Escape to Jamaica

### Part 1 -- The Getaway Begins

They'd been together a long time. Long enough to know how precious a real escape could be. Between work, parenting, and the kind of daily chaos that slowly stacks up, the chance to leave it all behind -- even for a few days -- felt like winning the lottery.

He watched her pack by the window, golden afternoon light spilling over her skin as she folded her swimsuits into the corner of the bag. She moved with that easy, effortless confidence that still made his chest tighten -- the kind that came from knowing exactly who she was.

She didn't realize it yet, but a few of those swimsuits weren't the ones she originally set out. While she was busy with a call the night before, he'd quietly slipped in a few new ones. Smaller. More playful. Some with a little shimmer that would catch the sunlight just right.

Same with a couple of dresses. The ones he'd packed in their place had a bit more curve-hugging potential. Higher hems. A little more skin. He had a feeling she'd roll her eyes when she noticed -- but maybe smile too. Maybe even wear one, just for fun.

He wasn't thinking about the beach or the cocktails. Not really. What he was excited for was time. The kind they used to have. The kind where they didn't have to wait until the house was quiet, or sneak in a moment between alarms and obligations.

Just the two of them. No schedules. No filters. No interruptions.

She glanced up at him and caught the look on his face.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said with a grin. "Just happy."

She raised an eyebrow. "That so?"

He walked over, slid his arms around her from behind, and kissed the curve of her neck. She leaned into him with a contented sigh -- the kind that said she needed this trip just as much as he did.

And it was just beginning.

### Part 2 -- Arrival

The car ride from the airport to the resort was quiet -- not from lack of things to say, but because the tension between them had shifted.

It was different now.

Anticipation had taken over. That slow-building hum of want. The kind that made his leg bounce and her breath shallow as she watched the coastline pass by outside the window. The kind that had been simmering for weeks, maybe longer.

When they reached the resort and stepped into the open-air lobby, everything smelled like salt, sun, and something just sweet enough to be dangerous.

They checked in, nodded through the welcome drinks, and politely smiled through the tour -- though neither of them was really listening. Her hand brushed his as they walked, fingers lacing for a beat too long. He watched her hips as she moved, the sway hypnotic in that simple sundress.

By the time the room door clicked shut behind them, they were already kissing.

It wasn't planned. It didn't need to be.

Bags dropped. Mouths found each other in the half-lit entryway. She pressed him back against the wall, arms wrapped around his neck, her breath hot and ragged against his mouth. His hands slid down, gripping her waist, pulling her against him like he couldn't get close enough.

She was laughing between kisses -- that breathless, charged kind of laugh -- and then he was walking her backward, toward the bed, lips never leaving hers.

They didn't bother unpacking.

Clothes came off in pieces, some half-tugged, others flung across the room in a rush. Her dress hit the floor. His shirt was gone. They barely made it to the edge of the bed before she was on her back and he was kissing down her stomach, her skin warm from the tropical air and already flushed with heat.

It was like rediscovering something he never forgot -- how soft she was, how she sounded when she moaned his name under her breath, how she moved when she wanted more.

And she wanted more.

Everything else could wait.

### Part 3 -- Just the Two of Them

She let out a soft gasp as he eased her down onto the bed, the cool sheets meeting her bare skin. The island sun filtered through gauzy curtains, casting golden lines across her body -- and he paused to take her in.

He still couldn't believe she was his.

All these years, and she still looked like something out of a dream. Only now, he knew her in ways he hadn't back then -- what made her sigh, what made her tremble, what made her fall apart with nothing but his mouth.

He kissed her again, slower now. More deliberate.

Down her neck.

Over her collarbone.

Between her breasts.

She arched toward him, eyes fluttering closed as his lips drifted lower. He took his time, kissing across her stomach, letting his hands trail softly along her hips, her thighs, the sensitive dip just beneath her hipbone. Her breath was coming faster now, her fingers curling into the sheets.

When he finally settled between her legs, she parted them for him without hesitation.

He kissed the inside of her thigh first -- soft, lingering kisses that made her legs twitch. He loved that. The way her body responded before he'd even touched her where she needed it.

Then he reached her center -- warm, wet, aching -- and ran the tip of his tongue along her slowly, tasting her.

She whimpered.

He did it again, a little deeper this time, then flattened his tongue and licked her full, slow, and deliberate.

Her hips lifted off the bed. Her fingers tangled in his hair.

She was already close -- he could tell. The days of teasing buildup, the tension, the heat -- it was all right there, trembling under the surface.

He locked his arms around her thighs and went deeper.

He knew exactly how she liked it. The rhythm. The pressure. The way to circle her clit with just the right motion, then flick it, then suck gently until her back arched and her thighs began to shake.

And she *was* shaking.

"Oh god..." she whispered, voice cracking.

He moaned into her -- not just to tease her with the vibration, but because *he* was the one trembling now. The taste of her, the feel of her, the way she was falling apart for him...

She tugged his hair, grinding against his mouth, her body right on the edge.

"Don't stop," she breathed.

And he didn't.

