Fuck mia

~Mia~

I could not sleep.

The sheets were too hot, the fan too loud, my skin still buzzing from the way Ethan had looked at me on the rooftop earlier. Every time I closed my eyes I saw his stare, dark and hungry, like he wanted to eat me alive. My body ached in places that had nothing to do with the beach volleyball and everything to do with him.

At four in the morning I gave up.

I pulled on the same oversized T-shirt and cotton shorts I had worn to bed, no bra, just the thin fabric brushing my nipples every time I moved. Bare feet on the cool tile, I crept downstairs to the kitchen. The house was silent except for the distant crash of waves. I opened the wine fridge, grabbed the half-empty bottle of rosé from earlier, and poured myself a big glass. Maybe this would knock me out.

I turned around and nearly dropped the glass.

Ethan was already there.

He sat at the kitchen island in nothing but gray sweatpants, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a glass in his hand. His hair was messy, eyes a little glassy from the alcohol. The string lights from the deck outside cast soft gold across his bare chest and shoulders.

He looked up. Slow smile spread across his face.

“Couldn’t sleep either, trouble?”

His voice was rough, low, a little slurred. The whiskey had loosened him up.

I shook my head and took a big sip of wine. It went down sweet and cold and warm all at once. “Too loud in my head.”

He lifted his glass in a lazy toast. “Same. Join me?”

I should have said no. I should have gone back upstairs.

Instead I walked over and slid onto the stool beside him. Our knees touched under the island. Neither of us moved away.

We drank in silence for a minute, the kind of silence that feels full. Then he reached for his phone, tapped a few times, and soft music started playing through the hidden speakers in the ceiling. Slow R&B, bass low and pulsing, the kind of beat that sinks into your bones and makes your hips want to move.

He poured me more wine without asking. I drank it.

The alcohol hit fast on top of everything we had already had at the party. My head went fuzzy and warm. My skin tingled. I giggled at nothing.

Ethan watched me, eyes half-lidded. “You’re cute when you’re tipsy.”

“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” I shot back, poking his arm.

He caught my finger. Held it. Then he leaned in and kissed me.

It started soft. Sweet. His lips tasted like whiskey and want. I sighed into his mouth and the kiss deepened, turned messy, tongues sliding, hands roaming. The music swelled around us, slow and sexy, wrapping us up like the alcohol did.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against my lips, “Fuck, Mia. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Me too,” I breathed, drunk and honest and aching.

His hands slid under my T-shirt. Palms rough and hot on my waist. Then higher. He cupped my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they were tight and aching. I moaned, loud and needy, the sound slipping out like I had no control.

He groaned. “That noise. Jesus.”

In one rough motion he grabbed the neck of my T-shirt and ripped it straight down the middle. Fabric tore. Cool air hit my skin. Then he hooked fingers in the front of my bra, yanked hard. The straps snapped, the lace ripped, and my breasts spilled free.

I gasped, half shocked, half turned on beyond belief.

Ethan stared like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Perfect,” he whispered, voice thick with drink and lust. “So fucking perfect.”

He lowered his head and took one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. I cried out, arching into him. “Oh god, Ethan, yes.”

His other hand shoved between my thighs, under my shorts, straight into my panties. Two thick fingers slid through my wetness and pushed inside me without warning. I moaned like a slut, loud and filthy, hips rocking onto his hand.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he growled against my breast.

He pumped his fingers faster, curling them, thumb rubbing my clit in tight circles. The music pulsed. My head spun from the wine. Everything felt too good, too much. I was panting, moaning, begging.

“Don’t stop, please, Ethan, I’m gonna—”

He added a third finger, stretched me, fucked me harder with his hand. The wet sounds were obscene. My thighs shook.

“Come on, baby,” he rasped, drunk and desperate. “Let go. Squirt for me.”

I shattered.

My orgasm hit so hard my vision whited out. I screamed his name, body convulsing, gushing around his fingers in hot, messy pulses. My juices ran down his wrist, soaked the front of his sweatpants. I kept moaning, high and broken, riding his hand through every aftershock.

He kissed me through it, messy and deep, swallowing my cries.

When I finally stopped shaking he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while looking straight into my eyes.

I whimpered.

He stood up, kicked the stool back, and lifted me onto the island like I weighed nothing. My ripped shorts and torn panties were shoved down and off in seconds. He shoved his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock, thick and hard and leaking.

“Condom?” I gasped.

“Wallet,” he muttered, grabbing it from the counter, rolling one on with shaking hands.

Then he was pushing inside me.

Slow at first, letting me feel every inch stretch me open. We both groaned, foreheads pressed together, drunk and lost in it. The music kept playing, slow and sensual, matching the roll of his hips.

“Fuck, Mia,” he breathed. “You feel like heaven.”

He started moving faster. Deeper. The island creaked under us. Skin slapped skin. I wrapped my legs around his waist and held on, moaning like a slut with every thrust.

“Harder,” I begged, voice wrecked. “Fuck me harder, Ethan.”

He gave it to me. Snapped his hips, pounding into me, one hand gripping my ass, the other tangled in my hair. He kissed me sloppy and sweet between thrusts, whispering against my lips.

“You’re so beautiful. So tight. Been dreaming about this pussy for years.”

I came again, clenching around him, crying out his name over and over. He followed right after, groaning deep and long, hips stuttering as he spilled inside the condom, body shaking against mine.

We stayed locked together, panting, sweaty, drunk on alcohol and each other and the soft music still playing around us.

He kissed my forehead. My nose. My mouth. Gentle now. Romantic.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Don’t go back to your room.”

I nodded, too blissed out to pretend anymore.

He lifted me off the counter, legs still wrapped around him, and carried me upstairs to his room like I was something precious.

The door clicked shut behind us.