Chapter Text
The sun presses down like a warm hand against your bare shoulders, almost heavy in its insistence. You stretch your toes into the hot sand beneath the towel, grains clinging stubbornly between them even after you shake your feet. Calli lies beside you, close enough that the scent of her coconut sunscreen mingles with the salt-tang of the ocean breeze, her arm brushing yours when she shifts, skin slick and sun-warmed.
Beyond the sprawl of your towels, the beach stretches in both directions, a curve of pale gold fringed by palms that sway in lazy arcs. The water is absurdly blue, the kind of blue that makes you question if someone cranked up the saturation in real life, glittering under the midday glare. Further out, surfers bob like distant punctuation marks, waiting for waves that never quite seem to crest high enough.
"Remember when you said we'd never afford this?" Calli's voice cuts through the rhythmic crash of waves, her fingers tapping your forearm as she grins. The two of you had finally found part-time Summer jobs and spent months scraping together yen from late-night konbini runs, even skipping meals when budgets ran tight. The plane tickets had been a last-minute steal when some budget airline's midnight sale left you both squinting at your phones in disbelief, half-convinced it was a scam until the confirmation email hit your inboxes.
Now, sprawled on Waikiki’s sand with the scent of coconut oil and salt thick in the air, it feels almost surreal. Calli rolls onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows. The sun catches the sweat at the small of her back, glinting as she stretches. "Worth every fucking yen," she declares, and you can't help but laugh because she's right. The humidity clings to your skin, the kind of heat that makes everything feel slow and syrupy, but neither of you care. It's a far cry from your cramped Tokyo apartment, where the AC wheezed like an asthmatic ghost and the walls were thin enough to hear your neighbor's questionable karaoke choices.
A breeze rolls in off the water, carrying the distant shouts of kids chasing each other through the shallows. Calli nudges your ankle with her foot. "We should do something stupid," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Like, I dunno. Rent one of those stupid paddleboards. Or get matching tattoos." You raise an eyebrow, and she snorts. "Okay, maybe not the tattoos. Paddleboards maybe. Later though."
A child shrieks somewhere down the shoreline, high-pitched and delighted, followed by the deeper laughter of an adult. The sound dissolves into the white noise of waves collapsing onto wet sand, rhythmic as breathing. You tilt your head just enough to see Calli without turning fully, laying calmly on her stomach, back rising and falling slowly with her hair tied loosely.
Calli shifts slightly, rolling onto her side with a quiet exhale of breath, the motion making the strings of her bikini bottoms dig just a little deeper into the soft curve of her hip. You catch yourself staring, not at the ocean, not at the horizon, but at the fabric clinging to her skin, the sunlight catching the faint sheen of sweat and sunscreen along the dip of her lower back.
Not to be outdone, Calli’s bikini is the kind of thing that makes you forget how to form sentences. Luxurious gold triangles barely containing her curves, tied with strings so thin they were almost suggestions. The fabric clung to her hips, and when she rolls onto her side to adjust the strap digging into her shoulder, the movement pulls everything taut in a way that shouldn’t be legal on a public beach. Her skin glows under the Hawaiian sun, golden and faintly flushed, and you catch yourself staring at the way her stomach tenses when she stretches, the definition of her muscles subtle but undeniable.
Your trunks are decidedly more modest. Blue with a faint pinstripe pattern, sitting comfortably low on your hips but without any of the daring cut or near-dangerous tension of Calli’s ensemble. They’re the kind you bought on sale at a department store back in Tokyo, practical and unassuming, the fabric thick enough to avoid any embarrassing transparency when wet. You’ve never been one for flashy beachwear, and even now, on the beautiful sand in Oahu, you feel a twinge of self-consciousness next to Calli’s effortless magnetism.
"We paid how much for this view and you're staring at my ass?" Her voice cuts through the humid air, sharp with amusement but softened by the lazy drag of heat. You blink, realizing your gaze had been lingering a beat too long on the point where her bikini bottom disappears into the crease of her thigh. Calli props herself up on one elbow, sand clinging to her forearm as she arches a single eyebrow at you. "Seriously?" she says, mouth twitching.
The kid down the beach shrieks again, oblivious to your predicament. You grab a handful of sand and let it trickle through your fingers, buying time. "It’s a nice ass," you mutter, because honesty is easier than fabrication.
Calli laughs, loud and unguarded, throwing her head back so her ponytail swings. "Damn right it is," she agrees, shifting onto her knees. Sand cascades off her thighs as she stands, offering you a hand.
Her fingers lace through yours, warm and slightly sticky with sunscreen, tugging you upright before you can protest. Calli doesn’t wait for you to dust the sand off your legs, dragging you toward the water with a grin that borders on predatory. The ocean surges toward you in lazy, frothing waves, each one dissolving into foam inches before it reaches your toes. "Staring at my ass instead of swimming," she accuses, squeezing your hand tighter, "is a crime in Hawaii. Punishable by forced dunking."
"You’re making up laws," you say, but the protest dies as she yanks you forward into the shallows. The water is shockingly warm, almost body-temperature where the sun has baked the top layer into something closer to bathwater than the Pacific. Calli kicks a spray of it at you, droplets catching the light like scattered diamonds before they hit your chest.
"You’re gonna..." you start, but she’s already pivoting, her hips twisting as she dives under an incoming wave, her shiny bikini a flash beneath the turquoise before she resurfaces, shaking saltwater from her hair like a dog.
She’s laughing when you catch up to her, waist-deep now, the current tugging at your legs with each retreating wave. "You swim like a drunk turtle," she informs you, kicking backward to avoid your half-hearted retaliation. Her ponytail’s come undone, strands of hair plastered to her neck and shoulders, and when she pushes them back, water cascades down her collarbones. You watch it disappear into the valley between her breasts, the fabric of her top clinging transparently now, the dark peaks of her nipples visible beneath.
Calli catches you looking, and instead of covering up, she arches into it, stretching her arms overhead with a deliberately exaggerated sigh. "Oh no," she deadpans, "my modesty. Whatever will I do." The water laps at her ribs as she steps closer, until you can feel the heat of her body even through the ocean’s warmth. Her fingers find your waist, nails scratching lightly at the skin just above your waistband.
The ocean surges between you like a living thing, tugging at your ankles as Calli’s fingers skate higher up your waist. Her grin is sharp enough to cut glass. "You’re staring again," she murmurs, voice pitched low enough that the words barely carry over the next crashing wave. The water lifts her slightly off her feet, buoying her closer until her chest brushes against yours.
She doesn’t wait for your reply. With a flick of her wrist, she undoes the knot at the back of her bikini top in one fluid motion. The golden fabric falls away, baring her to the waist just as another wave recedes, leaving you both momentarily exposed in the shallow trough between swells. Calli doesn’t bother covering herself, letting the sun paint her skin, the water droplets clinging to her collarbones like scattered jewels.
