You hate the beach. Its hot, it’s dirty, and with the way you are itching you are convinced you are allergic to sand. Or it could just be that you are in a bad mood…

 

This was supposed to be your vacation. Just you, your boyfriend, a beach and a box of condoms. One last final hurrah before his album drops in a month. You chose the destination (Hawaii because he loves to surf and you like to watch his ass wipe out), the hotel (private bungalows with private beaches on a secluded part of the island, key words being private and secluded), booked everything yourself, a vacation for two.

 

So color you surprised when he shows up at your place three hours before your flight and instead of the Ferrari that you find oh so sexy, he’s driving that fucking massive Rubicon that you need a fucking ladder to climb into, and its full of his friends (yes his friends, all guys, not even Rachel is there).

 

“Um Jus, what are all those guys doing here?”

 

“Going to the airport,” he says grabbing your bags and taking them to the car. “It seemed silly to take separate cars.”

 

“Yeah but I only made arrangements for us,” you whisper as he lifts your bags with a grunt into the back.

 

“Yeah I know I had Rach take care of it,” he replies, and then asks “What the fuck did you pack? Rocks?”

 

Color you surprised indeed. More like color you pissed off.

 

You didn’t speak to him the entire ride to the airport. Not that he noticed or anything with Trace riding shotgun (yes he even had the nerve to make you sit in back between Marty and Nick) and telling dirty jokes the whole way. The plane ride isn’t much different, although you do at least get to sit next to him, even if he does sleep the entire way.

 

So far you’ve been in Hawaii three days. Three days that should have been spent in bed, making love, or shit, anywhere just fucking each other’s brains out. Instead your days have been filled with golf, hiking, and surfing, all things that you suck at. Your perfect vacation for two has been turned into a guy trip with you as comic relief.

 

Day one: “Babe, you’re holding your club backwards,” Justin laughs softly as he turns you the other way. “You’re right handed,” and you can hear his friends cackling from near the carts.

 

Day two: “Need a hand?” he asks from above where you’ve fallen flat on your ass trying to climb down a rocky hill that the boys all took with running leaps. You slap his hand away and struggle to your feet on your own only to slide back down, losing your footing on the loose gravel. He laughs as he catches you roughly by the wrists keeping you from falling again. His friends are laughing from down the trail.

 

And its day three and you are sitting on the beach (not the private beach by your bungalow but the public beach on the other side of the island because there are better waves over here. Or some stupid shit like that). You don’t even attempt surfing. Just find a patch of sand to throw your towel down on and open the book that you bought from the hotel gift shop after you’d given up any hope of getting some on this trip.

 

From behind your sunglasses you can see him coming up the beach (finally!) and smiling at you. Your eyes travel from his face to his chiseled chest and down further. His trunks are hanging lowly, very lowly in fact, on his hips, weighed down from the ocean. He reaches down to adjust the draw string, and lets his finger tips rub the smooth expanse of skin between his belly button and the top of his shorts. You’re heart flutters and you press your legs together. It’s been too long since he’s fucked you right.

 

“Hey love,” you say as he finally makes it to your side.

 

“Hey, can you get me a water?” he replies, slightly out of breath.

 

You sigh and reach into the cooler on your right. He shakes his shorts, water pouring from them…and onto your book.

 

“Justin!” you exclaim, grabbing up the now soaked paperback and attempt to dry it off but the page you were reading is completely saturated.

 

“Oh sorry,” he mutters absently, tilting his head back to take a swig of water before replacing the cap

 

And that’s it. You can’t fucking take it anymore.  “Sorry!?” You question angrily and watch as his attention is finally on you for the first time in days. “You’re fucking sorry?!” His eyes widen slightly as he swallows the water he had been holding in his cheeks.

 

“Yeah,” he says slowly, cautiously. “I’ll get you another one.”

 

“Another one,” you scoff and throw your hands in the air. “Un-fucking-believable.”

 

You never thought you’d say it but right now you can’t stand the sight of him. Dripping wet, in trunks that one tug could send falling to the ground, and god damn him if he isn’t rubbing that spot on his stomach again. You scramble to your feet, bending to grab your towel, which he just happens to be standing on and you almost send him flat on his ass. He stumbles backwards, watching you speechlessly as you gather your things and storm away.

 

“Hey!” he hollers and you pause and turn to see him standing there, still confused. “What’s your problem?”

