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Long island days made for even longer island nights.
That had been the truth for the last week of villa life. The vast majority of time was spent gallivanting under the sun, the rays intense and unforgiving. She had grown fond of the bikini clause because she couldn't fathom wearing anything else with the humid and sticky heat of Fiji.
The day had been an interesting one, all things considered. Playing with her food was a no-no as per her mama, who had chided her on it as a child, and yet it had been the highlight of her day. While the game revealed a myriad of information on how the islanders felt about each other, as controversial as some of it was, she had to admit that it had been the lighthearted energy she craved after the first real test of her connection.
Already under the warmth of the covers and turned on her side, Trinity is absently picking at her nails. Despite the shower she had taken prior to bed, the remnants of creamy pie still remained. She can't complain about the scent of it clinging to her skin, however, reveling in the teasing scent. The only thing that would have made the game even more entertaining would have been having leftover pie for dessert; she muses the idea of smearing the sickly saccharine filling on Bryce's mouth and teasing him, having him chase her for a kiss.
Her lips twitch upward into a grin at the musing, managing to catch his eye as he saunters into the room, his hair still damp and dripping at the ends as he goes. Part of her is still upset with him, and she know the feeling would likely linger a while longer, but there was something about him that made it difficult to stay angry.
Could be the boyish charm and the way he looks at her like, well—like that.
He lightly squeezes her foot through the plush covers as he strolls to the opposite end of the bed, climbing in and instantly throwing an arm over her middle. The tip of his nose nudges at the back of her neck, briefly pecking her. His timbre is low and reserved, solely for her, whispering a quiet, "I think I have pie stuck in my nose from when you pie'd me earlier."
There was relief in the way the two could seamlessly return to each other and bypass the drama. Her feelings were validated and she was able to speak her piece, which was a massive part of it. There were leaps and bounds made that day, exchanging mutual fears and trepidations about preferences and the potential for insecurity, but it was a conversation that needed to happen in order to move forward and advance the connection.
She had been hurt and her heart had twinged in her chest. And really, that was scary as hell for her as someone who was typically guarded with her heart, not fond of letting men into the delicate space. In her experience, it led to nothing but chaos and unreciprocated feelings, often from her end, due to her inability to let down the thick barriers protecting her heart. If a man couldn't bypass those carefully crafted walls and bring them down, then perhaps the relationship wasn't meant to thrive and continue.
She releases a giggle at his words and places her hand over his, marveling at how soothing his touch is on her bare stomach, forefinger absentmindedly drawing indecipherable shapes and letters onto her skin, "I scrubbed so damn hard in the shower and I still smell like cream. All up in my hair and my lashes and just a mess," she pauses thoughtfully, lashes fluttering as his hand slides lower to slant over her hip; it was a gentle pressure, but one that had her heart stutter in her chest, "but it's cool or whatever. At least it smells nice."
Bryce nods softly in response, his thumb gliding over her sharp hip bone, his lips brushing against the back of her neck, "you always smell good, though," hums the brunet as he snuggles in impossibly close, as if he desires to melt into her back and fuse there, "I was going to say good enough to eat, but that's too much, isn't it?"
Trinity shifts and tucks an arm beneath her head, her lashes fluttering to a content close. She moves experimentally and presses her hips back against his and much to her sheepish surprise, the man is half hard. Why she feels so bashful about it, she doesn't know, especially as a self-proclaimed freak, but this felt different somehow, more intimate and close and she takes a moment to process his words and the correlation to the state of his lower body.
The lights are abruptly turned off, effectively bathing the massive room into darkness. She had become used to the sound of rustling sheets and hushed sighs as the days go on, but tonight it was oddly quiet, save for the murmurs of someone a few mattresses down. She repeats the action with more intent now and teasingly wriggles her hips for added effect, just to test the waters and see where his head was at.
He releases a soft breath and squeezes her hip, his touch hot and firm, "you're doing this on purpose aren't you?" His voice is barely above a whisper and if she weren't so focused on him, she may have missed it altogether. She makes an innocent and imploring sound and feigns ignorance to his claim, dissolving into a snort when he groans low in his throat, "oh, you think this is hilarious, don't you?"
It wasn't that he hadn't been aroused the previous nights, just that there was a thick tension between them the past two days. The first time she had encountered his arousal was one of the first nights the two shared a bed, awakening to a pillow squished between the flush of their bodies; he must have done it while she was still sleep, she had assumed, and had questioned the stupid thing and why it was there to begin with.
