Lifted was scrolling through his phone when the storm came out of nowhere. One second the beach was full of music and kids running around, the next second, the sky cracked open and dumped water like a busted pipe. Wind, sand, all slapping against glass. The lights flickered once, twice—then gone. The whole resort black.
Lifted sat on his bed, laptop open, staring at the screen fading to black too. Battery dead. Wi-Fi gone. Fan stopped moving. Air heavy and wet already. He cursed under his breath, rubbing his face.
Of course!
From the balcony: "Guess we're in the dark ages now."
Charlotte. Of course!
He opened the sliding door. She was leaning on the railing, barefoot, shorts sticking to her thighs from humidity, bottle in her hand. Rum, half gone already. A candle flickered on the table between them. She grinned like the storm was a personal gift.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked.
"Obviously." She held up the bottle. "Want some?"
He hesitated. He didn't drink much. He hated losing control. But the room was too quiet, too hot, too much. He walked out, took the bottle. Burn down his throat.
Charlotte's smirk widened. "See? Not a robot after all."
He handed it back. Their fingers brushed. Too warm. He pulled his hand back fast, but his body had already reacted. "Stupid body." He muttered.
They sat. The storm was loud, and the wind pushed rain sideways against the glass. Her knee brushed his. She didn't move it, and neither did he.
"You hate it here," she said, not a question.
"I hate inefficiency."
"Sand counts as inefficiency?"
"Yes."
"And me?"
He looked at her. She was watching him like she knew exactly what she was doing. Her tank top strap slipping down one shoulder, and with a sharp smile, he said, "You're loud."
"Loud is fun."
She reached across him for the bottle again. Her hair dragged against his jaw. Shoulder pressed to his chest for a second. He froze. His pulse jumped like someone had plugged him in.
"You smell like rain," she said softly.
"That's not—"
"It is. On you."
Then she shifted. Too fast. She climbed right onto his lap. Straddled him. Just like that.
His brain stopped.
"Charlotte—"
"Shh." She pressed a finger to his mouth. Then she kissed him.
Gentle, testing him at first, and when he didn't pull back, she went hard, and wet. Tongue deep, like she wanted to shut him up completely. It worked. He groaned before he could stop it, and his hands were already clamping on her hips.
Her hips rolled once. Just once. He felt everything through her thin shorts, through his jeans, and it was like a shock straight through his spine.
"Fuck," he breathed.
"Better," she whispered, then kissed him again, harder.
She tasted like rum and salt and heat. He couldn't think. Her hands were already under his shirt, her palms sliding up his stomach, nails scratching lightly. He hissed and grabbed her tighter, pulling her closer.
She laughed into his mouth, then bit his lip hard enough to sting. He swore, deep and rough, and grabbed her ass, dragging her against him. She gasped this time.
"God, you're—" he couldn't even finish. His mouth was on her neck, biting, sucking, her skin salty from sweat. She arched back, digging her nails into his shoulders.
Rain hammered. Thunder shook the walls. But, that didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
Her tank top ended up bunched under her arms. He yanked it off, tossing it blind. She was in a black bra, damp and clinging, her chest rising and falling fast. Then, lightning flashed, showing everything for a split second.
"Staring again," she said, breathless.
"Yeah." His voice was wrecked. "Just can't help it."
She kissed him hard, guided his hands up. He didn't hesitate this time. Full palms over her, squeezing, thumb flicking over lace until she moaned into his mouth. The sound just about killed him.
Her hips rolled again. Slow. Deliberate. He bucked up without meaning to. Their breath collided, ragged.
She pulled back, tugged at his shirt. "Off."
He ripped it over his head. Didn't care where it went. Her eyes ran down his chest, hungry, biting her lip.
"You hide this under those black hoodies?" she teased.
"Stop talking," he growled, pulling her back down.
Their mouths crashed again. Hot. Messy. Her bra strap slipped. He shoved it down, kissing across her collarbone, bit lightly. She gasped, tipping her head back. He slid the strap lower, and lower again, until the lace loosened.
"Lifted—" she whispered.
He kissed down the line of her chest, his hands sliding around to undo the clasp. Fumbling, and clumsy with need.
It came undone. She let it fall.
Bare now. Skin against his. She pushed her beautifully rounded breasts against him, moaning. When his mouth found her breast, all he could think of was how succulent they are. He sucked on, his tongue circling around her hard nipples, biting just enough. Her nails raked his back, and her hips kept grinding harder.
"Fuck—yes—"
Her sounds were driving him insane. Every moan, every gasp. He couldn't stop touching. His hands were everywhere. Waist. Back. Ass. Chest. He wanted her everywhere.
Her hand slid down, fumbling at his jeans. She popped the button, and the zipper was halfway down when he caught her wrist.
"Wait—" His voice cracked.
Her eyes were dark, blown wide. "Scared?"
"No." His grip loosened. "Just—fast. Don't you think?"
She smirked as she rolled her hips over him again. He cursed loud this time.
"Feels right to me," she whispered, biting his ear.
He groaned, and dragged her closer, grinding up into her. Their clothes were the only barrier. Too much, not enough.
The candle glutted. Lightning flashed. Her skin glowed, and her hair was wild. Her mouth red and swollen. She looked ruined already and it hadn't even gone that far.
Her shorts rode up high, the fabric dampening against him, as he gripped her thigh, shoving it higher. She moaned, pushing down harder, their bodies grinding in rhythm now.
"God, Charlotte—"
"Say my name again."
"Charlotte." Rougher now, sounding more desperate.
She gasped, and kissed him messy, sloppy, like she couldn't get enough. Their breaths were loud, filling the space. Storm outside, storm inside.
He pulled her tank top bra strap down further, sucked harder at her chest until she was trembling against him. Her hips rocked faster, chasing something, and he felt it too, everything building sharp. Hot and unbearable.
"Don't stop," she whispered, almost crying it. "Don't—"
He didn't. Couldn't.
Their movements got rougher. Faster. His jeans half open, her shorts shoved up, nothing but thin fabric between them. Heat on heat. The pressure was insane. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back, with every muscle of his tightened.
She broke first. Her head tipping back, and moan tearing out as she grinds hard against him. Her whole body shook. He held her through it, biting her shoulder with his lip, groaning her name into her skin.
He almost lost it. Almost.
He yanked her face back down, kissed her hard, desperately, as their teeth clashed. She kissed him back like she wanted to devour him whole.
Then the lights flickered. Came back on.
They both froze.
Her hair was a total mess. Her tank top gone, sitting on her waist. Bra on the floor. Him shirtless, jeans undone, hands still on her bare waist. Both of them breathing like they'd run miles.
She laughed first. Breathless. Wicked. "Guess the universe wants us to cool off."
He swallowed. "Or it wants to torture me."
She kissed him once more, slow, lingering, then slid off his lap. Pulled her tank top back on, not bothering with the bra. She winked at him, with her hair wild, and cheeks flushed. "Goodnight, neighbor."
And just like that, she was gone. Door slid shut.
He sat there, hard, wrecked, ruined.
The storm outside faded, but the storm inside him didn't.