Someone shouts again further down the beach, but it might as well be on another planet. The world narrows to the curve of her shoulders, her breath hitching when the next wave rolls in, cool against her heated skin. She doesn’t flinch when the water laps at her ribs, doesn’t react when your gaze drops to her nipples, pebbled tight from the breeze. "Problem?" she asks, all false innocence, twisting just enough to make the light catch the swell of her breasts.
You swallow. The ocean is doing nothing to hide the way your trunks are straining now. Calli notices, of course, her answering laugh is wicked as she hooks a finger into your waistband, tugging you closer. "You’re so fucking predictable," she breathes, but there’s no malice in it, just the same fond exasperation she reserves for when you forget to take out the trash or leave your shoes in the middle of the apartment floor.
"You flew four thousand miles," Calli says, her voice dripping with exaggerated disappointment as she flicks seawater at your chest. The droplets shimmer in the sunlight, glinting like scattered coins before they hit your skin. "Across the fucking Pacific Ocean, past like twelve time zones, just to what? Objectify me at every moment again?" She arches an eyebrow, but her mouth betrays her, twitching at the corner.
"You're gonna have to wait," you say, catching her wrist before she can tug your waistband any lower. The ocean surges between your legs, foaming around your thighs as Calli arches an eyebrow at you, her grin sharpening. "Wait for what?" she asks, but you can see the flicker of anticipation in her eyes, the way her fingers twitch against your hipbone.
"Until we get back to the hotel," you murmur, leaning close enough that your lips brush the shell of her ear. The scent of salt and sunscreen clings to her skin, mingling with the damp heat of her breath when she exhales sharply. "Where I'll make you cum so hard you forget your own name."
Your fingers skim across her ribs first, tracing the salt-damp skin where the ocean has left its sheen. Calli shivers from your touch, lingering just below the swell of her breast, teasing the edge of the fabric still tangled around her waist. "Cheeky," she murmurs, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into it, her breath catching when your palm finally cups her, warm and possessive against the soft weight of her. The bikini top hangs forgotten around her neck, its strings swaying with the breeze as you thumb her nipple, already stiff from the contrast of sun and saltwater.
She arches into your hand with a quiet, bitten-off sound, her hips pressing forward instinctively. The ocean surges around your thighs, foaming white as it drags sand between your toes, but neither of you notice. Calli’s skin is hot under your palms, her pulse thrumming visibly at the base of her throat when you squeeze just hard enough to make her gasp. "Fuck," she breathes, and her fingers dig into your shoulders, nails digging into your skin.
For a heartbeat, you consider leaving her half-naked and flushed, her chest heaving as the waves lick at her waist. But the distant chatter of tourists filters back into your awareness, the reality of the public beach reasserting itself. With deliberate slowness, you slide your hands up to her shoulders, guiding the crumpled fabric back into place. Calli watches you through half-lidded eyes as you retie the knot at her nape, your fingers brushing the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck. "Tease," she accuses, but her voice is thick, uneven.
Once you’re done, she spins in your arms and pulls you in for a kiss. You feel her forearms wrap around the back of your neck intimately and you begin to push back against her tongue. After a short while joined at the lips, you pull back to meet her eyes, red and gleaming with satisfaction.
The moment stretches, suspended between the crash of waves and the distant cry of gulls. Suddenly, before you can react, Calli grins sharply and shoves you backward into the oncoming swell. Water crashes over your shoulders, stinging your eyes, and when you surface, sputtering, she’s already wading toward shore, her laughter trailing behind her like a challenge.
You catch up to her where the sand turns damp and compact, grabbing her wrist just as she shakes the water from her hair. "Run all you want," you mutter, tugging her close enough that her back presses against your chest. Her skin is still slick with seawater, the scent of salt and sunscreen clinging to her as you nip at the curve of her ear. "Doesn’t change what’s gonna happen when we get back."
“Not before you get me ice cream first!” Calli replied cheerfully, smile as wide and as beautiful as the beach before you.
~~~
“Never thought you’d be the type for fancy restaurants,” Calli says, twirling her fork between her fingers like a baton. The candlelight flickers across her face, casting shadows that dance along the sharp line of her jaw. She’s wearing her signature dress only for the best of occasions. Deep red, slit up the thigh, clinging to her body in ways that only a masterfully skilled tailor could create. You were never more glad to have convinced her to bring it with her on the trip, and under the low glow of the restaurant’s chandeliers, she looks like something out of a noir film, all smirks and sharp edges.
The restaurant is the kind of place where the waiters wear white gloves and the menu doesn’t have prices. You’d splurged, really splurged, on the tasting menu, the kind with tiny dishes that arrive each more absurdly plated than the last. Calli had laughed when the first course arrived: a single scallop perched on a bed of crushed ice, garnished with edible flowers so delicate they dissolved on her tongue before she could name them. “Fancy,” she’d murmured, lips glistening with the butter sauce, and you’d felt your pulse kick up a notch.
Now, halfway through the meal, she leans forward, elbows on the tablecloth, and grins. “So,” she says, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you gonna tell me how much this cost, or am I gonna find out when we’re washing dishes in the back?”
You shrug, swirling your wine glass just to watch the legs streak down the sides. “Worth every penny,” you say, and the way her eyes soften tells you she knows you’re not just talking about the food.
The next course arrives. Seared duck breast with some kind of fruit reduction dressing, and Calli cannot help but moan around her first bite loud enough that the elderly couple at the next table shoots her a scandalized look. She doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, her eyes fluttering shut as she chews. “Fuck,” she breathes, fork hovering mid-air. “That’s stupid good.”
The crystal chimes when your glasses meet, a clear note ringing above the murmur of the restaurant. Calli’s grin is wicked as she holds your gaze over the rim of her wineglass, the deep red of the Cabernet catching the candlelight like liquid garnet. "To exploiting your poor financial decisions," she toasts, her voice dripping with exaggerated solemnity before she takes a sip. The wine stains her lips darker for a heartbeat before she licks it away, leaving them glossy under the low light.
You snort into your own glass. "Pretty sure exploiting me is a full-time job for you by now." The oakiness of the wine blooms warm across your tongue, followed by the faintest hint of blackberry. Not that either of you could possibly tell the difference compared to any other cheap bottle, but here, with Calli’s ankle hooked around yours beneath the tablecloth, it tasted nothing short of victory.
She leans forward, elbows propped on the crisp white linen, and swirls her glass with a practiced flick of her wrist. "Admit it," she says, eyes glinting. "You like being exploited." The slit in her dress parts just enough to reveal a teasing sliver of thigh as she shifts, the fabric whispering against her skin. The elderly couple two tables over visibly gives up on pretending not to stare.
The waiter materializes silently with the next course, tiny porcelain bowls of something frothy and green that turns out to be chilled cucumber soup with scallop submerged like treasure at the bottom. Calli pokes at it with her spoon, skeptical, until the first taste makes her eyebrows climb toward her hairline. "Okay, what the fuck," she mumbles around the spoon, "how does cold soup taste this good?" A droplet clings to the corner of her mouth and you cannot restrain yourself from reaching across instinctively to thumb it away, as she nips playfully at your fingertip.
