12. Ginger #3
"Would sir and madam care for coffee?" the server inquires, admirably maintaining his professional demeanor despite having witnessed our moment.
Tyler looks to me, eyebrow raised in question.
"Actually," I say, making a split-second decision that feels both reckless and perfectly right, "I think we're ready to return to the resort now."
"Are we?" Tyler asks, his eyes darkening with understanding.
"Definitely," I confirm, slipping my hand into his. "I believe we have some more... talking to do. In private."
The ride back to Crystal Peak is an exquisite form of torture.
Under the cover of darkness, Tyler's hand finds mine, his thumb strokes my palm in hypnotic circles.
At a curve in the road, I slide closer to him, the momentum giving me the perfect excuse to press against his side.
His arm drapes around my shoulders, fingers tracing the exposed skin where my dress dipped.
Each touch is deliberate, a promise of what was to come.
When the car slows for a sharp turn, I place my hand on his thigh to steady myself, feeling the muscle tense beneath my palm.
Tyler's breath catches, his eyes meeting mine with such raw desire that I have to bite my lip to keep from kissing him right there, driver's discretion be damned.
By the time we reach the resort, the air between us was charged with an electricity that made even the brush of fabric against my sensitized skin almost unbearable.
"The boys won't be back for hours," Tyler says as he unlocked the door, his voice husky. "Movie night runs until eleven."
"Good," I reply, stepping inside, the door clicking shut behind us. The silence of the suite envelops us, broken only by our quickened breathing.
Tyler stands motionless for a moment, his eyes traveling deliberately from my face down the length of my body and back up again, as if committing every detail to memory. The weight of his gaze was almost tangible, leaving heat in its wake.
"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now," he says, his voice dropping to a register that made my stomach tighten. "This dress has been driving me crazy all night."
He takes a step toward me, then another, unhurried yet purposeful. I find myself backing up until my shoulders meet the wall. He places his palms flat against the wall on either side of my head, creating a space that was just for us, his face inches from mine.
"May I?" he whisper, echoing his earlier request, though his intent was unmistakably different now.
"Please," I breath, already tilting my face up to his.
His lips meet mine, gentle at first, then with growing urgency as my hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer. The solid warmth of his body presses against mine, dispelling any remaining space between us.
"Is this okay?" he murmurs against my neck, trailing kisses down to my collarbone.
"More than okay," I assure him, already working on his tie. "Though if you stop now, I might have to kill you."
His laugh rumbles against my throat, but transforms into a sharp intake of breath as my fingers find the buttons of his shirt.
I work them free one by one, revealing tan skin and the defined planes of his chest. My hands explore the newly exposed territory, nails grazing across his skin, drawing a shudder from him that I feel against my own body.
He finds the zipper at the back of my dress, slowly drawing it down, his knuckles tracing the curve of my spine.
The cool air meeting my heated skin made me arch into him.
The dress loosens, held in place only by my shoulders, and Tyler steps back enough to watch as it slipped down, pooling at my feet in a whisper of silk.
His gaze darkens as it travels over me, no longer playful but hungry. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined," he confesses, voice rough with desire.
"You've been imagining this?" I ask, feeling powerful.
"Every night since I met you," he admit, stepping forward to cup my face in his hands. "But reality is infinitely better."
What followed was everything our fake relationship hadn't been—honest, uninhibited, and fueled by genuine desire rather than performance.
Tyler's lips never leave mine as he guides me deeper into the living room. His hands cradle my face with surprising tenderness, a stark contrast to the urgency of his kiss. When he bumps against the arm of the sofa, he breaks away long enough to look at me, his eyes seeking permission.
"Here?" I ask, breathless.
"The boys won't be back for hours," he reminds me, his voice rough with desire. "But we can go to the bedroom if you prefer."
He sinks onto the sofa, pulling me down to straddle his lap, my knees on either side of his hips.
The new position brings us intimately close, the thin fabric of my underwear a flimsy barrier against the growing evidence of his desire.
