2. No Names, No Regrets
NO NAMES, NO REGRETS
Ethan
Icame to Maui to think.
That's what I tell myself on the plane. Four days of pressure compressed into a ten-hour flight, and by the time the wheels touch down I have a tension headache behind my left eye and Malcolm's voice looping in my head.
She's not asking for visitation, Ethan. She's asking for joint custody. The judge will want to see that you can co-parent. Don't give Tessa's lawyer ammunition.
Co-parent. With the woman who walked out when Lily was nine months old.
Lily is at my parents' house in Connecticut for the weekend with Harper. Three nights. That's all I gave myself. Three nights to breathe before I have to be a perfect father in front of a family court judge.
So here I am. A hotel bar in Maui, nursing a Scotch I don't taste, trying to remember what it feels like to exist without a custody hearing attached to every thought.
I see her the second she walks in.
She takes the barstool nearest the ocean side, turns her back half to the room, and stares at the water. Dark, curly hair loose around her shoulders. Red nails tapping the stem of her glass. She's not looking to be seen.
That's why I see her.
I stay at my table. Order another Scotch. Watch her for two hours.
She doesn't check her phone. Doesn't scan the room for attention. She sits with whatever she's carrying and stares at the water. There's a stillness to her that isn't peace. It's endurance. I recognize it because I've been wearing it for months.
I tell myself to finish my drink and go upstairs.
I don't.
When the barstool next to her opens up, I cross the room.
Two drinks in and I can tell she's sharp. Three drinks in and I realize she's funny too. She doesn't wait to see if you laugh. She says the thing, holds eye contact, and moves on. Your reaction is your problem, not hers.
Every woman I spend time with calibrates around me. Edits in real time. Says what lands, avoids what doesn't. I stop noticing how exhausting it is until right now, sitting next to someone who doesn't care what I think of her opinions.
She tells me first class is a personality flaw.
Doesn't flinch. Doesn't soften it after.
My grip loosens on my glass. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it that tight.
The no-names thing is her idea. No lives, no backstories, no problems. I agree before she finishes the sentence. It's the first thing anyone has offered me in weeks that I want.
Then she tells me her company died.
She says it flat. Unpracticed. But her hand tightens on her glass for a second.
First draft, I tell her.
It comes out before I can stop it. Some part of me that remembers what it felt like to fail at something and have to keep moving.
She stops talking. Looks at me like I said something she wasn't expecting.
The bar empties around us and I stop noticing. I stop thinking about Tessa, the custody hearing, and the board. I stop. For the first time in months.
Her fault. All of it.
She doesn't know my name. She's looking at a man in a hotel bar who said something halfway decent once. That's all I am right now.
I haven't been just a man in a very long time.
I check my phone once. A text from my mother. Lily fell asleep in the hammock. She's fine. Stop worrying. I put the phone away.
“Tonight I'm here,” she says.
And I ask her to come upstairs.
When she takes the last sip and says yes, I know this one is different.
The elevator is all glass on the ocean side.
She steps in first. I follow. The doors close and the lights below us blur as we rise. She's watching the dark water with the same expression from the bar. Trying to memorize it.
I watch her in the reflection of the glass.
She catches me.
Her mouth curves. She turns, puts one hand flat on my chest, and walks me backward until my shoulders meet the glass.
She's not tentative about it. She does it. Looks up at me and says, without words, I see you.
My hands find her waist.
She tips her chin up.
The doors open on my floor.
Neither of us looks away.
The hallway is empty. My room is at the end. Her hand is in mine. I don't remember reaching for it.
I slide the key card. She walks in first. The second the door closes behind us, everything changes.
She turns. I reach for her. And then we're kissing like we've been starving for it.
Her mouth is hot and demanding. She tastes like hibiscus and tequila, and she's biting my lower lip and pulling, and the sound that comes out of me is filthy.
“No names,” she breathes.
“No names,” I agree.
She yanks my shirt over my head. Rakes her nails down my stomach. I hiss and she smiles against my mouth, wicked, and reaches for my belt.
Her dress hits the floor. No bra. Black lace thong and bare skin and I can't think.
“Like what you see?” She runs her hands up her own body. Cups her own tits. Looks at me like a dare.
