Serenity Springs Splashdown

Chapter 1: The Splash Zone

The brochure for Serenity Springs Resort & Spa promised tranquility; it promised rejuvenation, and fuck it, but it promised possible enlightenment, and all via hot mineral water, but what it

didn't

mention was the distinct possibility of your year-long, secret online flirtation suddenly manifesting in the flesh by the main fucking pool.

I, Jayne, forty-five and feeling every minute of it under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the lobby, had signed up for the former, and yes, it was possibly a mistake.

It was my college suite reunion weekend, a chance to escape the comfortable, predictable beige-ness my life had become, reconnect with people I vaguely remembered liking twenty-odd years ago, and maybe soak away the persistent ache in my lower back and my general sense of

Is-This-the-Fuck-It?

My husband, bless his reliable cotton golf socks, thought I needed the break. He'd waved me off with the same distracted kiss he used before leaving for his Saturday morning golf game like the schmuck he was; let's be honest.

It was all very safe, very predictable, very fucking

beige

.

And it was probably why "Scott" had become such a potent, illicit splash of color in my digital life.

For a year, he'd been my witty, charming, deliciously inappropriate online confidante. We met in some obscure forum discussing vintage synthesizers (don't ask) and quickly graduated to private messages filled with longing, frustration, and frankly, some impressively creative descriptions of what we'd do if we ever met.

And you know he's married, too. And like me, the man has kids.

Safe, I'd told myself, a fantasy confined to glowing screens because what the fuck, we both had children, spouses, careers, generic

shit

.

Until now.

"Jayne! Jayne Marlowe, is that really you?" Brenda barrelled towards me, arms wide, her caftan billowing like a psychedelic sail.

And fuck it, was I doing this? Was I dealing with a bitch in a

caftan

?

Brenda, who hadn't changed a bit, still radiated the energy of someone who exclusively drinks espresso and overshares intimate medical details that often involve vaginal dryness.

"Brenda! Wow, you look..."

Exactly the same,

"...great!" I managed, my body tensing as it accepted that bone-crushing hug because it wasn't the first or the last bone-crusher I'd get because we mingled with our old suitemates.

There was Mark, for example.

He was the football player, shocker, right?

Though technically not in our suite, he'd lived in the unit below us, was close enough, and still loved to talk about those "glory days," even ignoring the fact that he now apparently had a husband.

Then Chloe.

She'd gone full Zen master, kept trying to adjust my aura.

It was all awkward smiles, slightly forced laughter, and the mental gymnastics of trying to remember why I even gave a fuck or what these people and I ever had in common, and I was just starting to think I could actually relax, maybe even enjoy this nostalgic farce for the hot springs alone, when I saw him.

He was standing near the poolside bar. He talked to Mark, laughed at something.

Tall, dark hair silvering slightly at the temples, he wore a ridiculously expensive-looking casual shirt that screamed "successful but trying not to look like it," and I knew that I'd have to give him shit for it.

He turned his head, scanned the crowd, and his eyes--mischievous, intelligent ones I knew only from the pictures he'd sent me--landed on mine.

Scott.

My

Scott.

Here.

What-the-fuck?

My complimentary welcome cocktail (a blaring pink concoction called a "Serenity Sunset") went down the wrong pipe and I coughed.

Sputtering, I instinctively ducked behind a large, offensively fake-looking palm tree and my heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped fucking woodpecker because there was no way this shit was happening. Scott was not supposed to be real.

"Jayne, are you okay?" Chloe asked, drifting over with concern etched on her serene face. "Your energy just spiked erratically. Very jagged."

I did not need her cosmic crap.

"Fine! Fine!" I squeaked and I plastered a hopefully normal smile on my face. "Swallowed, uh, an ice cube whole. Tricky little devils."

Before I could formulate an escape plan (Feign sudden illness? Fake my own death? Claim diplomatic immunity?), Mark and Scott were walking the hell over to us.

"Hey Jayne, Chloe, you gotta meet this guy. Scott, this is Jayne Marlowe and Chloe..."

He trailed off, likely because he forgot Chloe's last name, as usual, and fuck me, but I wish he'd done me the same solid because Scott now knew my whole goddamned name instead of just my handle,

Playne_Jayne.