His hands fan against my back, thumbs tracing small circles against my ribs.
"I've been thinking about this," he confesses, leaning forward to press his lips to the curve of my neck. "Wondering what you'd feel like, how you'd taste."
"And?" I gasp as his teeth grazed my collarbone.
"Better than I imagined," he murmurs against my skin. His hands move up to unclasp my bra, sliding the straps down my arms with reverent slowness.
The first touch of his mouth against my breast draws a sharp gasp from me, my back arching instinctively.
His tongue circles my nipple before drawing it between his lips, the gentle suction sending waves of pleasure straight to my core.
My fingers thread through his hair, holding him closer as his attention shifts to my other breast.
"Tyler," I breath, my hips rocking against him.
"I love hearing my name like that," he says, looking up at me with darkened eyes. His hands spanned my back, supporting me as he laid me down on the sofa, covering my body with his own.
The weight of him felt exquisite, solid and warm against me. His lips found mine again in a kiss that started gentle but deepened as my hands explored the broad expanse of his back, the defined muscles shifting beneath my fingertips.
When his hand slips between us to trace the edge of my underwear, I lift my hips in silent permission.
He slides the lace down my legs, his fingers skimming my thighs on their return journey upward.
The first brush of his touch between my legs makes me gasp, my body already trembling with anticipation.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, watching my face as his fingers explore with careful attention, learning what makes my breath catch, what makes me press against his hand seeking more.
His touch is confident but unhurried, building pleasure in slow, deliberate waves. When his thumb circles just right, I feel myself tightening, hovering at the edge of release.
"Let go," he encourages, his eyes fixed on my face. "I want to see you."
It was the intimacy of his gaze more than anything that pushes me over, my release washing through me as his name fell from my lips. He works me through it, pressing soft kisses along my jaw as the aftershocks subsided.
"Stunning," he whispers against my ear.
I reach between us to the buckle of his belt. "Your turn," I breath, helping him shed the last of his clothing.
"Wait," he says, reaching for his discarded pants. "I have—"
"Protection?" I finish for him, smiling at his sheepish nod. "I'm glad one of us was prepared."
Once ready, he settles back over me, his eyes seeking mine. "Are you sure?"
The question, so considerate in this moment of obvious need, makes my heart swell. "I've never been more sure about anything," I tell him honestly, drawing him down for a tender kiss.
The first press of him inside me draws matching gasps from us both. He moves slowly, giving me time to adjust, his forehead presses against mine in an unexpectedly intimate gesture. One of his hands finds mine, fingers intertwining beside my head as he began to move.
This connection—this vulnerable, exquisite joining—feels nothing like the calculated touches we'd shared for show. This was real, honest, a giving and taking that transcended the physical. Each movement building the pleasure higher, his name falling from my lips in broken gasps.
"You feel incredible," he breaths, his rhythm growing more urgent as I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper.
We move together in perfect synchronicity as if we'd done this a hundred times before.
My hands map the contours of his back, feeling the tension building in his muscles as he approaches his peak.
When he slips a hand between us, his fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves with unerring precision, I feel myself tightening around him as a second, more powerful climax claims me.
He follows moments later, my name a rough groan against my shoulder as his release overtakes him. For several heartbeats, we remain locked together, bodies trembling with aftershocks, breath mingling in the narrow space between us.
When he shifts his weight to the side, he keeps me close against him in the limited space of the sofa, his arm a comforting weight around my waist. I feel his heart still racing against my back, matching the rapid beat of my own.
"That was..." he begins, seemingly at a loss for words.
"Yeah," I agree, twining my fingers with his where they rest against my stomach. "It really was."
Afterward, tangled in each other, I trace idle patterns on Tyler's chest, savoring the comfortable silence between us.
"So," he says, his fingers playing with a strand of my hair. "Was that less fake enough for you?"
I laugh, propping myself up on my elbow to look at him properly. "I don't know. I might need more convincing. You know, for scientific verification purposes."