 

Letting your anger get the best of you, you stomp back over to him and throw all your stuff at his feet. “What’s my problem? My problem is you, Timberlake. You!”

 

You slap his chest, which hurts your hand but you don’t let on, and he smirks at you. The bastard actually has the balls to smirk at you.

 

“Hurt your hand didn’t you?” he chuckles and, for the third day in a row, you hear a group of three guys laughing at you.

 

“This was supposed to be my vacation you fucking asshole!” you yell and his friends immediately stop laughing and begin to mill around. Walking in on people fighting is like walking in on people fucking. There is an uncomfortable awareness that you don’t belong there and his boys scatter under this awkward pressure.

 

“Look just keep your voice down,” Justin mutters, leaning close to you and you smell the salt of the ocean mixed with sunscreen and sweat.

 

“I will not keep my voice down,” you scream and by now everyone around you is looking. He dips his head, scratching at his ear like he does when he’s embarrassed. “This was our vacation! For just me and you before you had to go promote and tour and do whatever the fuck it is you do when you’re working! I planned it, I booked it and then you ruin it by bringing all your stupid friends. Well I’ve had it. You, Justin Timberlake, can go fuck yourself because you certainly won’t be fucking me!”

 

And with that you turn your heel, not even waiting to see the look on his face. A few people around you are clapping and laughing but that just drives you to walk faster.

 

After a long taxi ride back to the hotel, your anger still hasn’t ebbed. Crashing through the door of your bungalow you head straight for the bedroom and start throwing your clothes haphazardly into a suitcase. If you want to be ignored you can do it at home and not be mocked and ridiculed.

 

You hear the door shut and his footsteps coming down the hall. You glance up and see him leaning against the doorjamb, still wearing his swimming trunks and a pair of ratty flip flops. His hair is almost dry, curls sticking out in every direction. His arms are crossed over his shirtless chest and he’s staring at you, his face expressionless.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks, and you do your best to ignore the softness in his voice.

 

“I’m going home,” you reply stiffly, and for the first time tears are starting to surface in your eyes. You push them back.

 

“I really wish you wouldn’t.”

 

“Ugh Justin!” you exclaim throwing down the shirt you had in your hand and sitting on the end of the bed, tears spilling down your cheeks at the utter absurdity of it all.

 

“What’s wrong babe?” he asks, squatting in front of you and taking your hands in his. “Tell me what it is and I’ll make it right.”

 

“This was supposed to be our vacation Justin,” you sob and he cups your face, catching the tears before they have a chance to run all the way down your face. “Me and you. I got this private bungalow with the private beach in the middle of fucking nowhere so we could be alone. And you bring your fucking entourage that you drag with you everywhere.”

 

“I see,” he says nodding. “You wanted me and you time.”

 

“Yes!” you exclaim, and relief at the fact that he’s finally listening spreads through you.

 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he asks, brushing the last remaining tears from your face.

 

“I don’t know,” you mutter, because really you don’t.

 

He smiles softly at you and you smile back. “Well what kind of me and you things did you wanna do?” he asks, running a hand up and down your arm, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

 

“Oh I dunno,” you tease, reaching out and tweaking one of his nipples. He grins and swats your hand away.

 

“What do you say we go for a swim?”

 

Your lips begin to form a pout but the way he’s smirking at you says he’s got more on his mind that splashing around in the waves. You nod and he holds out a hand for you to take.

 

You make your way out the sliding glass door leading from the bedroom directly onto the beach. The sun is beginning it’s decent in the horizon, painting his chest orange and pink in the fading light.

 

You make it to the water and wade in until you’re about chest deep, he slides up behind you and his strong arms slip slickly around your stomach as he takes you deeper until your feet aren’t touching the bottom.

 

You turn in his arms and wrap your legs firmly around his hips. You kiss him and the taste of salt and him invade your senses and set your head spinning. You can feel him pressing against your center, and you can’t even remember the last time you wanted him this bad.

 

He walks you through the water, his mouth never leaving yours, his swishing hips enough to give you a sweet friction that is making you ache. He’s going slow, savoring it, but you are getting impatient. Your fingers fist in the curls at the nape of his neck and tug gently. He pulls back gazing at you from beneath heavy lids.

