Drift

The way she stood at the railing, salt spray catching in her black hair, made my chest ache. Three years since I'd seen her, and Miko still moved like she owned every inch of space she occupied. The yacht cut through the Aegean evening, gold light spilling across the deck, and I watched her profile—the same sharp jaw, same full lips, same everything that had made me stupid with want since the first time we'd met in that cramped Tokyo bar.

She turned, caught me staring, and didn't smile.

"Still can't help yourself, can you, Alex?"

"Some things don't change." I stepped closer, the deck gentle under my feet. "You look..."

"Don't." But her voice cracked on the word. "Don't tell me I look good. I know I do."

I laughed, low. "I was going to say tired. The circles under your eyes."

That got me a real look. Dark eyes searching mine, the same way they used to before she'd decide whether to kiss me or slap me. The wind picked up her hair, whipped strands across her face.

"You're an asshole."

"Still true." I reached out, tucked the hair behind her ear. She let me. Her skin was warm, salt-touched. "Come below deck with me."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

She held my gaze for a long moment, the only sound the water against the hull and the distant cry of gulls. Then she turned and walked toward the cabin stairs, not looking back to see if I'd follow.

I did.

The cabin was all dark wood and soft lighting, a bed taking up most of the space. She stood in the middle of it, arms crossed, and I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers dug into her own arms.

"You flew me to Greece," she said. "Chartered this boat. For what? To fuck me one more time?"

"Yes."

The word hung between us. She let out a breath.

"At least you're honest."

"I never lied to you, Miko. Not once."

"I know." She uncrossed her arms. "That's what made it worse."

I crossed the space between us, slow, giving her every chance to stop me. She didn't move. When I was close enough to feel the heat coming off her body, I stopped.

"Tell me to stop."

"I won't."

"Tell me you don't want this."

She reached up, grabbed the front of my shirt, and pulled me into a kiss. It was hard, hungry, her mouth opening under mine, and I tasted salt and something sweet—wine from dinner, maybe, or just her. My hands found her waist, pulled her hips against mine, and she made a sound low in her throat.

"I hate you," she whispered against my mouth.

"I know."

Her fingers worked the buttons of my shirt, impatient, and I tugged at the hem of her dress, pulling it up over her head. She wasn't wearing anything underneath. Her breasts were small, perfect, her nipples already hard in the cool cabin air.

"You're beautiful."

"Shut up and touch me."

I did. My mouth found her neck, her collarbone, the soft skin between her breasts. She arched into me, her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling. I traced my tongue down her stomach, felt her muscles flutter under my touch.

"Bed," she said. "Now."

We fell onto it together, a tangle of limbs and desperate hands. She was on top of me, straddling my hips, and I could feel the heat of her through my trousers. She ground down, slow, and I groaned.

"Remember this?" she asked, her voice low, her hips moving in a lazy circle.

"I remember everything."

"Good." She leaned down, her lips brushing my ear. "Because I'm going to make you remember it better."

She sat up, reached between us, and unbuttoned my trousers. Her hand found me, wrapped around, and I sucked in a breath. She stroked me once, twice, slow and deliberate, watching my face.

"Still so responsive."

"Only for you."

She positioned herself, and I felt the tip of me press against her wetness, hot and slick. She lowered herself, inch by inch, and I watched her face—eyes half-closed, lips parted, a flush spreading across her chest. When she was fully seated, she let out a long breath.

"Fuck, Miko."

She started to move. Slow at first, a gentle rock, her hands on my chest for balance. The cabin was quiet except for our breathing, the soft sounds of her movement, the creak of the boat. I reached up, cupped her breasts, ran my thumbs over her nipples. She moaned, picked up the pace.

"Harder," she said.

I gripped her hips, guided her, matched her rhythm. She rode me with a focused intensity, her eyes locked on mine, and I could feel her getting closer—the way her inner walls tightened around me, the way her breath came faster.

"Come for me," I said.

She shook her head. "Not yet. Not alone."

She leaned forward, changed the angle, and I felt myself hit deeper. She gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders.

"Right there. Don't stop."

I didn't. I drove up into her, felt the coil tightening in my own gut, and she was close—I could see it in the way her eyes lost focus, the way her mouth fell open.

"Together," she breathed. "Say it."

"Together."

She came with a cry, her body shuddering around me, and the feeling of her breaking apart pushed me over the edge. I groaned, spilled into her, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. We stayed like that, tangled, breathing hard, the boat rocking gently beneath us.

After a long moment, she collapsed onto my chest. I felt her heartbeat, fast and strong, against my own.

"I still hate you," she said, her voice muffled.

"I know."

She lifted her head, looked at me. There was something soft in her eyes, something that hadn't been there before.

"But maybe that's okay."

I brushed her hair back from her face. "Maybe it is."

She settled back against me, and we lay there in the quiet, the only sounds our breathing and the water against the hull. The cabin grew dark as the sun set, and I held her, and for a while, the world outside didn't exist.

CATEGORIES: [Asian women, Yacht, Ex-Girlfriend, Just the Two of Us, Vagina]