He kept going, steady and relentless, until her body seized and her cry filled the room -- raw, wild, beautiful. Her thighs clamped around his head, and he stayed right there, holding her through it, tongue moving softer now, coaxing every last wave from her.

When she finally came down, her chest was heaving, lips parted, eyes wide and dazed.

He looked up at her, his mouth glistening, his grin smug and full of love.

"Welcome to paradise," he said softly.

She laughed through a moan, reaching for him, pulling him up for a kiss.

### Part 4 -- The Little Blue Dress

After a slow, steamy afternoon and a short nap tangled together, they got ready for dinner.

She emerged from the bathroom wearing a dress he didn't remember packing.

It was deep blue, short, silky, and clung to her in a way that made his breath catch. The thin straps hugged her bare shoulders. The neckline dipped just enough to tease, and the hem rode high enough that when she turned around, he caught a breathtaking glimpse of thigh and curve that made his pulse throb.

"Where did that dress come from?" he asked, eyes trailing over her.

She smiled. "I thought you packed it."

He hadn't. But he wasn't about to argue.

Dinner was beautiful. Lit by candlelight on a patio overlooking the ocean, their legs brushing under the table, her foot occasionally sliding up the inside of his calf. Her eyes sparkled every time she reached for her wine. She looked relaxed, free -- and just a little mischievous.

Afterward, they wandered down to the beachside club, music pulsing through the open doors, lights spilling out into the sand.

It started with a drink. Then another.

Then she took his hand and pulled him to the dance floor.

The music was hot and heavy -- low bass, slow rhythm, the kind that made it impossible not to move. She pressed into him, her back against his chest, hips swaying to the beat. His hands found her waist instinctively, holding her close, their bodies already synced.

She was all over him -- slow, grinding motions that left no room for subtlety. He couldn't focus on anything but the way she moved against him. Her ass rolling into his hips. Her body arching back, teasing. Her hair brushing against his jaw as she turned her face to kiss his neck.

He was already hard.

She could feel it.

And instead of backing off, she leaned into it -- rolling her hips tighter, slower, like she wanted to drive him insane.

Then she reached for his hand.

She slid it down the front of her body, under the neckline of her dress. He thought she was just teasing him -- maybe wanting him to feel her breast, maybe to get him a little more worked up.

But she kept going.

Lower.

Until his fingers brushed something slick and warm and absolutely unmistakable.

She wasn't wearing panties.

He froze, eyes going wide.

She bit her lip and kept dancing, grinding harder now, her body pulsing with the beat. His fingers moved without thought, tracing the wet heat between her thighs, dipping into her as the crowd swirled around them, oblivious.

She was drenched.

And he was completely hers.

She turned in his arms, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled his face to hers. Their mouths crashed together in a messy, hungry kiss, her breath hot and fast as she reached between them, found his cock, and tugged him free.

It was insane.

It was reckless.

But she didn't care.

Still kissing him, she guided his cock beneath the hem of her dress, lifted one leg around his waist, and slid down onto him in one smooth, desperate motion.

He nearly lost it right there.

She was so wet, so warm, and the feel of her wrapped around him -- in the middle of a crowd, in that tight little dress, music thumping around them -- was more than he could handle.

They didn't stop moving.

They just kept dancing -- slowly now, bodies locked, fucking to the rhythm in a room full of strangers who never even noticed they were watching two people come completely undone.

### Part 5 -- The Dance Floor Melt

Her arms were locked around his neck, her body molded to his, her leg curled around his waist to keep him deep inside her.

And still, they danced.

No one around them knew.

Or maybe they did.

But it didn't matter.

All he could feel was her. The way her tight, slick heat gripped his cock with every slow roll of her hips. The way her breath hitched each time his hands pulled her closer. The way her mouth stayed just an inch from his, parted, hungry, desperate.

He wasn't thrusting -- not really. It was more subtle than that. More dangerous.

The music guided them.

A slow, heavy rhythm. A grind. A pulse.

Each motion of her hips was a tease, each squeeze of her inner muscles a reminder of just how close they both were. She was clenching around him now, body tightening, eyes glazed with lust and adrenaline.

Her hand tangled in his hair, and her lips brushed his ear.

"I'm gonna come," she whispered, voice breathless, trembling.

He groaned -- low, guttural, lost.

She began to move faster. Still in rhythm, but more urgent. Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her breaths came quicker, shorter. Her leg trembled against him.

And then it hit.

She gasped into his neck -- a soft, choked sound -- her whole body locking up as the orgasm crashed over her. She clung to him as she came, shivering against his chest, burying her face in his neck as if the world had disappeared.

That was all it took.

His own orgasm surged through him seconds later -- hot, overwhelming, unstoppable. He held her tight as he spilled inside her, still buried, still dancing, their hips grinding through every last wave.

They stayed like that for a moment -- melting into each other, breathless, swaying slowly, hearts pounding in sync.

The music changed.

The crowd shifted.

Life went on around them.

But in that little pocket of space, lost in the crowd, they'd just had the most reckless, passionate moment of their lives... and no one knew a thing.

