The drive from the airport had slowly traded bustling streets for winding roads lined with olive trees, pale stone walls and bursts of bougainvillea that spilled over whitewashed fences. Every now and then the blue sea flashed between the hills, catching the afternoon sun brightly it almost hurt to look at. The windows were down just enough for the warm Mediterranean breeze to drift into the car, carrying the faint scent of salt, citrus and wild herbs.
Y/N rested her cheek against the window, watching Greece unfold around her. She had spent the entire semester buried beneath lecture notes, assignments and deadlines, barely giving herself permission to stop. When Michael had quietly mentioned weeks ago that he'd "sorted something for the summer," she had assumed it meant a few nights away somewhere nearby.
Michael sat beside her in the back seat, one arm resting lazily along the door. His sunglasses hid his eyes, though his attention wandered between the passing scenery and her reactions every so often. True to himself, he wasn't filling the silence with conversation. He never felt the need to. The quiet between them had always been comfortable.
Football had consumed almost every part of his year. Training sessions, travelling, media duties, recovery, expectations. Every day had belonged to someone else in one way or another. This holiday had been his idea entirely.
"You've worked hard," he'd simply told her when he'd surprised her with the plane tickets. "Thought you'd deserve a proper break."
He hadn't admitted it aloud, but he needed one too.
The car slowed as it climbed a gentle hill before turning through a set of tall black iron gates.
The driver continued forward.
The driveway curved through perfectly kept gardens where lavender bushes swayed gently in the breeze beside rows of olive trees. Palm trees framed the path, their leaves dancing softly overhead. Beyond them stood the villa.
It almost didn't look real.
Built from creamy white stone that glowed beneath the Greek sun, the villa stretched across two levels with clean Mediterranean architecture softened by natural textures. Floor to ceiling windows reflected the sea beyond.
Several balconies overlooked the coastline, each with woven chairs and linen cushions. Bougainvillea climbed along sections of the walls, their bright pink flowers contrasting against the pale stone. Terracotta pots filled with herbs and citrus trees decorated the entrance.
To one side sat an infinity pool that seemed to melt directly into the Aegean Sea below. Wooden loungers lined the terrace beneath large cream umbrellas while sheer white curtains drifted lazily around an outdoor seating area. Further down, a stone pathway disappeared towards a private viewpoint overlooking the water where the cliffs met the sea in shades of turquoise and blue.
The entire place looked peaceful.
Like the rest of the world had been left somewhere beyond the gates.
The driver continued towards the entrance.
Y/N slowly turned towards Michael.
She looked back outside before looking at him again.
"This is where we're staying?"
He gave the smallest nod.
She stared at him for a few seconds before looking back out the window, unable to disguise the complete disbelief written across her face.
Her mouth parted slightly.
Her eyes wandered over every detail again as though maybe she'd imagined half of it.
Beside her, Michael let out a quiet laugh.
It was the kind that always escaped before he could stop it.
She looked back at him just in time to catch the familiar smile spreading across his face.
It never arrived dramatically.
Instead, one corner of his mouth lifted first before the other followed naturally, creating that soft, grin she adored. His usually composed expression loosened completely, and tiny creases formed around the corners of his eyes. Those gentle eye wrinkles always appeared whenever he was genuinely amused, making his dark eyes look warmer somehow. They narrowed ever so slightly beneath long lashes.
"You look shocked," he murmured.
Another quiet chuckle escaped him.
"I thought it'd be nice."
"Nice?" she repeated, almost laughing herself. "Michael, this looks like somewhere celebrities disappear to."
He shrugged as though she'd commented on the weather.
"You do realise how ridiculous you are?"
The car rolled to a stop outside the entrance.
The driver stepped out first before opening their doors.
As soon as they thanked him, Michael moved naturally towards the boot without hesitation.
She reached for the handle of her suitcase.
Before she could lift it, another hand settled over it first.
His voice remained calm, almost absentminded.
"You already have yours."
"You don't have to carry both."
His answers stayed as effortless as ever.
He simply lifted both suitcases as though the conversation had already been settled.
She watched him for a second.
He glanced sideways at her.
There wasn't even the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice.
Eventually she smiled to herself before falling into step beside him.
The gravel crunched beneath their shoes as they walked towards the front door.
Michael entered the code before pushing it open.
Cool air immediately greeted them.
The inside somehow felt even more beautiful than the exterior.
Sunlight poured through enormous windows, illuminating polished limestone floors that reflected the afternoon light. The space felt open yet incredibly warm, with high wooden ceilings crossed by exposed oak beams that added character without making the rooms feel heavy.