 

“Jus,” you whine, pressing your hips more firmly against his and he shakes his head. You pout and he sighs, beginning to walk to back to the shore.

 

The sky is getting rapidly darker and he continues to hold you as you make your way out of the water. He lays you in the wet sand where the water laps up to your waist when the waves roll in.

 

He’s standing over you, his pale skin glowing in the dim light, just staring down at you as if he’s memorizing your face. His shorts are sitting lowly on his hips again, water weighing them to the point of almost falling off. You give him a wicked grin, and wrap your fingers in the soggy material around his knees. A flick of your wrist and they are puddled at his feet, his erection standing in front of you.

 

You reach out a hand to touch him but his fingers catch your wrist and he shakes his head at you. You pout again but stop as he lays his body over yours, kissing you deeply. You feel him, hot and heavy, pressing into your belly.

 

His lips travel across your jaw and down the column of your throat, running his tongue along your collarbone. His fingers slip under your damp hair, untying the knot of your bikini top and exposing your breasts to his hungry mouth. Pulling the fabric away, he nips and sucks at one peak while his fingers roll and pull the other sweetly, switching every now and then just to hear you moan.

 

You can feel him grin against your skin as he drags his mouth down the valley between your breasts, over your stomach, dipping his tongue in your belly button which tickles and causes you to arch against him with a giggle.

 

He deftly undoes the strings at your hips and you raise them to aid his removal of the material. He runs his hands down the inside of your thighs, opening you to him completely before settling himself and pulling each of your legs over his shoulders.

 

You watch breathlessly as he cocks his eyebrow at you devilishly and with a quick grin he disappears. Your head falls back with a moan and all you feel is his tongue probing your inner lips. Your thighs tremble as you thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to you.

 

You gasp sharply when his lips close around your clit, sucking sweetly in a way that causes your hips to twitch. You feel his fingers slide gently inside, moving in and out in a steady rhythm. You whimper and then cry out as he flattens his tongue against your clit and begins to roll it against you, sending sparks shooting down to your toes.

 

You beg him to stop. This isn’t how you want it. You can feel him grin against you, stopping the rhythm of his fingers, and kissing your clit before sliding back up your body.

 

You’re panting now and so fucking hot you can barely stand it. He brushes the hair back from your face and gives you a wicked smile, as he presses the tip of his dick against your opening. You feel the head penetrate and wait for the feeling of him filling you up but it doesn’t come. He retreats and presses the head against your clit rubbing torturously before moving to your entrance again, penetrating a little more this time before pulling out and rubbing against your hot spot again.

 

“You’re really gonna tease me?” you ask him hotly. “After all you’ve done?”

 

“Yes,” he whispers, biting the side of your neck as he slides halfway in and pulls out again.

 

“Justin,” you croak, as he rubs and then penetrates almost completely before retreating. “Justin…please.”

 

He hums against your neck and allows himself to slide slowly, completely in and stars explode behind your closed lids. He’s slow, steady, hitting all the spots that drive you wild when he’s pounding into you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to do it. But his slow pace is like water coming to boil. It may take awhile but it gets pretty fucking hot.

 

His thrust are coming harder now but not faster, his pace still achingly slow but you can feel the tingle in all your extremities.

 

“Can you feel it baby?” he whispers into your hair, his voice strained with want.

 

“Yes,” you groan low, locking your legs around his waist and meeting him thrust for agonizingly slow thrust.

 

“Come for me baby,” he murmurs, bringing one hand between you to press his finger against your clit.

 

You are thrown so forcefully over the edge that your scream of pleasure actually hurts your lungs. You’ve had amazing orgasms before, most of them with him, but this one is different from any one you’ve ever felt. It crawls hotly through your veins, muscles contracting hard and raw pleasure rips through you. You barely hear his mutter of “oh god” as his hips twitch one last time and he spills inside you.

 

His face is buried in your neck, his body buried deep within yours as you watch the moon lick across the pale expanse of his back. He lifts his head and plants a chaste kiss on your lips.

 

“Sorry I was an insensitive ass,” he murmurs into your neck and you can’t help but laugh.

 

“Well you made it up to me pretty good,” you muse, brushing his curls back from his forehead and watching him grin boyishly.

 

“You know I think we should stay another week,” he says and you smile.

 

“You do?”

 

“Yeah. We need more time. I mean we haven’t even christened the bungalow yet.”