Scott's smile was slow; it was deliberate, and it held a spark of pure, unadulterated amusement that sent a jolt straight to my core, bypassing panic and landing somewhere much,

much

lower.

Fuck, I was

hot

for him.

"Jayne," he said, his voice a low, familiar rumble that vibrated through me far more intensely than any chat message ever had. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"I was telling Scott about your connection to music," Mark said, but it all felt like just extra noise.

Scott extended a hand yet my own felt clammy.

"Scott," I managed, or I thought it was me because the voice that came from my face was unnaturally high.

"What a... surprise. Are you here for-?"

I mean, what was he here for?

- And please, okay, please,

please

don't say,

"I am here for a secret rendezvous with a married woman I met online."

"Just a weekend getaway," he said smoothly and I waited for someone to notice his thumb brushing up against my palm during the handshake or even the jolt, electric and terrifying, that shot up my arm because I felt it.

"Needed to unwind. Small world, isn't it?"

Mark and Chloe, those Benedict Arnold bitches, where were they, huh?

They'd wandered off towards the promise of mini-quiches, and it left us standing in a bubble of crackling tension.

Shit, Chloe had only given him a nod of her celestial head.

"Small world?" I hissed under my breath as I risked a glance around, but I felt I was pretty safe.

Brenda was keeping everyone at bay.

Mid-description of her recent colonoscopy to a horrified-looking man near the hot tub, we were all safe for now.

"Scott, what the hell are you doing here?"

His blue eyes twinkled and I already hated that he was going to be as much of a charmer in person as he was online.

"I believe the technical term is 'unwinding,' but I was also hoping to escalate things beyond pixels with a certain high school music teacher?"

"'Escalate'?" I repeated his word because, shit, my carefully constructed fantasy world was colliding with my beige reality--and the potential explosion was terrifying.

I, by the way,

am

the high school music teacher, yet another mistake since college.

"What if someone I know here reports this to, you know,

other

individuals?" I panted because Chloe could act all yoga-ish, but that bitch had narc'ed out half of freshman seminar once upon a time and I could see her narc'ing me out, too.

"Relax," he murmured and he leaned slightly closer, his scent hitting my nose.

I could smell orange, maybe mint, and what could've been aged barrel, and just that hint of knowing him beyond those pixels made my body flush.

"No one knows me, Jayne Marlowe, and besides," his gaze dropped meaningfully, and yep, it lingered for a fraction of a second too long, "isn't the risk part of the fun?"

Ah, Jaysus, there was thudding behind my eyeballs because he knew I liked it. He knew I liked the idea of the risk, and damn him, but I could see his tongue in his mouth as it rested on the back of a goddamned tooth.

"And was that

Marlowe

with or without an -e?"

My left eye closed. Talk about compromised.

He gave a subtle nod towards the darkening pathway leading away from the main building, towards the less-used, supposedly "meditative" pools, and my stomach clenched.

That potent cocktail of fear and irresistible anticipation only added to my Serenity Sunset that pooled in my belly, yet I counted to five before I slipped away.

Scott was waiting in the shadows behind the ridiculously oversized poolside bar, the scent of hot springs sulfur mixing with his cologne, and the moment our eyes met?

Shit, that carefully maintained facade crumbled like it was nobody's business.

He pulled me against him--hard.

"Jayne," he breathed, his mouth crashing down on mine before I could form a protest--

Hell, before I could acknowledge and accept whether or not I wanted his mouth on mine.

Which I--

Well, fuck it, but which I very much did even though it was nothing like the tentative explorations I'd imagined.

This was desperate; it was fueled by a year of digital foreplay and the sudden, shocking reality of his presence. His hands were big; they mapped the curves of my back, and as his tongue slipped into my mouth, his fingers slipped under the thin fabric of my shirtdress and every part of my being felt the electricity of his touch.

I gasped into his mouth, my own hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

It was-?

Insane? Stupid? Reckless?

Shit, it was all of the above because fuck it, we were maybe fifty feet from where Brenda was still holding court.

Anyone could wander past.

He backed me against the cool, tiled surface of the bar, his knee pressing between my thighs, his mouth devouring mine.

Anyone

.

One hand slid up, cupping my breast through the thin cotton of my dress and bra.

Anyone

could find out, too.

A low moan escaped me.

Suddenly, footsteps and laughter on the path nearby, and we froze and then sprung apart like startled teenagers, hearts pounding.