The lights had turned on and when she snatched the damned pillow away, she was met with the sight of his hard cock tenting the front of his shorts, his face flushed a dark scarlet and refusing to make eye contact. He snatches up the pillow and places it over his lap, then lays back down, slinging an arm over his eyes to shield his face. She had told him that it was fine, that he shouldn't be embarrassed by it, but that had only tinged the tips of his ears a feverish scarlet.
But now? Now was an entirely different situation. She shifts once more and decides to toy with him further, "don't tell me it was the pie that got you like this," her tone is airy as she reprimands him, humming her amusement when he tangles his leg with hers.
If the man finds it funny, he doesn't laugh, but he does drift his fingers lower to her shorts, touch featherlight as he drags them along the elastic band, "the pie may have had something to do with it," It was becoming increasingly difficult to restrain the laughter bubbling in her chest but she succeeds, attempting to maintain a straight face, foregoing the fact that he couldn't see it anyway, "ever since the challenge all I can think about is the cream on my face and in my mouth."
Her toes are curling and really, it was less to do with what he was saying and more so how he was saying it. His fingers continue to shamelessly dance along the waistband of her shorts, advancing to fiddle with the tied stings, slowly loosening them. She feels hyperaware of her heartbeat in her ears—a heavy and discordant thud that reverberates throughout her limbs, radiating in warmth between her legs and growing stronger as the seconds inevitably pass.
When she mentioned her desire for closeness and increased intimacy, he had reacted in kind and vowed to show action. And he hadn't hesitated in the slightest, always adamant on obliging her and ensuring that he was giving her everything she needed. Now was no different and she was grateful that she didn't need to open her mouth and ask for it because on some real shit, he was grown and should know better and if he wasn't attuned to her needs, then she would have to explore elsewhere.
She doesn't mean that, not really, because for right now, he was it for her and the way his fingers are exploring have her less prone to coherent thought. Blinking through the darkness, she was relieved that she couldn't see anyone else, that whatever came out of this tryst would remain a dirty little secret. His fingers hook in the band of her shorts, but he pauses thoughtfully, as if fully expecting her to tell him to stop, that she was just playing with him.
"—did I tell you to stop?"
Bryce really is pathetic because the way he inhales sharply on a gasp and exhales with a wanton sigh has her wanting to take him apart then and there. He doesn't seem convinced, however, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to her throat, "this is new and a lot and I just want to be sure, that's all."
Under different circumstances she would have appreciated the decorum, but right now, she loathes it. Wishes that he would just take the dive and go for it versus asking for permission like a good boy. She takes matters into her own hands and guides his hand down, his fingers hooked in her shorts sliding over her hips and halfway down her thighs, "you need me to tell you what to do?"
His cock twitches and he softly nods; she knows that if the lights were on his stupid little face would be painted in a flush and the very thought endears her, "is it weird if I'm into that?"
She reacts with a fond smile, ignoring the wetness pooling in her panties. Instead of responding immediately, she lifts his hand and brings it to the front of her panties, allowing the tips of his fingers to ghost over her mound, "all I need you to do is touch me here," his hand rests flat over her mound, his thumb brushing over her clit. She swallows a sigh before it can escape, nodding encouragingly, "just like that. You say like cream, so show me how much you want it."
His lips ghost along the side of her throat as he takes her direction, his fingers trembling as he slides them along her slit. When she shivers at the sensation, he was quick to repeat it. Her lids are fluttering closed as he takes the initiative to dip his hand beneath the band of her panties and when the first skin to skin contact is made, she has to bring her hand to her mouth, ivory teeth sinking into her finger as he teases her.
He was as deft with his fingers as she had suspected if the way he strokes at her clit is anything to go by. He alternates between stroking her clit and dragging his thumb along her slit; he chokes out a strangled noise at the wetness gathering there. She wiggles back against his cock once more and finds that he has since gone fully hard, much to her elation. The outline of his cock perfectly frames her ass and she uses that to her advantage as she grinds back against him, temporarily causing him to lose focus on his task.
"You want it bad, don't you?" Her voice slices through the silence, just loud enough for his ears only, and when he nods vigorously, she finds herself smug, "you always do the most to make me feel good."
His forefinger teases at her opening now, stroking over soft flesh, "I'm all about action," expresses the brunet as he sinks the tip of his finger inside, just enough to have her tensing up, but not nearly enough to have her moaning just yet, "I want to show you how good I can be."