“Get over here.”
“No.” She pushes me onto the edge of the bed. “Sit down. I want to taste you first.”
She drops to her knees between my legs.
She pulls my cock free and wraps her hand around the base and looks up at me with those dark eyes. “I've been thinking about this since the second drink.”
Then she takes me into her mouth.
My head falls back. Her lips are tight around my shaft, and her tongue is doing something obscene along the underside and she's taking me deeper with every stroke.
I can feel the back of her throat. My hand fists in her hair and my hips buck and she moans around me and the vibration is enough to end me.
“Fuck.” I look down at her. Her lips stretched around me, her cheeks hollowed, spit glistening on my shaft. “Your mouth. God, your mouth.”
She pulls back. Runs her tongue up the length of me. Swirls it around the head. Looks up. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Like I'm going to come down your throat if you don't stop.”
“Maybe I want you to.”
She takes me deep again. I'm gripping the sheets with one hand and her hair with the other and I can hear the wet sounds of her sucking me and she's taking me like she was built for it.
“Get up here.” I pull her off me. “I need to fuck you. Now.”
She climbs into my lap. I hook my fingers into her thong and drag it down her legs. I slide my fingers between her thighs. Soaked. Swollen. She gasps when I push two fingers inside her.
“You're dripping,” I tell her.
“All from sucking your cock.” She rocks against my hand. “I want you inside me.”
“Say it again.”
“I want you inside me.” She grips me and sinks down.
We both groan. She's tight and wet and burning hot and the feeling of her pussy swallowing me inch by inch makes my brain shut off.
She starts to move. Rolling her hips, grinding her clit against me on every downstroke. Her head tips back and her tits are in my face, and I take one nipple into my mouth and suck hard.
She gasps. Rides me faster. “Yes. Like that. Suck harder.”
I suck. I bite. She cries out and her pussy clenches around me.
“You like that?” I grip her hips. Pull her down harder onto me.
“I love it.” She's panting, grinding, taking me deep. “You fill me up so good. I can feel you everywhere.”
“Show me. Show me how you come.”
Her pace goes wild. Grinding and bouncing and the sound of our bodies slamming together fills the room. Skin on skin. Her moans. My grunts.
“I'm coming,” she gasps. “Oh god. I'm coming on your cock.”
Her whole body locks up, her back arches, and she comes so hard I feel it. Her pussy pulsing around me in tight contractions, her thighs shaking, her nails drawing blood on my shoulders.
I flip her.
Her back hits the mattress and I'm over her, still inside her. I pin her wrists above her head with one hand and drive into her.
“Oh fuck.” Her eyes roll back. “Fuck, yes, harder.”
I fuck her hard. Deep strokes that shove her up the bed. She wraps her legs around me and locks her ankles behind my back.
“You feel incredible,” I growl against her neck. “So tight. So wet. You were made for me.”
“Then fuck me like you mean it.” She bites my earlobe. “Make me come again.”
I reach between us. Find her clit, swollen and slick. Circle it with my thumb while I pound into her.
“Right there,” she moans. “Don't stop. I'm going to come again. Don't you dare stop.”
Her second orgasm hits her like a wave. She screams, her pussy clenching so hard it pulls me over the edge with her. One last deep thrust and I come inside her, pulsing, my face buried in her neck, and her legs locked around me.
“Fuck,” she whispers against my ear. “That was ...”
“Yeah,” I say. “It was.”
She's on her side, facing away from me. Asleep.
The curve of her shoulder. The mess of her hair on the pillow.
I should close my eyes. Let this be what it is.
But I'm lying here thinking about her laugh when I said I had range. The way she told me her company died like she was daring me to pity her. The way she pressed me against the glass like she'd decided before I asked.
I want to know her name.
That thought is what gets me out of bed. I dress. She doesn't stir. Her dress is on the floor. I pick it up, fold it, and drape it over the chair where she'll see it.
I look at her one more time. Then I leave.
The elevator doors close. My phone buzzes. Another text from my mother. Lily wants to know when you're coming home.
I type back: Tomorrow night. Tell her Daddy's bringing her a present.
Tomorrow I'll be a father again. A CEO. A man defending his right to raise his own child.
I press send and put my phone away.