Conversation lapses into comfortable silence as you eat, punctuated only by the clink of silverware and Calli’s occasional hums of appreciation. Outside, the palm trees sway in the warm night breeze, their shadows dancing across the latticework of the terrace screens. Somewhere beyond the manicured hedges, the ocean murmurs against the shore, a rhythmic counterpoint to the quiet jazz threading through the restaurant.
Finally after the last course is served, the dessert arrives. Two large chocolate spheres that collapse under the heat of caramel sauce poured upon them, revealing a molten core of raspberry coulis and vanilla bean ice cream. Calli watches the spectacle with the rapt attention of a child at a magic show, her fingers drumming the tablecloth impatiently. When the waiter finally retreats, she pounces, her spoon cracking through the fragile shell with surgical precision. “Holy shit,” she moans around the first bite, her toes curling against your shin under the table. “This is illegal. We’re committing a crime right now.”
You laugh, stealing a spoonful of your own. The ice cream is so cold it burns, the raspberry tart enough to make your lips pucker. Calli’s eyes drift shut as she savors another bite, her throat working around the swallow. When she opens them again, they’re darker, her gaze lingering on your mouth a beat too long. “You’ve got,” she murmurs, reaching across to swipe her thumb along the corner of your lip. She sucks the chocolate off her own skin with deliberate slowness, her tongue flicking against the pad of her thumb. “There.”
The elderly couple coughs pointedly into their napkins. Calli ignores them, stretching her legs out until her foot grazes the inside of your thigh. “So,” she says, dragging the tines of her fork through the remnants of dessert, “you gonna tell me what’s next, or am I supposed to guess?”
You lean back, swirling the last of your wine. “Thought we’d take the scenic route back. Walk along the beach, maybe.”
Calli’s grin is slow, knowing. “Uh-huh.” She pushes her chair back with a scrape, her dress sliding dangerously high as she stands. “Lead the way, money bags.”
The bill arrives on a silver tray, folded discreetly in half like financial origami. You don’t even blink at the total, knowing exactly how much it was beforehand, and scrawl your signature with a flourish that feels ridiculous, but fitting for the class of venue you stood in. Calli’s fingers slid into yours as you turned back around, giving you a quick look of satisfaction as you began your walk toward the exit.
The sand shifts under your dress shoes with each step, still warm from the day’s heat despite the evening breeze rolling in off the water. Calli’s heels dangle from your fingers, the straps swaying gently with your gait, while her hand rests in yours, her fingers laced loosely between your own. She walks barefoot beside you, the hem of her dress fluttering against her thighs with each gust of wind.
“You know,” she muses, tilting her head back to watch the first stars prick through the dusky sky, “I could get used to this whole ‘being spoiled’ thing.” Her voice is light, teasing, but there’s a warmth underneath it that makes your chest tighten.
The beach is quieter now, the families and tourists having retreated to their hotels or dinner reservations. Only a few stragglers remain, their silhouettes blurred by the growing darkness. The waves are gentler too, their crashes softened into a rhythmic whisper against the shore.
Calli stops suddenly, tugging your hand until you turn to face her. The ocean breeze catches her hair, sending strands dancing across her face. She doesn’t brush them away, just smiles up at you, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Thanks,” she says, simple and sincere.
You raise an eyebrow. “For what?”
"For not being boring," Calli says, like it's obvious, her thumb tracing idle circles against your knuckles. The ocean murmurs behind her, a hushed backdrop to the way her grin softens at the edges. "For remembering I like scallops. For not freaking out when I ordered the second bottle, even though you knew I couldn’t finish it." She shrugs, the movement making her dress slip another dangerous inch up her thigh. "For being you, I guess."
The admission hangs between you, quieter than the waves, heavier than the humid air. Calli doesn't do sentimentality, at least, not like this, without six layers of sarcasm as armour. You can see her already regretting it, the way her fingers twitch toward a phantom mic stand, grasping for a rap verse to deflect with. Instead, she exhales sharply through her nose and kicks sand at your shins. "Don't make it weird," she mutters, but there's no bite to it.
You catch her wrist before she can retreat completely, tugging her close enough that her bare toes bump against your shoes. "Weird is your brand, remember?" The salt breeze carries the scent of her perfume, something dark and sweet and definitely newly bought for this trip. When you kiss her, she tastes like overpriced chocolate and the Cabernet you’d shared, her lips still sticky with raspberry coulis.
Calli hums against your mouth, her fingers curling into the front of your shirt. "Mmm, smooth," she murmurs, but she's the one who deepens the kiss, her teeth catching your lower lip just enough to sting. The ocean surges behind you, a sudden crash of waves against rock, and you can feel her smile as she pulls back. "Still not as smooth as that duck reduction, though."
A group of college-aged tourists passes by, their laughter sharp and beer-flavored in the warm air. Calli waits until they're out of earshot before leaning in again, her breath hot against your ear.
“Can we…Go back to the hotel? Now, please?." Her nails scrape lightly down your chest, stopping just above your belt. "Before I ruin this very expensive dress in the sand."
"Of course," you murmur against her lips, stealing another kiss before sliding one arm behind her knees and the other around her shoulders. Calli lets out a surprised yelp as you lift her effortlessly, her arms looping around your neck, her laughter vibrating against your collarbone as she kicks one bare foot. "You're such a damn cliché," she accuses, but she's already nuzzling into the curve of your throat, her breath warm and sweet with wine. The ocean breeze tangles in her hair, strands of pink catching against your jaw as you adjust your grip, her thigh-high dress riding up just enough to reveal the lace edge of her stockings.
She's lighter than you expected and her fingers twist in your shirt, her hips pressing impatiently against your forearm as you cross the beach. The hotel looms ahead, its glass facade reflecting the moonlit waves, and Calli tilts her head to watch it over your shoulder. "Race you to the elevator?" she teases, but her voice dips when your thumb brushes the sensitive spot behind her knee, her breath hitching audibly.
"Absolutely not. You're in my control for now, might as well keep you here," you tell her, walking straight through the front sliding door of the hotel with her still in your arms. The only worker at the front desk looks onward in surprise, but not enough care to stop you.
"How are you gonna get us to our floor, huh, genius? Gonna carry me up fourteen flights of stairs?" Calli taunted you, until you returned her question with a cheeky smile. You turned around slightly to point her feet at the button panel and she laughs heartily as she realises what you were asking from her, but she obliges you anyway. She misses, kicking the button for thirteen first with a giggle, but she gets the right floor the next go around.
The elevator doors slide shut with a quiet hiss, sealing you both in the mirrored box as it begins its ascent. Calli's laughter still hums against your collarbone, warm and vibration-deep, her fingers idly tracing patterns along the back of your neck. You shift your grip slightly, feeling her thighs tighten around your forearm in response.
"Comfortable?" you murmur, and she tilts her head back just enough to fix you with that look, the one where her eyebrows do something complicated while her mouth fights a smile.
"Not even a little," she lies, her breath ghosting across your jaw. "You're terrible at this. My spine's at like, a forty-five degree angle."
