Sarah
The flight attendant approaches with a polite smile, taking Matthew's drink order.
"Scotch, neat," Matthew says.
She looks at and smiles. "And for you, Ma'am?"
"I will just take a glass of white wine, thank you," I reply politely.
As she walks away, I glance at him. He has already turned back to the window, his shoulders stiff.
The drinks arrive swiftly, and Matthew downs his scotch in one long gulp before signaling for another.
Wow, he really is so anxious!
I take a small sip of my wine. "So," I venture after a beat of silence, "what's the first thing you want to do when we land?" I ask.
"Sleep," he says curtly, not looking at .
"Right," I say, trying to keep my tone light. "That's a solid plan for a honeymoon." I don't know why I insist on poking the bear. Sleep sounds wonderful after this long flight.
He finally turns to , his expression blank but his eyes sharper than I expected. "Why do you keep pretending this is normal? We're not normal, Sarah. This whole trip is a waste of ti."
His words hit harder than I'd like to admit, but I square my shoulders, refusing to let them sink too deep. "It's not a waste to ," I reply, my voice firm. "Maybe we're not 'normal,' but that doesn't an we can't enjoy the trip. Both of us needed a vacation anyway."
"Like I'd enjoy anything with you," he mutters.
"You can try. Aren't you tired of fighting all the ti?" I counter.
"Just leave alone," he says curtly.
Fine then.
The rest of the flight continues in tense silence, and when the captain announces our descent, Matthew seems visibly relieved. His shoulders relax slightly, and he sets the empty scotch glass on the tray table.
"A car should be waiting for us at the airport," he says once we get off the plane.
I nod, surprised he's even offering information. "Okay," I reply, keeping my tone neutral.
We walk through the airport in silence, his long strides forcing to quicken my pace to keep up.
His hand is stuffed in his pocket, his other gripping the handle of his carry-on. I glance at him, hoping for so indication that his mood has shifted, but his face remains a stoic mask.
When we step outside, the warm air hits , humid and heavy with the scent of saltwater. Matthew scans the crowd, his gaze sharp and calculating, until he spots a driver holding a sign with our last na.
"This way," he mutters, walking ahead without waiting for to follow.
I trail behind him, my own suitcase rolling noisily over the uneven pavent. The driver greets us politely and loads our luggage into the trunk. Matthew barely acknowledges him, sliding into the backseat of the car and staring out the window.
I climb in beside him, the silence stretching uncomfortably between us as the car pulls away from the curb.
"Do you want to stop anywhere on the way to the resort?" I ask, breaking the silence.
"No," he replies flatly, his gaze still fixed on the passing scenery.
I sigh softly, leaning back in my seat. This isn't how I imagined our honeymoon would start. But then again, nothing about us has been what I imagined.
When the resort cos into view, my breath catches. It's stunning—white sand beaches, crystal-clear water, and luxurious villas nestled among the trees.
The driver stops in front of the main entrance, and resort staff rush forward to greet us, offering cool towels and refreshnts.
Matthew steps out first, his expression unreadable as he surveys the surroundings. I follow, clutching my bag tightly as the staff takes our luggage.
"Welco to paradise," one of them says cheerfully.
I glance at Matthew, hoping for so sign of acknowledgnt, but he's already walking toward the reception desk.
I sigh and silently follow him to our honeymoon suite.
The room is breathtaking—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the turquoise ocean, a private pool on the terrace, and soft, luxurious furnishings that scream romance.
But the tension between us makes it feel cold and uninviting. And the rose petals on the bed mocks .
Matthew tosses his bag onto the plush armchair without a word, heading straight to the minibar. I watch as he pours himself a drink, his movents stiff and deliberate.
"I'm going to take a shower," I say softly, more to break the silence than anything else.
He doesn't respond, his focus solely on the glass in his hand.
I grab my toiletries from my bag and retreat to the bathroom, closing the door behind . The sound of running water fills the space as I turn on the shower, letting the steam build up around .
I strip off my travel clothes, stepping under the warm spray and letting it cascade over my shoulders. For a mont, I allow myself to relax, the tension lting away with the water.
But my mind keeps drifting back to Matthew. How long will we have to live like this? Till death do us part?
The sound of the bathroom door opening startles , and I turn quickly. Matthew steps into the bathroom, his shirt already unbuttoned and hanging loosely off his fra.
"Matthew?" I ask. "Did you need sothing?"
He doesn't answer right away, his gaze locking onto mine before flicking briefly to the steaming water. "I didn't want to wait all day for you to be done," he says curtly, stepping closer. "I'm joining you."
I swallow hard, the tension between us now thick enough to cut with a knife. "I was almost done," I reply, trying to sound casual, though my heart pounds in my chest.
He shrugs, sliding his shirt off entirely and reaching for the waistband of his pants. His eyes are red. Just how much did he have to drink?
I open my mouth to respond, but no words co out as he takes off all his clothes and steps into the shower with . He doesn't look at , instead reaching for the soap as though I'm not even there.
I press myself against the tiled wall, trying to make room for him, even though it's impossible to ignore the closeness of his body. "You could've waited," I say, my voice quieter now.
"And you could've finished faster," he replies, his tone sharp but lacking real bite.
We stand in silence, the water pouring over us both.
"Do you want to wash your back?" I ask, trying not to look between his legs.
He is half erect, and this was the first ti I looked at his...thing directly. Hard to imagine it was inside just the other night. No wonder it hurt so much!
Matthew pauses, his hands stilling as the soap lathers in his palms. He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes eting mine. "You want to wash my back?"
"Y-yeah. It will feel nice. Might relieve so of the stress," I say and look at him hopefully.
To say the truth, I just wanted to touch him. I was craving the warmth of his skin.
Matthew studies for a mont, his gaze unreadable, before he finally sighs and turns his back to . "Fine. Do whatever you want."
My breath hitches as I step closer, the water cascading over both of us. I take the soap from his hand, working up a rich lather before tentatively placing my palms on his back. His muscles tense under my touch, the tension palpable, but he doesn't pull away.
Slowly, I begin to move my hands over his skin, feeling the broad expanse of his shoulders and the ridges of his spine. The heat of his body under my fingertips sends a shiver through , and I press my lips together.
He isn't saying anything or even looking at , but I notice the way his breathing slows slightly, as if my touch is having so effect. Encouraged, I let my hands linger, my thumbs tracing gentle circles along the knots in his muscles.
"There," I say quietly, pulling my hands back. "All done."
Matthew turns to face , and I'm suddenly very aware of how close we are, the steam and water enveloping us. His dark eyes lock onto mine, and for a heartbeat, we just stare at each other.
"I guess I'll just go-"
His hands suddenly shoot up and grab my shoulders, pushing back against the shower wall.
Then, in one swift motion, his lips crash against mine, taking completely off guard.
The kiss is rough, almost punishing, but it's filled with a raw intensity that leaves no room for doubt. My hands instinctively fly up to his chest, not to push him away but to steady myself as the world tilts around .
Reviews
All reviews (0)