The living room flowed effortlessly into the dining area, furnished with oversized linen sofas scattered with textured cushions in soft sand and cream tones. A stone fireplace stretched from floor to ceiling, while shelves carved into the walls displayed handmade ceramics and woven baskets that gave the villa an authentic Greek charm.
The kitchen looked as though it belonged in a design magazine.
White marble countertops curved around sleek oak cabinets with almost no visible handles. Brass fixtures caught the sunlight each time it shifted through the windows. Fresh lemons sat in a large ceramic bowl beside bundles of herbs and locally baked bread left as part of a welcome basket. Glass doors folded completely away to connect the kitchen directly to the terrace outside, allowing the sea breeze to drift gently through the house.
Further inside, wide hallways led towards several bedrooms, each decorated with soft neutral colours, flowing linen curtains and natural wood furniture. Every room seemed to frame another breathtaking view of either the sea, the cliffs or the gardens.
Y/N wandered slowly through the villa almost in disbelief.
Every room seemed better than the last.
She stepped onto one of the balconies.
The ocean stretched endlessly before her.
The water shimmered beneath the afternoon sun, changing from crystal turquoise near the shore to deep sapphire further out. White yachts drifted peacefully in the distance while tiny waves rolled lazily against the rocks below. Somewhere nearby she could hear cicadas singing beneath the warmth of the evening.
Behind her, she never noticed Michael quietly disappearing upstairs.
Their bedroom overlooked the sea from an entire wall of glass.
He unzipped both suitcases and began unpacking with the same calm efficiency he approached almost everything with.
Her dresses were carefully hung rather than folded.
Her toiletries found their place beside his in the bathroom without a second thought.
Her books were stacked neatly on the bedside table closest to where she usually slept.
He even placed her charger beside the bed because he already knew she'd forget where she'd packed it.
By the time he'd finished, the room looked lived in.
Like they'd belonged there longer than twenty minutes.
The house had fallen unusually quiet.
He wandered downstairs, expecting to find her somewhere near the pool.
Instead, the gentle sound of music floated through the hallway.
He followed it until he reached the kitchen.
Y/N stood at the marble island wearing one of his oversized T shirts over a pair of shorts, her hair loosely gathered away from her face. The windows had been pushed open, allowing the evening breeze to drift through the room while she quietly stirred something in a saucepan.
She swayed absentmindedly to the music playing from her phone.
Completely unaware that he was there.
Michael leaned silently against the doorway for a moment.
Lighter than she had in weeks.
A small smile found its way onto his face again.
Without saying anything, he crossed the kitchen.
His footsteps were almost soundless against the stone floor.
Only when he was directly behind her did she begin to realise someone was close.
Before she could turn around, two familiar arms slipped carefully around her waist.
His chest rested lightly against her back.
His chin brushed near her shoulder.
His answer was barely more than a hum.
One of his hands settled comfortably against her stomach while the other remained around her waist, gently pulling her a fraction closer.
She could actually feel him relaxing against her.
Then, without warning, he pressed a slow kiss against the side of her neck.
Another just beneath her jaw.
Then one against her cheek.
Each kiss lingered for just a second longer than the last.
"What has gotten into you?"
Instead, another kiss landed near the corner of her smile as he remained wrapped around her from behind.
The kisses felt different today.
Not the usual quick pecks Michael gave her when he was distracted or the half-interested ones when his phone buzzed. These were slower. Deliberate. His lips lingered on the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then that spot just below her ear that made her breath catch.
All day it had been like this. His hands finding her hips while she made a sandwich . Fingers grazing her lower back as she reached for a bowl. A palm spreading across her thigh under the dinner table, warm and heavy, staying there while he continued talking about some producer who’d been blowing up his phone.
Y/N stirred the pasta and tried to act normal.
They’d never had sex. The relationship was new enough that the word itself still felt fragile. And the distance—those long stretches of FaceTime calls and I miss you texts—meant they hadn’t really figured out the physical part yet. Tonight would be their first night sharing a bed.
The thought sat in her chest like a stone.
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror now, working moisturizer into her skin in slow circles. The door was open. She could see him reflected in the glass—Michael, stretched across the bed, one leg bent up, his head propped on his arm. The TV murmured something neither of them was watching.
His expression was unreadable.
She’d never seen this particular look before. His eyes tracked her movements without shame, without looking away when she caught him. One finger traced his bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth. That tic. She’d noticed it months ago, the first time they met. It meant he was thinking hard about something.
Her hands trembled as she capped the moisturizer.
The satin nightgown hugged her body. Black. Lace trim along the hem that hit mid-thigh. She hadn’t packed it intentionally—or maybe she had. Maybe she’d folded it into her suitcase weeks ago knowing exactly what she hoped would happen.
She walked toward the bed.
His voice came out soft, almost reverent. The kind of tone that made her stomach flip.