The elevator chimes softly as it passes the fifth floor. Calli's dress has ridden up further, the slit parting to reveal the smooth plane of her thigh where it presses against your arm. The overhead lights catch the fine sheen of sand still clinging to her skin, golden flecks that glitter when she shifts.
You don't warn her before dipping your head. Just bring your mouth to hers in one smooth motion, swallowing her startled exhale. Calli's fingers tighten in your hair immediately, her nails scraping your scalp as she kisses you back with just as much need.
The doors ding open...on the 13th floor. Breaking your kiss, you look at the number, before sharing another chuckle together and one last quick kiss as you wait for the last floor to pass.
One final soft ding as the doors slide open on the 14th floor, revealing the plush carpet of the hallway stretching toward your suite. Calli makes a show of sighing dramatically against your shoulder, her breath warm through the fabric of your shirt. "Finally," she drawls, though her fingers haven't loosened their grip on your neck. "My hero's arms must be exhausted from carrying my delicate frame all this way."
"You weigh less than my backpack," you tell her, but gently lower her anyway, letting her slide down your body inch by inch until her bare feet touch the carpet. She sways into you immediately, her palms braced against your chest as if dizzy, her dress rustling with the movement.
Calli's knees buckle theatrically when her feet hit the ground, her whole body tilting forward into your space. "Oh no," she deadpans, her forehead knocking against your collarbone. "I think I've forgotten how to walk after being carried like a princess. What a tragedy." Her hands skate down your torso, fingers hooking into your belt loops to steady herself, or maybe (definitely) just to pull you closer.
The hallway is deserted, lit by sconces that cast warm pools of light along the patterned wallpaper. Somewhere distant, a door clicks shut, but the sound didn't make you waver, Calli pressing against you, her hair tickling your jawline, the scent of saltwater and her perfume clinging to her skin.
"You're such a princess," you murmur, but your hands find her waist anyway, thumbs brushing the dip above her hips where the dress clings.
Your hands grab the key card from your pocket with a soft whisper against fabric, catching the hallway light as you flip it between your fingers. Calli watches the movement with half-lidded amusement, her hip cocked against yours as she leans into your space. "But I'm your princess, yes?" She murmurs, but her fingers tighten around yours when you tug her toward the door, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet.
The lock beeps green when you swipe the card, a sound that always makes Calli smirk like she’s remembering something private. Before you can push the door open, her hand darts out to stop you, her palm flat against the wood. "Wait," she says, and for a heartbeat you think she’s about to say something serious, until her teeth flash in the dim light. "Carry me over the threshold. For tradition."
You stare at her. She stares back, unblinking, the picture of innocence if not for the way her fingers dig into your waistband. "You’re ridiculous," you tell her, but bend to hook an arm under her knees anyway, lifting her with a grunt that’s mostly for show. Calli’s laughter curls warm against your neck as you shoulder the door open, her arms looping around your shoulders like this was her plan all along.
The suite smells faintly of lavender and the ocean breeze still drifting through the balcony doors you’d left cracked. Calli doesn’t wait to be set down, wriggling free the moment you clear the doorway, her dress flaring crimson as she spins toward the center of the room gracefully.
You usher her over to the shower to wash off all the sand from earlier, as to save the sheets from being ruined. It turns on with a hiss, steam already curling around the edges of the glass door when Calli peels the dress from her shoulders. It pools at her feet like liquid silk, the fabric still faintly damp with ocean spray and clinging to her thighs just long enough to make you peek.
"Eyes up here, sailor," she teases, stepping out of the crimson puddle with deliberate slowness. Sand cascades from her ankles onto the tile, a tiny beach forming between her toes as she walks backward into the steam.
Following her, you shed your own clothes with far less grace, the shirt sticking to your shoulders where seawater had dried hours ago. Calli’s already under the spray when you slide the door open, her head tipped back into the water, fingers working the tangles from her hair. The shower stall is spacious, luxuriously so, but she still crowds you against the tiled wall the moment you step in, her body slick and warm where it presses against yours. "Missed a spot," she murmurs, dragging her palms down your chest to scoop up the remaining grains clinging to your skin. Her thumbs circle your hips, slow and purposeful, before rinsing the sand down the drain between your feet.
Stepping out first, you grab a towel to dry off and let Calli finish whatever she needed to do. Going over to your luggage, you grab your travel laundry bag for the both of you.
"Hey, don't worry about that, we can fix it up tomorrow. Just...Relax on the bed for now, okay?" Calli called out, toweling down her own body at the bathroom door.
"Uh...Sure, I'll be on the bed."
You didn't have to wait long, before the familiar figure of a certain girl emerged before you.
You glance up from arranging the pillows, and immediately froze. Calli leans against the doorframe, one hip cocked, her silhouette backlit by the golden bathroom light. The lingerie that adorns her body is as scandalous as it is elegant, ivory lace that clings to every curve, the cups sheer enough to reveal the dusky pink of her nipples beneath the delicate embroidery. The garter belt cinches her waist impossibly smaller, the silk straps tracing down her thighs to meet stockings so sheer they might as well be painted on.
She takes a slow step forward, the click of her heels muffled by the plush carpet. The bodice dips low enough to showcase the flutter of her pulse at her throat, the lace scalloping just above the swell of her breasts like it’s framing a masterpiece. "Problem?" she murmurs, running a hand down her own torso, fingers catching on the ribbon tied snug between her hips. The motion makes the stockings whisper against each other, a sound that shouldn’t be audible but somehow cuts through the hum of the air conditioner.
Your throat goes dry, your body now pinned sitting at the edge of the bed. The lingerie isn’t white, but rather it’s the kind of cream that only exists in old Hollywood films, the color of champagne left to breathe. It makes her skin glow, the contrast of the pale fabric against her sun-kissed thighs almost obscene. She turns a sexy pirouette and the back is even worse, open lacework that leaves the dimples above her ass completely bare, the straps crisscrossing like they’re holding her together.
Calli continues to slowly step toward you. "You’re staring," she accuses, same smug satisfaction she gets when she lands a particularly filthy rhyme.
"You bought this for the trip," you realize aloud, watching the way the garter straps dig into the plush of her thighs when she shifts her weight.
"No," Calli breathes, stepping closer until the lace of her stockings brushes your bare knees. Her fingers catch the ribbon at her waist, twisting it once between thumb and forefinger. The light catches the gold embroidery curling across her hips, tiny skulls stitched into the fabric like a signature. "I bought this for you."
Calli doesn’t climb onto you so much as she flows, the movement liquid and inevitable like the tide sliding up the shore. Her thighs bracket yours, the sheer stockings whispering against your skin as she settles into your lap. For a heartbeat, she just looks at you, her gaze tracing your face with an odd intensity, her fingers hovering near your jaw like she’s memorizing the shape of it. Then, without warning, she leans in and wraps her arms around your shoulders, pressing her forehead to yours.