A tipsy couple ambled past, giggling, completely oblivious, and Scott shot me a wicked grin, his eyes glittering in the dim light, my heart in my throat yet strobing and strobing.

"See?" he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "Fun."

And it was fun.

Standing there, my heart beating, my breath barely there, everything on me tingled; everything on me went from not being real to suddenly being very real.

"H-how did you g-get here? W-why?"

Scott's forehead pressed to mine; he pulled away just so he could kiss me, our mouths tangling lazily, slowly.

"I'll tell you in ten minutes, Jayne," he said, his breath heavy, his chest moving.

He pressed a slow, hard kiss to my jawline that took my motherfucking breath away. "My room. 214."

And then that asshole was gone. I watched as he melted back towards the main building as I leaned up against the bar, trembling, sniffing every now and again for some odd reason. My dress slightly askew, my lips tingled, and I tried to reconcile the sensible, married Jayne with the woman who'd just practically dry-humped her online lover behind a tiki bar because

what-in-the-fuck, gurl?

Chapter 2: Room Service & Risky Business

Serenity Springs, my ass; my weekend had just gone from beige to scorching Technicolor.

So I had ten minutes.

I licked my lips.

For a second, I debated whether or not to go, but really, who in the fuck was I kidding?

Retracing my steps, I walked back in, saw all those former friends.

I side-stepped Brenda and her offer of a cup of coffee.

"Jayne, honey, are you feeling alright? You look a bit flushed. Migraine? You seem jumpy. Is it menopause? I have some wonderful herbal supplements..."

I l

a-la-la

'ed inside my head to drone her out, mumbled something about needing a dark room and escaped the cacophony of manufactured joy from my former schoolmates, and my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I navigated the thankfully empty hallways.

And when I reached Room 214, I hesitated for only a second before knocking softly.

The door swung open immediately and Scott stood there.

He leaned against the frame, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

He didn't say anything, just stepped aside, his eyes doing a slow, appreciative sweep from my sandals to my feigned-migraine furrowed brow.

The room was standard hotel fare--bland art, a questionable carpet pattern--but the air crackled with an energy that had nothing to do with the faulty air conditioning unit.

The door clicked shut behind me, sealing us in, but I was already fucking clicking on my own.

"This is certifiably insane," I whispered because the reality was hitting me full fucking force.

This was his actual hotel room. There was a bed.

There was us.

We.

Alone.

Shit, what would my sixteen-year-old daughter say? What would

his

fifteen-year-old say?

"Completely," Scott agreed, stepping closer.

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my skin. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"Absolutely not," I breathed, my resolve melting like ice cream on hot pavement so I tried to save it.

I mean, my husband's face flickered in my mind.

Sure, it was followed swiftly by the image of Scott's fingers typing out a particularly filthy message last Tuesday.

Guilt may have warred violently with desire, and desire, it turned out, fought dirty.

I cleared my throat and ignored

dirty

.

"You were going to tell me why you are here?"

He had the balls to turn his head to the side, chuckle and then narrow his eyes. "I think you knew I'd be here, Jayne. I mean, we kinda talked about it."

The hammering in my chest was nothing compared to the hammering in other parts. "I thought you were fucking with me," I said, my voice almost hazy, and it was kinda true.

When I'd told him where I'd be, I'd already known it was only three hours from him, and when he'd told me yesterday he was packing, yeah, I hadn't asked why and it was because I was pretty sure he'd be at Serenity Springs Resort & Spa.

His lips brushed my earlobe, sending shivers down my spine. "Should we stop?"

My answer?

A strangled sound that was definitely not "yes."

And his mouth found mine again, slower and deeper this time. He bit into my mouth, our tongues meeting in the middle, a kiss wrapped in a growl as my body circulated in one big fucking flush.

Shedding his shirt as he walked, he led me towards the bed, and let me be clear about this, okay?

I'd fantasized about this moment, about finally seeing him,

all

of him, and the reality?

The reality--the barely-there muscle, the sprinkle of dark hair mixed with grey on his chest--was dizzyingly potent because I knew he was like me and gently used.

My fingers fumbled with the buttons on my dress, clumsy with anticipation and the fact that I hadn't likely breathed.

I'd been too busy gulping up

him

.

"Let me," he whispered as he gently pushed my hands away.