Even just the tip of his finger is doing something to her because Trinity has to swallow thickly, unable to form a response. Taking a moment to adjust to the intrusion, she is biting down on her finger when he abruptly presses forward, forefinger sinking into warm depths. Deeper, deeper, deeper until his thick fingers can travel no further. She wants to releases a litany of curses, most of which consist of: where had this game been hiding this entire time, why didn't he tell her that he could match her freak, why didn't they explore this sooner?
But all words seemingly allude her as she bears down on his finger, ivory teeth firmly biting into her own for purchase. He seems pleased with himself, reverting to peppering kisses on the back of her neck; the bastard is smiling and she feels it and she wants to tell him to stop fucking with her, but the way he was moving inside of her has rendered her speechless.
He was clearly no stranger to this based on how well he strokes her cunt. His little breaths tickle the feathery hair at her nape as he explores her—he had been tentative and paying special attention to her reactions, but had discovered that she buckled when he curls his finger inward juts so and moves his thumb in tandem over her sensitive bud. A dexterous move that has her rocking her hips, trying to match his rhythm, hardly having time to adjust before he was withdrawing to add another.
The added digit stretches her in the best of ways and has her mewling, soft and needy. And right now, she doesn't care if anyone else hears her because she was quickly becoming addicted to his touch. She clenches her lids closed and fixates on how his fingers plunge deep inside of her and curl, stroking at her walls delicately and applying a modicum of pressure when she nearly chokes on a moan.
"What the fuck," she manages to croak weakly. If she weren't on the edge of being far gone, she would have questioned his expertise and how he knew all of the right buttons to press, but for right now she settles with another sigh, fervently grinding against his nimble fingers.
Bryce lightly chastises her, his lips flush against her ear as he shushes her. Being the gentleman he was, the little fuck wiggles his other arm free and maneuvers, eagerly dislodging her teeth from her hand and offering his own. And if she thought she was the freakiest among the islanders, then she may be proved wrong based on how willingly the man slides a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear that she could bite down as hard as she wants, so long as she remains quiet.
And she doesn't take the suggestion lightly either because when he caresses there, she has no choice but to sink her teeth into the flesh of his palm. He hisses lightly at the pain but doesn't make to move his hand, just applies a gentle pressure to the spot and adds his thumb into the mix once more. And she knows not to use the Lord's name in vain, but there she is calling on Jesus as he coaxes her closer to bliss.
He abruptly stops, nipping at the shell of her ear, "I have a really, really bad idea," explains the brunet as he reluctantly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and relishing in the taste of her, "I want to try something and if you don't like it, I'll stop. I just need a taste and it's up to you whether you want me to keep going or not."
Trinity is on the verge of cussing him out for real because who the fuck just does that? She had been on the cusp of her orgasm and had been denied and that was nearly enough to bring the sting of tears to her eyes, the frustration strong and manifesting in the form of her heart stuttering in her chest, "—just do something, fuck."
Bryce offers a fleeting smile against her skin, then the next thing she hears is rustling sheets, the feel of the mattress dipping, and the tantalizing touch of callused hands directing her onto her back. Oh, how easy it would be to peel the covers back and watch, but she knows better; she would expose what they were doing and even worse, she wouldn't be able to see a damned thing anyway. But she hums in anticipation, ivory teeth catching her bottom lip, her hands instinctively searching for his hair.
His hands are parting her thighs and without much preamble, he dedicates himself to bringing her burning hot pleasure. Her fingers had been carding through his locks fondly, but all that changes when the tip of his tongue traces her sensitive bud, flicking against it before his mouth encases it. Her nails are curling into his locks and finding his scalp, digging into the flesh and holding on for dear life as he tenderly sucks at the bud, his hands coasting up and down her thighs as he diligently works.
She utters a strangled curse and can't resist the urge to roll her hips, angling them toward the inviting warmth of his mouth. And he was eager, ravenous even, as he ventures lower to lick a thin stripe down her slit, teasing at her folds. He stays there for a moment, lathing at her folds and groaning low at the heady taste of her coating his tongue, lets it fuel him as he devours her.
The way his tongue caresses her there brings forth a pleasure she hadn't previously known. Like he was built for it. Made for it, even. He moves with a reverence, whispering words she can't decipher that sound an awful lot like praise; that she tasted good, that she was going to make him cum just from this, that he wants to feel her gush on his tongue and assault his senses.