“Thanks.” Her own voice sounded sheepish, smaller than she meant it to.
She climbed under the covers while he stood up. The bathroom light clicked on. She heard water running, the familiar rustle of his routine—brushing teeth, the spritz of rose water on his dreads, the quiet sounds of someone making themselves ready for something.
By the time he emerged, she’d fixed her eyes on the television screen. A cooking competition. Someone was crying over a fallen soufflé.
His body slid under the sheets, and before she could register the movement, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her attention away from the screen, pulling her toward him.
The television light flickered across his face.
His head dipped. Dreads brushed across her collarbone, cool against her skin. Small kisses peppered her neck—light, barely-there things that made her toes curl under the sheets.
“You look so good,” he whispered again, the words vibrating against her throat.
His mouth traveled. Neck to jaw. Jaw to cheek. Cheek to the corner of her lips. Each kiss unhurried, like he was learning her topograghy.
Then he was climbing over her.
One leg swung across her hips. His weight settled, forearms bracketing her shoulders, his face hovering inches from hers.
The eye contact was suffocating in the best way.
She felt the dampness between her thighs, the strange sensation of her panties clinging uncomfortably. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
“Tell me if you wanna stop.” His head tilted slightly. “Yeah?”
“Keep going, Michael.” Her voice came out smaller than she intended.
He undressed her slowly. The nightgown slid up and over her head. His fingers hooked into her panties, dragging them down her legs with a patience that made her dizzy.
When he opened her thighs, his eyes changed.
Something sparked in them. Wonder, maybe. Like he’d just discovered something precious.
His boxers came off. She pressed both palms against his chest.
“You okay?” His eyebrows drew together.
She couldn’t look at him. The embarrassment burned across her face, hot and undeniable.
“I’ve never, like… done something like this before.”
The words hung between them. Stupid. She sounded stupid, beating around the bush instead of just saying it.
“Whatchu mean you’ve never done something like this before?” The furrow in his brow deepened. Michael hated vagueness.
Her face was on fire. The confession sat in the air while she tried desperately to look anywhere else—the ceiling, the window, the dresser—anywhere but his eyes.
“Do you wanna continue?” His voice dropped. Softer now. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
The tension in her shoulders melted. He felt it. He saw it.
He kissed her forehead first.
Then her eyelids. The bridge of her nose. The bow of her upper lip. Slow, featherlight kisses that seemed designed to quiet the noise in her head.
The pressure came gradually—not an invasion, but an arrival. He watched her face the entire time, eyes scanning for any flicker of discomfort.
“Yeah.” A breath. “Keep going.”
A small sound escaped his throat, something between a groan and a whimper, barely audible. He buried his face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
“You feel so good,” he breathed, the words damp against her skin.
Her body adjusted around him. The initial discomfort faded, replaced by a fullness that felt impossibly intimate.
He moved slowly. Each thrust measured, careful. Every few moments his eyes would find hers, checking in without words.
A moan slipped from her mouth before she could stop it.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Make more sounds for me.”
His pace built by increments. Her fingers found his back, nails pressing crescents into his shoulder blades.
The words hit her somewhere deep. She felt herself tightening around him involuntarily.
Michael groaned. Low. Guttural. Directly into her ear.
Her body responded before her brain could catch up. The pressure built—not in one spot, but everywhere. A tension that spread from her core outward, making her legs shake, her breath stutter.
“Hold it for me, good girl. Just a minute, yeah?”
She whimpered. Every muscle locked down.
He thrust again. And again. Building her up to a precipice she wasn’t sure she could stay on.
Wetness. Too much wetness, sudden and uncontrollable, and she realized with horror what was happening.
“Oh my god—” She tried to close her legs, tried to hide, but his body was in the way.
“No, no, no.” His rhythm slowed but didn’t stop. A grin spread across his face. “That’s so hot, baby.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize.” He kissed her hard, swallowing her protests. “Don’t ever apologize for that.”
The embarrassment didn’t fully recede, but it quieted. Especially when he started moving faster, when his breathing went ragged, when his hips began to lose their careful rhythm.
“Where?” The word strained out of him.
She knew what he was asking.
He pulled out. His hand moved between them, slick sounds filling the room, and then warmth splashed across her belly in thick pulses. A broken groan tore from his chest.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The television still flickered in the corner. Someone on the cooking show had fixed their soufflé.
Michael’s hand found hers under the covers. His thumb traced circles across her knuckles.
“Hey.” His voice was hoarse.
She turned her head. His face was half-lit, half-shadow, his chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths. His eyes had that same unreadable quality from before—but different now. Softer at the edges.
He opened his mouth to say something.
Then stopped. His jaw tightened. His head turned toward the bedroom door.
The front door of the apartment creaked open.