His fingers were sure; they were confident and undid the buttons one by one, his eyes holding mine, a silent conversation passing between us because I knew.

I knew for him this was

Number 1

.

When enough buttons were undone so that I could slip my shoulders out, it pooled around my waist, and his gaze dropped to my lace-covered breasts.

A soft gasp escaped him and I felt him.

I felt Scott shiver.

"Jayne," he breathed, his voice thick with his own fucking need. "Even better than I imagined."

He unhooked my bra with an expertise that was both thrilling and slightly alarming. He let it fall away, his eyes one hundred percent on my G-cup tits because Scott was a fan.

He was into--

whisper

--breast play.

His hands cupped me, thumbs stroking reverently over my nipples.

It sent sparks through my entire system.

My husband, well, he just never knew, and I could just never tell him because, fuck, he was too good for that.

I arched my back, let out a cry, and his head lowered; Scott's mouth closed over a peak.

It was warm and wet and he pulled it gently.

My fingers dug into his shoulders and a helpless moan escaped my lips.

Shamelessly, okay, I slipped my hands under my tits, and yes, I fed him one.

His breath a hot snort, he massaged the one he didn't use his teeth on just before he sucked it.

This was the fantasy made real. It was amplified, overwhelming.

He fucking worshipped me, lavishing attention, alternating between tender kisses and teasing flicks of his tongue, his hands never still, stroking, squeezing, learning the shape and weight of me.

And in between those nibbles to my tits and those full-on nipple sucks like he was way hungry, I'd make him pause, come up for air, my kiss to his lips like something he needed to continue his quest to devour my chest.

My dress sliding all the way down, I ran my thumb over the line of his chin when he finally came up for air.

"You have a very good mouth," I said as my hips swayed back and forth, and Scott, well, he didn't disappoint.

"And I am sure yours is much better," the man purred up against the side of my face; he kissed along my chin, made my nipples bead painfully harder because, yes, they were mostly raw because he had made them that way, and his fucking fingers slagging into my mouth?

My whole body shivered and I sucked in air through my nose, hearing it offer a non-sexy whistle, not that I thought it mattered.

And it didn't matter because that man flipped the script.

His one hand on my shoulder, the other in my mouth, he pulled me down using it as a handle.

As he uncurled his fingers, pulled them from my mouth, I felt my pussy pulse; I felt a shudder course through me, and as hard as it was for me to accept, this, this here was what I liked.

My eyes flicking to his, I took in my last breath, opened my mouth, and stuck my tongue way out.

Oh-my-gawd, but Scott didn't hesitate.

He held my head in place and yeah, he fucked my face.

It's not really something that I'm proud of; no, I am, after all, a mother.

I am also on the PTA, but regardless, he worshipped me as he thrust his cock into my mouth suddenly, pulling as he did, his cock, its musty tang, hitting the back of my throat, instantly making me want to puke.

Not that I had the chance.

He held me back by the back of the head so I couldn't move and I felt my pussy drip as I waited for his assault because...?

Because I loved this, it was what I craved, and my husband?

With a grunt, Scott moved his hips; he fucked my mouth harder, three deep thrusts.

My spouse just would not understand.

He hit the back of my throat, I opened that chute, and I let his cock hammer the back of my throat, eyes watering as he did, eyes watering until I started to puke.

Gagging him out, I licked his shaft, looked up at him, tried to be better.

My hands swirling his balls, I rimmed the head, heard him growl, and then I sucked him back in.

I worked my tongue up and down his shaft, let his hand find a landing spot in my hair, and when the moment was right, my breathing recovered, I held his eyes again and I let the onslaught happen, but he wasn't happy just in my mouth.

He immediately pounded into my throat, my air gone, my nose trying to work, my pussy pulsing and pulsing as I reached down to touch myself.

And when he pulled out, it was hard, I gasped, but I had no time to think.

Scott was rough as he tossed me onto the edge of the bed. I was up on my hands and knees and where my underwear was was anyone's guess.

In a blink of an eye, he spread my ass and when I fucking felt his tongue wiggle up against my asshole, my whole body bucked and I cried.

"Fuck, yes, please, yes!"

"Jesus, Jayne, you really are dirty."

It wasn't a question so I didn't treat it as one.

Instead, I let him have his way and as I looked back at him, my ass began to sway.