"—fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Her chest is rapidly rising and falling, the back of her head digging hard into the pillow, her brow glistening with perspiration. One of his hands glides up her thigh and in a blink, his fingers have returned and with the combined pressure of his mouth on her cunt and his digits plunging into soaked depths, she can't take it, not any longer, not when her body is chasing after the impending high, desperate and yearning for it, desiring nothing more than hitting that peak.
Bryce must sense it because he nods softly, as if telling her it was okay to let go, that he was there. And God, if that isn't one of the sexiest things she's ever experienced. Her hand barely manages to slide over her mouth to conceal the moan that escapes her throat, her back arching off the bed, her hips lifting to the wanton warmth of Bryce's awaiting mouth. And Bryce is there to guide her through it, never once faltering as he lazily laps at her folds, his fingers moving at a tantalizing pace, drawing it out for as long as he can.
Trinity feels euphoric as she coasts over several waves of pleasure—the initial one is almost enough to send her into orbit and if she were an ounce more delusional, she could have sworn she saw her soul leave her body for a minute and hover above her. The kind of white hot pleasure that makes her black out for a second, her vision going dark and hazy, before returning to peer down at him through the darkness.
The second wave manifests in the form of sensitivity, the feel of his tongue and fingers becoming too much for her to handle. Still good—so fucking good—but just too overwhelming. She lightly tugs at his locks and he seems to get the gist, though he does nuzzle his stubbled cheek against her thigh, prickling her skin in a pleasant way.
He turns his head and presses a kiss there, murmuring something she can't quite catch. The sound of the sheets rustling distracts her as she fights off the post-orgasmic disorientation, listening intently as the sounds increase in volume just below her waist. Soft breaths tickle her inner thigh and by the time she registers what was happening, she feels the man stiffen and grunt, low and gravelly, exhaling deeply.
Her fingers are stroking brunet locks as he recovers, his body trembling on the mattress and the feel of his heart thundering against her skin. She wasn't certain how much time passed like that, but soon the man is crawling up the mattress and joining her once more. He props up one of the pillows and lays back against it, awkwardly wiping his palm against his shorts; she can only imagine the look on his countenance.
At the realization that he had been stroking his cock to her pleasure, she releases a humorless snort, much to his chagrin. But still, he opens his arms and blindly reaches for her, embracing her warmly and pressing a fond kiss to the top of her bonnet, "laugh all you want, but just know that you were the one creaming on my tongue—"
She scrambles to slide a hand over his loud ass mouth, but the words had already tumbled out. She hisses lowly, "shh. Shut up, don't go announcing it!"
Bryce manages to chuckle around her hand, the sound quiet and muffled. Slowly, she lowers her hand and directs a heatless scowl in his direction, one that dissolves into genuine affection a beat later, "you're right, sorry. I just feel kind of high right now. Real out of it. I wasn't thinking."
"Uh huh. Yeah." Trinity replies shortly, though a small grin brandishes on her lips, her eyes peering through the darkness. If she squints just enough, she can see the shine of her juices coating his lips and has half the mind to bring him in for a kiss. Her fingers glide over his bottom lip and he chases after it, nibbling at the end of the digit playfully, "you still hungry?"
He replies with a nod and turns to face her, swiftly surging forward to peck her once, twice, and a third, "starving. But we have so much time left. We don't have to rush."
Trinity worries that she may fall in love with him sooner rather than later and that really, really startles her. But for now, she scoots down the bed and lays her head on his chest, allowing herself to be lulled by the evening of his heartbeat.
🏝️☀️🍹🏖️🥥
The next day when production requests for Trinity to make an appearance in the confessional room and remark on the previous night, she looks oddly bashful and takes an unceremonious seat, her hands on her cheeks as she flushes. The camera focuses on her face, her emotions regarding the evening are clearly etched on her countenance and truthfully, there was no way around the situation other than being open and honest about it.
Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles apologetically at the camera, "so, it was good. Really good. But before anything else, I just want to say sorry to my mama watching. I know you watched that and wanted to whoop my ass. Sorry you had to see that." She releases an airy giggle and shrugs a halfhearted shoulder, "but it was needed. He makes me feel good and wanted and I want to keep exploring this connection and see where it goes."
That was that. She can't contain her smile and beams at the camera before offering a fleeting wave. Just outside of the confessional room was Bryce, who grins at her with that stupid, dopey expression that she adored, offering his hand to her.
And yeah. Trinity was down bad.