The hug is quiet, unhurried. Her breath ghosts across your collarbone, warm and uneven, her ribs expanding against yours with each inhale. You can feel the rapid flutter of her pulse where your palm rests against the small of her back, the lace of her bodice rough under your fingertips. The scent of her, hotel shampoo and saltwater and everything Calli, fills your lungs, and for a moment, you just breathe her in, your nose brushing the damp hair at her temple.
Her fingers tighten in the fabric of your shirt, nails scraping lightly against your shoulder blades. "You’re thinking too loud," she murmurs, her voice muffled against your neck.
You huff a laugh, your hands sliding up her spine to cradle the back of her head. Her hair is still damp from the shower, the strands cool between your fingers. "How can you even tell?"
She smiles, then simply says, "because I know you."
The embrace lingers, Calli’s warmth seeping into your skin like sunlight through stained glass. Her fingers trace idle patterns between your shoulder blades, her breath steadying against your neck.
"Alright, enough mushy shit," she murmurs, but the way she grinds down onto your lap betrays her. Her thighs tense around yours, the lace of her garter biting into your skin with every shift. "You know what I want tonight, yes?" she states, knowing you knew exactly what she meant by that.
"You want me to breed you," you murmur against the shell of her ear, fingers tightening around the delicate straps of her garter belt. The words hang between you, heavy as the humid air still clinging to your skin from the shower.
Calli goes utterly still in your lap, her breath hitching audibly. Then, with deliberate slowness, she leans back just far enough to meet your gaze. Her pupils are blown wide, dark enough to drown in. "Took you long enough to say it," she breathes, but the way her thighs tremble against yours betrays her. Her fingers trace down your chest, nails catching on the ridges of your abs before hooking into the waistband of your boxers.
You grip her hips tighter, the lace of her garter biting into your palms. "I'm going to knock you up," you say, slower this time, watching the way her throat works around a swallow. "Until you can't walk straight tomorrow."
Calli's laugh is breathless, her fingers tightening in your hair. "Bold words for someone who hasn't...!" She cuts off with a sharp inhale when you yank her flush against you, the damp heat between her thighs undeniable even through the fabric.
Her forehead drops to yours, her exhale shuddering. "Fuck," she whispers, and then, quieter, like it's being dragged out of her: "You better do me right after all this nonsense. You’ve been slow-cooking me with every loving thing you do, I’m fucking begging you, please fuck me like it’s our last night on this stupid planet."
The raw vulnerability of her pleading hangs between you, raw as the salt-sting of the ocean still clinging to her skin. You can see the panic flicker across her face immediately, Calli doesn't say things like that. But before she can backtrack, you kiss her, slow and thorough, swallowing the startled noise she makes.
Her nails dig into your shoulders when you pull back. "I’ll make sure you never forget this," you murmur against her lips, and she almost squeaks with excitement, grinding down onto you, desperate.
The lingerie is sinfully expensive, you can tell by how the lace doesn't fray when you pull on it slightly, the straps snapping like over-tuned guitar strings. Calli arches into every touch, her back bowing when you palm her tits, her nipples hardening under your thumbs. "Fuck, fuck," she chants, her hips stuttering when you bite the skin between neck and shoulder.
You don’t so much lay her down as you let her fall, Calli’s back hitting the mattress with a soft bounce, her breath leaving her in a quiet huff. Her wonderful hair splays across the bed and her thighs part instinctively, the silk straps of her garter straining as you drag her to the edge of the bed by her hips. The lace is already damp where it clings to her, the scent of her arousal sharp and unmistakable and irresistible beneath the floral hotel soap.
Calli’s fingers fist in the duvet when you kneel between her legs, her hips lifting in silent demand. “Please,” she begs, but the word fractures when you press your mouth to the inside of her thigh, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there. Her legs tremble, the stockings whispering against your shoulders as she shifts.
You take your time, tracing the frilled edge of her panties with your tongue, savoring the way her breath hitches when you ghost over the damp fabric. The lace framing her core has a tasteful gap for what could only be ease of access, and Calli arches off the bed with a choked noise when you finally lick a slow, full stripe up her entire slit, thighs clamping around your head.
“Oh my god...” she hisses, her heel digging into your back. The taste of her is intoxicating, sweet and everything you loved, the kind you could drown in. You swirl your tongue around her clit, relishing the way her hips jerk, her fingers clutching your hair and nails raking down your scalp when you suck lightly.
Calli’s thighs shake when you slide two fingers into her, her body clenching around them instantly. “More,” she demands, her voice rough, and you oblige, crooking your fingers just so until she cries out, her back bowing off the bed.
The sound she continues to make is half-gasp and half-laugh, breathless and punched-out. The scent of her arousal clings to your nostrils, thick and heady, mingling with the faint floral tang of the hotel shampoo still lingering in her folds. Every bit of Calli was filling your senses, and you couldn’t love more. Pressing deeper, you fuck her with your tongue in slow, rhythmic strokes, the wet heat of her swallowing you whole.
“God, your tongue,” she moans, arching into it. The garter belt strains against her hips when she spreads her legs wider, the silk straps pulling taut. “Feels so fucking good...” Her voice fractures when you suck lightly on her clit, her thighs trembling around your head. You can feel the tension coiling in her belly, the way her muscles flutter under your palms where they grip her hips.
Calli’s fingers knot in your hair so suddenly it makes your scalp sting, pulling you upright with a force that nearly unbalances you, but not enough to hurt. Her pupils are blown wide and full of lust, lips parted around ragged breaths as she drags you up her body with a desperation that borders on violence. “Enough,” she gasps, nails scraping down your chest, “stay still.”
Her fingers hook into the waistband of your boxers with ease, her nails scraping lightly against your hips as she drags them down. The fabric catches briefly on your erection before yielding, pooling around your ankles. She doesn’t look away as she sinks to her knees, the plush carpet muffling the sound of her descent, her gaze locked on yours with a look that’s equal parts challenge and hunger.
With agonising slowness, Calli’s tongue drags up your length, the flat of it tracing every vein as if to savour them. Her lips purse around the head, sucking lightly, her eyes flicking up to watch your reaction through her lashes. She knew exactly what she’s doing, from the first time she dragged you into a changing room, but this specific performance never gets old. The way her tongue swirls around the tip, the obscene pop when she pulls off to press a kiss to the underside, how her fingers knead your thighs like she’s savoring the tension there.
Calli holds you in her mouth for a breathless eternity, her tongue swirling lazily around the head until your thighs tremble. Then, slow as she started, she pulls away to release you and push you back with a hand to your chest. Her smirk is wicked as she crawls backward up the bed, the silk straps of her garter digging into the plush of her thighs with every movement. "Well?" she taunts, arching one eyebrow as she settles against the pillows. "You made a promise earlier, didn't you?"
You don't give her the satisfaction of answering. Instead, you climb in between her legs as they fall open before you. You bring your cock to her dripping pussy and look back up at her, meeting her eyes, wide with adoration.