Except them.

### Part 6 -- The Clean Up

They didn't say a word as they stepped off the dance floor.

She simply grabbed his hand, her fingers tight around his, and led him through the edge of the crowd, past pulsing lights and swaying bodies, and around the corner into a quiet hallway tucked just behind the bar.

The music was muffled here. The lighting low. The only sound was the rush of their breath and the quiet thrum of bass in the distance.

She leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.

"You made a mess," she whispered.

He blinked, still dazed from the high of everything they'd just done. "What?"

She nodded toward her dress, her inner thighs.

"It's dripping down my legs. And the line to the ladies room is way too long."

His breath caught.

"What should we do?" he asked, half-smirking, half-serious.

She stepped back, meeting his eyes with a look he hadn't seen in years -- bold, commanding, wild.

"It's *your* mess," she said. "So clean it up."

The words hit him like lightning.

His cock, already half-hard again, surged to full attention as he dropped to his knees on instinct. She leaned back against the wall, lifted one leg just enough, and pushed his head gently forward.

He didn't hesitate.

Between her thighs, the heat was intoxicating. Her skin glistened with sweat and sex, her pussy still swollen and flushed from the orgasm she'd ridden out on the dance floor.

And then he saw it -- a thick drop of white slowly trailing from her.

Before he could say a word, she pulled his face into her, muffling any sound as he tasted it -- the salty, warm mix of their sex, coating her folds, dripping down her legs.

She gasped softly above him, both hands now tangled in his hair.

Her voice was low, breathless.

"Lick up every drop," she warned, "or I'll never let you do anything like that again."

His tongue moved with purpose -- up the inside of her thighs, along the crease where her leg met her body, collecting every trace of their shared heat. He sucked gently at the base of her pussy, then swirled his tongue around her opening, lapping up the mess like it was the most sacred thing he'd ever tasted.

And it was.

She bit her lip, trying to stay quiet, but her legs were shaking. He was relentless, kissing and licking, slow and deep and reverent.

Then she heard something.

Voices. Footsteps. Movement around the corner.

She glanced up -- and froze.

A couple stood just past the archway, partly hidden, eyes wide, staring straight at them. At her. At *him.*

Her first instinct was to pull him away, to whisper stop, *someone's watching.* But the words never came.

Because he hadn't noticed.

He was still focused -- completely lost between her legs, tongue circling her clit now, humming softly against her skin like he was savoring dessert.

And the look in the couple's eyes wasn't shock. It was curiosity.

She should've stopped.

But instead... she felt the thrill build.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her breath hitched. Her hips bucked softly into his mouth as her body betrayed her -- not recoiling from the voyeurism but leaning into it.

She was getting close again.

Her hand tightened in his hair. Her eyes never left the couple. And as his tongue moved faster, firmer, pulling her closer to the edge, she realized something that sent a wicked tremble through her body.

She *liked* being watched.

And she was about to come for the second time that night -- in public, with strangers looking on, and her husband still completely unaware.

### Part 7 -- The Watchers

Her breath came faster.

She couldn't look away.

The couple was still there -- silhouettes just past the hallway's edge, standing still, watching. She couldn't see their faces clearly, only the outline of curiosity in their posture, the unmistakable attention in their gaze.

And still, her husband had no idea.

He was too far gone.

Still on his knees, still lost between her thighs, still devouring her with the hunger of a man who didn't care if the world burned around him -- as long as he had her.

She felt another tremor build deep inside.

His tongue was ruthless now. Flicking, circling, pressing just right. He moaned softly against her, the vibrations sending lightning through her core. One hand braced on the wall behind her, the other tangled in his hair, anchoring herself to something -- *anything* -- as her body unraveled.

She could feel it.

That slow climb.

That unbearable, inevitable flood rising from within.

And the fact that *they were watching* -- silent, still, strangers in the shadows -- made her throb harder, ache deeper, want more.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting it take over.

Her hips rocked against his mouth.

Her thighs squeezed around his face.

And with a choked gasp, her whole body seized.

The orgasm tore through her -- hot, sharp, overwhelming. Her head dropped back against the wall as her legs gave out, her voice caught somewhere between a cry and a whimper. She came hard, twitching and pulsing against his tongue as he held her through it, drinking every last ripple of her release.

When it finally passed, she slumped forward, eyes still hazy, body trembling with the weight of it all.

He looked up at her, mouth glistening, smiling like a man who knew *exactly* what he'd just done.

She turned her head toward the hallway, toward the couple.

But they were gone.

No footsteps. No sound. Just empty space and soft music spilling in from the bar.

Her breath caught.

Had they imagined it?

Was it real?

She didn't know.

All she knew was that something inside her had changed. She'd let go in a way she never had before. Bold, raw, unfiltered.

And the man kneeling in front of her -- flushed, breathless, devoted -- was still the only person on earth she wanted.

She cupped his face and kissed him, tasting herself on his lips.

"Let's go," she whispered.

"Back to the room?"

"No," she said, smiling. "To find a darker corner."