the air thicker, charged with the electricity of what’s about to happen.
“You can still stop this,” I murmur, my forehead pressing to hers, my voice low and rough.
The words feel heavy, like they’re carrying the weight of everything unspoken between us.
My heart hammers in my chest, and I can feel the heat of her body against mine, a reminder of how close we are—physically and maybe something more.
She shakes her head slowly, her lips brushing mine as she whispers, “I don’t want to.” Her voice is steady, but I hear the tremor beneath it, the same mix of fear and longing I feel.
That’s all I need to hear.
My mouth crashes into hers, the kiss hungry and desperate.
Her lips part instantly, and I taste her—sweet and salty, like the ocean after a storm.
Her fingers dive into my hair, tugging hard enough to make my jaw clench, and I groan against her mouth, pressing closer.
She arches into me, her body fitting against mine like it was made for this, and I feel my control slipping, the last fragile threads of restraint snapping like a rubber band.
Our clothes come off fast, urgent, almost frantic.
Her tank dress is ripped up and over her head, the fabric catching on her earrings before falling to the floor.
My shirt follows, yanked free and tossed aside, landing on a chair with a muffled thud.
Her bra is next, the lace straps sliding down her arms as I pull it away, revealing her perky breasts, her nipples already tight and begging for my attention.
I pause for a second, just to drink her in, her skin glowing in the dim light, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Fuck, Charli,” I growl, my voice thick with need. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
She doesn’t respond, just reaches for my belt, her fingers shaking slightly as she undoes it.
I step back long enough to kick off my shoes and peel off my pants, my throbbing cock jutting out, demanding her attention.
She sinks onto the mattress, her back hitting the plush white duvet, her hair spilling around her like a halo.
The moonlight filtering through the blinds casts her in a soft, silvery glow, and I swear she’s the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.
I crawl over her slowly, my movements deliberate; I’m savoring every moment.
My lips brush the underside of her jaw, trailing down her neck, tasting the salt of the ocean and the faint tang of rum on her skin.
She gasps, her thighs parting as my hand slides down between us, brushing over the thin scrap of lace she still wears.
My fingers hook into it, tugging it down her legs, and I throw it aside, my eyes locking on her glistening pussy.
“God, Charli,” I breathe, my voice hoarse. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Then show me,” she pants, her voice wrecked and daring all at once.
I take my time with her, kissing every inch of her like she’s a prayer I’ve finally learned how to say.
My lips trace the curve of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her navel.
I tease her nipples with my tongue, sucking and nibbling until she’s squirming and moaning, her nails digging into my shoulders.
My hand slides down her stomach, my fingers dipping between her thighs, and I groan when I feel how wet she is, her juices coating my fingers.
“You like that, don’t you?” I murmur, my thumb circling her clit. “Being touched like this. Being wanted like this.”
“Yes,” she gasps, her hips bucking into my hand. “Fuck, yes.”
I grin, a dark, dirty smile, and slide two fingers into her, slow and deep.
She cries out, her head tipping back, her body arching off the bed.
I curl my fingers, finding that spot that makes her see stars, and she’s loud, her moans filling the room, her body responsive and uninhibited.
I add a third finger, stretching her, prepping her for what’s coming, and she’s a mess, her core clenching around me, her juices dripping down my wrist.
“I want you to cum for me, Charli,” I growl, my mouth closing over her nipple. “Right now. On my fingers.”
She shakes her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Not yet. I want you inside me first.”
I hesitate, my fingers still buried in her, my cock throbbing with need. But I pull them out, slowly, torturously, as she whimpers, her hips chasing my hand. I lean down, kissing her deeply, and she moans into my mouth, her hands gripping my hair tightly.
When I finally position myself at her entrance, I pause, my eyes locking with hers. “You sure?” I ask, my voice rough. “Because once I’m in, there’s no going back.”
She nods, her eyes dark and hungry. “Yes,” she demands.
I don’t need to be told twice. I thrust into her, slow and deliberate, watching her face as I fill her.
Her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting on a soft gasp, and I feel her tight heat envelop me, her walls clenching around my cock like a glove.
I groan, my head falling back, the sensation overwhelming.
“Fuck, Charli,” I pant. “You feel so good.”
She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I start to move, my hips snapping in a steady rhythm.
Every stroke is matched with a kiss, a whispered word, a moan torn straight from her throat.
She’s loud, her voice echoing off the walls, her body responsive and wild.
I grab her hips, bruising her skin as I pound into her, my cock sliding in and out of her wet core.
“You like that, don’t you?” I growl, my voice harsh. “Me stretching you out. Filling you.”
“Yes,” she cries, her nails digging into my back. “Harder. Faster. Please.”
I give her what she wants, my thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. I’m close, so close, my balls tight and aching. I reach between us, my fingers finding her ball of nerves, and I rub in quick, firm circles, my thumb pressing down hard.
“Cum for me, Charli,” I demand, my voice a low growl. “Right now. Let me feel you fall apart.”
Her body tenses, her core clenching around me like a vice, and she screams my name as she shatters, her orgasm ripping through her like a tidal wave.
Her juices flood around me, and I lose it, my control snapping like a rubber band.
I thrust into her one last time, my cock pulsing as I empty myself deep inside her.
“Fuck,” I groan, my forehead dropping to hers, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Charli.”
When we finally collapse against each other, slick with sweat, breathing hard, I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her fingers trace lazy circles against my chest, and for a long time, neither of us says anything.
Because what could we possibly say?
This wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just release.
It was something else.
And we both know it.
The moonlight filters through the blinds, casting the room in a soft, silvery glow.
Her breath evens out, her body relaxing against mine, and I feel her heartbeat slow, syncing with my own.
The air is thick with the scent of our desire, the tang of sweat, and the faint floral notes of the hotel room.
I trace the curve of her shoulder with my fingertips, my thumb brushing the delicate skin of her arm.
She hums softly, a contented sound that makes something in my chest ache.
This moment, this quiet aftermath, feels heavier than the passion that preceded it.
It’s not just the physical connection—it’s the emotional weight of what we’ve shared.
“Charli,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
She doesn’t answer and I realize that she’s fallen asleep on my chest. I brush a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering on her cheek.
“You’re incredible,” I whisper to her before I can stop the words.
Thankfully, she doesn’t hear me because I’m pretty sure that would freak her out and she might bolt on me.
Now, what do I do? Do I get up and leave the room? Do I wake her up and send her to her room? I’m so used to the one or two-night stands I’ve had over the last five years that it’s just a habit I have. Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am. Now get out.
But this time it is different. Charli is different. I don’t want to get up; I don’t want her to leave my bed. Actually, I want to lie perfectly still and let her use me as her pillow all night long.
So, the question is… why? What is the difference? The last time I let someone sleep on my chest, she left me waiting for her in an airport while she went away with another man. No note, no text, not a word. Just left me standing there like a fool.
I swore to myself I’d never be a fool again.
So, what is different now? Why do I want Charli here with me? Why does my stomach drop every time she looks at me? Why am I bending over backwards to make her life better?
For the last two hours, I’ve let these questions tangle up in my head until I can barely keep my eyes open.
But I’ve decided not to fight this. I keep remembering what Ian told me, ‘Look, I’ve been where you are—overthinking every look, every moment, trying to make sense of something that hasn’t even had a chance to breathe yet.
But trust me, that’s how you ruin it before it even begins.
So, here’s what I’ve learned: go with it.
Let it happen. Let it be messy or strange or unexpectedly good.
Whatever it is, let it surprise you.’ So, that’s what I’m going to do.
Let it surprise me.
The next morning, I wake up before Charli.
The early light seeps through the gauzy curtains, casting a golden hue across the sheets.
She’s still curled up against me, one arm flung over my chest, her breath soft and even.
Her hair is a tousled halo against me, and her legs are tangled with mine beneath the sheets.
I don’t move. Don’t want to. For once, I don’t feel the familiar itch to get up and start checking emails or reviewing project updates. All I want to do is lie here and memorize this moment.
But I can’t help myself. My brain spins plans for the day. I want to give her a perfect one—something she'll never forget. We leave tomorrow, but today is ours.
Snorkeling. There’s a reef close to the cove where the water is crystal clear and filled with bright, tropical fish. I can already imagine Charli in a turquoise bikini, her laugh echoing across the waves as she pops up beside me, mask askew and eyes wide with delight.
Maybe parasailing. She’ll pretend she’s scared, maybe even say no at first—but I have a feeling once we’re up there, floating above the island with nothing but blue sky and ocean in every direction, she’ll fall in love with it. Just like I’m falling for her.
Then dinner. Another beachside table, toes in the sand, candlelight flickering between us.
I want to see her in that sundress she wore last night, with her hair down and skin still warm from the sun.
I want another slow evening with her, full of laughter and long looks and that quiet, electric awareness that’s always humming just beneath the surface.
I glance down at her again, watching the way her lashes flutter slightly like she’s dreaming, and I feel a tug low in my chest.
Yeah. Today’s going to be unforgettable, and it’s not about snorkeling or parasailing or even dinner. It’s about her.
Charli stirs against me. She shifts slightly, then tenses. Her breath hitches. I feel it the moment she wakes up—not in that gentle, sleepy way, but in the full-body jolt of sudden panic.
She snaps upright, her eyes wide and unfocused for a beat before she realizes where she is and who she’s with.
"Shit," she mutters, her voice hoarse as she scrambles for the edge of the bed.
She grabs her clothes from the floor in a blur, tugging them on in jerky, panicked motions. I push up onto my elbows.
"Charli—"
She doesn’t let me finish. Doesn’t even look at me.
The door opens, slams shut, and she’s gone.
Just like that.
My chest is still rising and falling with the memory of her body against mine, and now there’s just the echo of that door and the sound of silence.
I stare at the closed door for a long beat, then let out a breath and laugh softly at myself.
She’s panicking. Full-blown, brain-scrambled panic. I know it because I’ve felt it too—the second-guessing, the internal screaming of what did I just do? I should feel stung, maybe even insulted. Instead, I find myself shaking my head with a grin.
I pull on some sweatpants and pick up the phone. “Room service. Breakfast for two. Extra coffee.”
By the time I’ve showered, shaved, and pulled on a clean button-down and shorts, the cart is rolling down the hallway with a waiter pushing it and a metal dome over each plate. I stop him just outside Charli’s room.
“I’ll take it from here,” I say, reaching into my wallet and slipping a ridiculous tip into his hand.
The guy grins and walks away, and I stand there for a beat before knocking.
“Room service,” I call in a sing-song voice.
The door creaks open, revealing Charli’s confused face and tangled wet hair.
I don’t wait for an invitation. I push the cart inside like I own the place because I kind of do and guide it past her stunned expression and right into the center of her room. I have to keep my eyes averted from her towel or this will never work.
“I think we should talk.”