Usually, it'd be a rough beginning to your coupling, but this time the first thrust is slow, agonizingly so, the head of your cock catching on her entrance before pushing in just an inch. Calli's breath stutters, her nails digging into your forearms as her body fights to adjust. "Fuck," she hisses, her back arching off the bed, the lace of her bodice pulling tight across her breasts. You watch her throat work around a swallow, the flutter of her pulse visible beneath the delicate skin.
Every inch feels like heaven, her walls fluttering around you slowly as you sink deeper. Calli's thighs tremble where they bracket yours, the garter straps biting into the soft flesh of her inner thighs. "Look at you," you murmur, dragging your thumb across her lower lip. Her breath is hot against your skin, her teeth scraping lightly as she nips at your finger. "So perfect."
Calli's answering laugh is breathless, cut short when you bottom out with a final, shallow thrust. Her hips jerk, her body arching off the bed as her fingers scramble for purchase in the sheets. "Ohh...Yes, so deep," she gasps, her voice cracking on the last word.
You pause there, buried to the hilt, savoring her pussy as it clenches around you in helpless little pulses. The lace of her lingerie is rough under your palms as you trace the dip of her waist, the sweat already gathering at the small of her back. Calli whines, high and desperate, her hips canting up in silent demand. Though it was far from the rough affair you were used to, a single, slow thrust felt like a more intimate claiming than ever before.
"God, you feel..." Calli's voice fractures into a gasp as you pull out gradually, the head of your cock kissing her swollen entrance before sinking back in with torturous slowness. Her fingers dig into your shoulders, blunt nails pressing into your skin as she arches beneath you. "Fuck, I can feel every inch...so good..." The words dissolve into a moan when you drag your hips back again, the glide slick and perfect between her thighs.
Her thighs tremble where they bracket yours, the silk garters digging into the soft flesh of her hips as she shifts restlessly. "Don't rush," she breathes, her forehead pressing against yours as she exhales shakily. "Wanna feel you like this, slowly, just..." Her voice trails off as you push back in, the stretch making her gasp. The hotel sheets rustle beneath her, the sound swallowed by the wet slide of your bodies moving together.
Calli's hands slide up to cradle your face, her thumbs brushing your cheekbones with surprising gentleness. "Look at me," she murmurs, and when you do, her expression is raw in a way you've never seen before, no smirk, no sharp-edged amusement, just something exposed and wanting. Her hips tilt up to meet your next thrust, her walls hugging every inch of you as she lets out a broken sigh. "Like that, just like that..."
The pace is maddening, each movement drawn out until the air between you grows thick with shared breath and the scent of her arousal. Calli's legs hook around your waist, her heels pressing into the small of your back as if to keep you close. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, the delicate lace of her bodice straining with each inhale. "You're gonna ruin me," she whispers, half-laughing, half-serious, her voice thready with pleasure.
You catch her mouth in a kiss, swallowing her next moan as your hips roll against hers in a rhythm that's less fucking and something closer to worship. Calli melts into it, her fingers tangling in your hair as she kisses you back with a desperation that belies the languid pace of your bodies. When you break away, her pupils were blown so wide her irises are nearly swallowed by black, but you could see a tender mirth beneath.
Her hips roll against yours with the rhythm of the tide outside. You catch her wrist, pinning it to the mattress beside her head, and her laugh is breathless, uneven. "You bastard," she accuses, but at the same time, her thighs tighten around your hips, pulling you deeper. The headboard knocks against the wall with each measured thrust, a dull thud that syncs with the pulse jumping in her throat. Calli's other hand climbs to cup your cheek, and her hips stutter when you angle just perfectly, as you'd done so many times before.
"You love it, I know," you murmur against the shell of her ear, your teeth grazing the delicate skin there. Calli shivers, her breath hitching when you nip lightly at her earlobe. "Tell me again what you want."
Her hips jerk, her body clenching around you in a helpless pulse. "I want you..." She grits out, her voice raw, "want you to...Ah! Fill me up, fuck!" The words dissolve into a moan as you grind deep, the slow drag of your cock against her walls wringing another tremor from her. Her thighs tremble where they bracket yours, the silk garters biting into her skin with every shift.
The fingers of her free hand scramble for purchase on your shoulders and blunt nails dig into your skin as you pull back, savoring the way her body clings to you. The air between you is thick with salt and sweat, her breath hot against your collarbone when she presses her forehead there. "Gonna...Gonna," she starts, but the thought fractures when you surge back into her, your hips meeting hers with a wet slap that echoes in the humid room.
Calli's breath hitches in the back of her throat, a sound like glass about to shatter. "Close," she gasps, fingers scrambling against your shoulders as her hips stutter beneath you. The word punches out of her with each slow thrust, ragged around the edges. "So fucking close..." Her voice cracks when you angle deeper, the head of your cock dragging against that spot inside her that makes her thighs tremble like palm fronds in a storm.
"Please...Please, harder, faster, anything!" Calli gasps, her voice breaking on the plea as her hips jerk beneath you. The words unravel into a moan when you grab her other hand and pin it above her head with the other, your palm locking down her wrists. Her pulse thrums wildly against your palm, her skin slick with sweat where your grip tightens as you speed up gradually. "God, yes, finally..."
The first hard thrust punches the air from her lungs. Calli arches off the mattress with a cry, her back bowing as you bury yourself to the hilt in one brutal motion. Her thighs clamp around your hips, the lace of her garters biting into your skin, but you don't relent and drag out almost completely before slamming back in, the wet slap of skin echoing off the hotel walls.
"Fuck! Fuck...Yessss!" Her hands struggle in your palms, her head thrashing against the pillows. The rhythm is merciless now, every snap of your hips deliberate, calculated to wring those breathless little sounds from her throat. Her walls flutter around you, clenching in erratic pulses as she approaches the edge of her orgasm. "Don't stop, don't stop, oh god...!"
You catch her parted lips in a kiss, swallowing her cry as you grind deep, the angle shifting just enough to brush that spot inside her that makes her entire body tense like a live wire. Calli's thighs tremble violently, her heels digging into your back as she shudders through the first waves of her climax. Her moan vibrates against your mouth, raw and unfiltered, her hips jerking in helpless little circles as pleasure crests over her.
Her release crashes through her like a rogue wave, pulling her under with a force that leaves her gasping. You feel it thoroughly, her cunt milking you greedily, her inner muscles fluttering in frantic pulses as she cants her hips up, chasing every last shred of sensation. Her wrists twist weakly in your grip as you hold her still, her fingers flexing as she rides it out, her breath coming in ragged against your lips.
The kiss breaks as Calli gasps against your lips, her orgasm continuing to spark through her like an electric circuit. You swallow every ragged breath, every bitten-off moan, as you keep moving inside her with strong thrusts. Her body jerks beneath you, oversensitive and trembling, but you don't let up, dragging the pleasure out until she finally comes down from her high.
Her groan is ragged, half-laugh, half-sob, as she tilts her head back into the pillows. "You…" she pants, but the words lack any real venom, especially when her legs tighten around your waist, body melting into yours. "Gonna, nngh, you'll ruin me if you keep fucking me like this..."
"That's the idea," you murmur against her skin, kissing the sweat from her collarbone, and the laugh it pulls from her is breathless and uneven, but entirely sincere.
Calli's lips angle up to meet yours again, in a kiss that tastes like salt and Cabernet, her tongue sliding against yours with none of her usual bite. When she pulls back, her lips brush yours with each ragged syllable. "Do it," she breathes, nails digging crescents into your shoulders. "Fill me up, I want...I want you to leave me dripping your cum."
She grinds her hips as she begs. The sheets beneath her are damp with sweat, her skin slick where her breasts, hugged by the tantalising lingerie, presses against your chest.
"Hmm...I'm not sure if you deserve it..." you murmur against her mouth, slowing your thrusts and watching her squirm.
Calli's hips jerk in protest, her back arching off the mattress. "Breed me," she gasps, the words punched out between panting breaths. Her hands slide down to clutch at your ass, blunt nails scraping skin as she tries to pull you deeper. "Come on, you idiot, you don't swim with me in the ocean, fucking wine and dine me, and walk me down the beach then not pump all of your cum as deep as you can in my good little pussy."
That's all you need. Satisfied with her plea, you flip her over in one smooth motion, the mattress dipping beneath her as you drag Calli onto her hands and knees. Her surprised gasp dissolves into a moan when you palm the curve of her ass, spreading her wide and admiring her pretty holes for a moment before spearing into her soaking pussy from behind without ceremony. The angle punches the air from her lungs, your cock driving deeper than before, the head kissing her cervix and making her thighs tremble instantly.
Calli's back arches sharply, her elbows buckling as she collapses onto her forearms with a choked cry. The lace bodice strains against her heaving chest, the delicate fabric damp with sweat where it clings to her skin. "Fuck!" she gasps, her fingers twisting in the sheets as you set a relentless pace, each thrust knocking her forward an inch before you drag her back by the hips. The garter straps dig into the plush flesh of her thighs, the red silk a stark contrast against her flushed skin.
You lean over her, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades to press her down into the pillows, the other gripping the headboard for leverage. The wood creaks with each snap of your hips, the rhythm as primal as the waves outside crashing against the shore. Calli's moans pitch higher, fractured by every deep stroke, her voice muffled and raw when she cants her hips back to meet you. "Y-yes, right there, god, just like that...!"
Your fingers tangle in Calli's sweat-damp hair, wrenching her head back until her spine meets your chest. The groan that tears from her throat is raw, unfiltered, her lips parted around ragged breaths as you pull her flush against your chest. "Such a good girl," you murmur against the shell of her ear, your voice rough with exertion. Her answering whimper is half-protest, half-plea as you continue to thrust into her and enjoying the feeling of her wrapped around you. "Taking me so deep...You want it, don't you? Want me to knock you up right here?"
Calli's laugh fractures into a moan when you punctuate the question with a sharp thrust, your cock spearing into her with enough force to make her toes curl against the rumpled sheets. "Fuck, yes!" Her voice cracks on the syllable, her fingers scrabbling for purchase in the sheets as you pound into her with renewed urgency. "God, please, fill me up. Breed me like, ah! Like the fucking slut I am for you, for your cock!"
The words unravel into a broken cry when you slam home, your hips stuttering as you bottom out inside her. Her walls flutter around you in erratic pulses, milking your cock with greedy insistence as she grinds back against you. The headboard knocks against the wall with each thrust, a metronome counting down to the moment you'd impregnate her.
Calli's thighs tremble violently where they bracket yours, the lace of her garters biting into the flesh of her hips. "Close," she gasps, her voice full of want, of need. "Gonna come again..." Her breath catches when you slide a hand around her throat, your thumb pressing lightly against her pulse point. The choked sound she makes is obscene, her body clenching around you in helpless little spasms that convey how much she trusts you, giving herself to you completely.
Calli's throat works around a ragged moan as your fingers tighten ever so slightly against her pulse. "Tell me what you want again," you murmur into the damp heat behind her head, your voice rough with exertion. Her hips stutter beneath you, her body clenching around your cock in helpless little pulses. "Louder. So the entire hotel hears you."
"I want you to knock me up," she pleads, the words breaking when you drag out almost completely before slamming back in. The wet slap of skin echoes off the hotel walls, underscored by the rhythmic creak of the bed. Her fingers twist in the sheets, knuckles whitening. "Fuck, please, I want your cum so deep!"
You thrust once again, watching her body fight to stay steady. "Not convincing enough," you taunt, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate grind that makes her whine high in her throat. The garter straps dig into her thighs as she shifts restlessly, the lace bodice straining against her heaving chest. "Try harder."
Calli whines, her back arching sharply when you pull out completely to tease her swollen entrance. You bring her body up to meet yours once again and sink your teeth into the side of her neck, where you still grip tightly enough to hold, but not to hurt.
"God, you're such an asshole!" She pants, but the insult loses all bite when she grinds her hips back against you, her cunt clenching around nothing. Her voice drops, raw and wrecked as she lets out a desperate exhale. "Breed me. I want to feel you fucking pump me full! I want you to fill me as deep as you can with your cum until it takes. I don't want to leave this stupid island until I'm carrying your child in my womb, please just give it to me!"
You smile devilishly against her neck. After one last squeeze, you let go of her neck, only to bring down your palm on her ass with a thundering spank. Calli can't help but let out a shrill moan, and you hear her panting heavier and heavier as you let her back onto the mattress on all fours.
The second spank lands with a sharp crack that makes Calli gasp, her hips jerking forward before she grinds back against you, her body moving on instinct. The red imprint of your hand blooms across her ass, stark against her flushed skin. "Good girl," you murmur, dragging your fingers through the damp heat between her thighs before gripping her hips again. "So fucking obedient for me."
Calli shudders beneath your touch, her lips parting around a moan when you slide back into her with one smooth thrust. Her fingers twist in the sheets, knuckles whitening as you bottom out, your cock pressing insistently against her cervix. "Gonna give you everything," you promise, your voice rough against the sweat-slick curve of her shoulder. "Every last drop."
Her answering moan is muffled by the pillows, but the way her body clenches around you is unmistakable, desperate and hungry. "Do it," she pants, her voice cracking on the plea. "Fucking break me." The words dissolve into a broken cry when you pull out almost completely, the drag of your cock against her swollen walls deliberate, torturous.
You slam back in, the force of it driving her forward an inch before you drag her back by the hips. Calli's spine arches beautifully, her back bowing as you set a brutal pace, each thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin and the creak of the bedframe. Her thighs tremble violently, the garter straps biting into her plush flesh with every movement.
"Good girl," you growl in praise, your fingers tightening on her waist. "Taking me so deep like a fucking breeding bitch." The crude praise wrings another shattered moan from her lips, her cunt fluttering around you in erratic pulses. "Gonna pump you full until you’re dripping with me for days."
The mattress shifts beneath Calli’s trembling knees as you drag her hips back against yours, each thrust measured and deep, the particular way you know she adores. Her fingers scrabble for the headboard, her spine arching sharply when you angle just right, the tip of your cock nudging against her cervix with a pressure that tells her exactly what's about to happen. She makes a sound like glass shattering, her thighs clamping around yours as if she could keep you there forever.
"Fuck, fuck! Right there, god, don’t stop..." Calli’s voice cracks mid-plea, her words melting into a moan when you obey, smacking your hips together and wringing another shudder from her. The lace bodice strains against her heaving chest, the delicate fabric damp with sweat where it clings to her skin. You can feel the exact moment she starts to unravel, her walls fluttering around you in frantic pulses and massaging your length wonderfully.
The moment Calli's orgasm crests, her body locks around you with all it has, her cunt pulsing in erratic waves that pull you deeper with each shuddering contraction. You feel it the second she tips over the edge, her thighs clamping around yours as her back bows sharply, her cry fracturing into something raw and primal.
"Fuck, fuck, I'm coming!" She gasps, the words barely coherent between panting breaths, "cum with me, knock me up!" Her hips stutter beneath you, her movements turning jerky and uncoordinated as pleasure rips through her. You can feel every flutter of her walls around your cock, her body milking you with greedy insistence as you rail her silly, chasing your own release and enjoying her orgasmic contractions around you.
"Good girl, Mori, cumming around my cock. I'm gonna cum inside you, I'm gonna impregnate you, take it all!" You shout as you continue your rough thrusts. You felt your orgasm building within you and as your hips slap against hers for one final time.
The sound Calli makes when you finally spill into her is something between a sob and a laugh, her body arching sharply as if trying to fuse your hips together. You feel it the moment your release hits, how her cunt clenches like a vise, milking every last drop with greedy, spasming pulses as if it knew this was the moment she would be fertilised. Her thighs tremble violently against yours, the lace garters digging red marks into her flushed skin as she grinds back against you, desperate to keep you buried deep.
"Yes!," she gasps, her voice ragged. Her fingers twist in the sheets, knuckles bone-white as she cants her hips up. "God, yes, I can feel it, I can feel you so deeeep..." The words stretch when you grind shallowly, coaxing out the last few spurts, her body greedily swallowing everything you give her.
You collapse over her, your forehead pressing between her shoulder blades as you both struggle to catch your breath. Calli's skin is fever-hot beneath you, her heartbeat thundering against your chest where you're pressed together. Her fingers flex weakly against the mattress, her breath coming in uneven hitches.
"Stay," she murmurs, her voice thick and drowsy, her hips shifting just enough to keep you inside her, "don't move."
The words are barely audible, almost silent, but they vibrated straight into your soul. The hotel room smells of sex and saltwater, the balcony doors still ajar enough to let in the distant murmur of waves. Calli turns her head to peer at you over her shoulder, her eyelashes sticking together with sweat, her lips bitten red. You wrap your hands around her midsection and bring her up to meet your body, one hand groping a boob and one snaking down toward her core.
"Holy fuck," she whispers, almost reverent, when your thumb brushes the swollen bud between her thighs and wrings one final shudder from her. Her laugh is wrecked, uneven, as she collapses forward onto her elbows. "You…You actually did it."
She kisses you. For a moment, you see stars, but none of them are as bright as the girl in your arms. Calli's lips tremble against yours, her breath ragged and uneven as she clutches your shoulders with shaking hands. Uncharacteristically tender, like she's afraid you'll disappear if she lets go.
"You really..." Her voice cracks. She swallows, tries again. "You really came inside me."
The awe in her tone makes your chest tighten. You press your forehead to hers, watching her pupils dilate further as you murmur, "Of course. Every drop."
Calli's thighs quiver where they press against yours, her hips shifting just enough to feel the evidence of your claim leaking from her. A shiver runs through her when your fingers palm her breasts, then trace the curve of her stomach, slow and reverent.
"You're gonna swell up so pretty," you whisper against her collarbone, kissing the rapid flutter of her pulse. "Round with my child."
Calli's panting continues as your palm presses flat against her lower belly, her skin still fever-warm. The sheets beneath you both are damp with sweat and other fluids, but as she turns her face into your shoulder with a noise halfway between a sigh and a whimper, you feel satisfaction wash over the both of you.
"God," she murmurs against your collarbone, her voice rough as sandpaper. Her hips shift minutely, but enough that you finally slip out of her, and a wince flickering across her face when your cum leaks out of her swollen pussy onto the sheets. "You really...fuck." The words dissolve into a shaky exhale, her forehead pressing harder against your shoulder like she's trying to burrow into your skin.
"Come on," you begin, "let's go take a shower before we melt in our own sweat. You step off the bed, legs shaky, and Calli barely has the energy to protest as you scoop her up bridal-style once again, her arms looping lazily around your neck.
The bathroom tiles are cool underfoot as you maneuver her into the shower stall, the glass already fogging up from your joint heat. Calli leans heavily against you, her forehead resting on your collarbone, her breath still uneven. Water cascades over both of you, washing away the sweat and spend trickling down her thighs. She sighs softly when the spray hits skin, her arms wrapping around your body.
"Thank you," she begins, voice uncharacteristically soft, fingers tracing idle patterns on your damp chest. The shower's steam curls around her words, softening them further, but there's weight beneath them. Her eyelashes stick together with residual moisture when she blinks up at you, lips still swollen from earlier. "For tonight. For...all of it."
Her hand rests against your chest like she's marking the spot, gaze dropping to where her fingers splay across your skin. The water sluices between you, carrying away the last traces of sex, but the way she's looking at you sticks tighter than any physical evidence could. "I know I'm a pain in the ass about fancy shit," she continues, rolling her eyes at herself, but the motion lacks its usual edge. "But you...you make it feel real. Not just some performative bullshit."
"Don't you get used to it. This was fucking expensive," you joked, earning you a light slap, "but I'm happy you enjoyed it. Makes it all worth it."
The shower spray hissed like distant applause as Calli's fingers traced the water cascading down your chest. Her touch lingered where your heartbeat thudded, slower now, her fingertips pressing into the flesh as if memorizing the rhythm. Steam curled between you in lazy spirals when she tilted her chin up, droplets clinging to her lashes.
"Bet you're smug as hell right now," she muttered.
"Feels like a million bucks," you replied, hugging her closer to you once more. You pressed a kiss to her forehead, past the pink hair that framed it now, and your arms find themselves around the back of Calli in comfortable affection.
~~~
"Do we still have any more of those sandos?"
Five months later, all seemed routine at your shared apartment. That was, unless you turned your attention to Calli sprawled on the couch, losing her battle with the pregnancy pillow against her back.
Her voice called out across the room. "I swear to god if you don't bring me one of those right fucking now, I will eat you alive before this kid's even born."
Chuckling softly, you reached for the pair of katsu sandos left over from your emergency craving supplies. Making your way over to your soon-to-be baby mother on the couch, she glares at you as you pass her one once you unwrap it.
"What? Your fault I’m like this, smartass. You better take good care of me, okay?”