Justin hasn’t said a word.  He’s been quiet all night.  Too quiet. 

The scary type of quiet Trace warned you about when you first started dating Justin. 

“When something’s bothering him he gets quiet, girl.”  Trace had said to you.  “That’s when you’ll know it’s time to worry.  Until then just play it cool and easy.”

Vacation was supposed to be fun, just the two of you and a nice, private, luxurious room with a balcony over looking the beach. 

But ever since this evening when you arrived on his private jet, he’s been quiet.  He’s barely smiled and you’ve caught him staring at you with those dark blue eyes numerous times.  When you first got to your room you thought he’d throw you on the bed and remove you of your sundress and have sex with you all damn night.  Exactly like he had promised to do to you the night before on the phone.

But he didn’t. 

Instead he had sighed, sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, yawning and running his hand over his head, before asking, “You hungry?”

And now after a few hours and a couple of drinks and a slow, silent walk on the beach, you find yourself in the elevator with him, moving up to the top floor of the private resort.  You want to say something to him, but you’re still getting use to this.  It’s only been a few months since you’ve been together and much of that time he’s been gone, off on tour.  Your relationship started as long distance and you knew that, you told him you could handle that.

But now you’re wondering if something else has his attention, if maybe you aren’t going to be able to deal with this type of relationship like you had promised him in the beginning you’d be able to do.

He means too much to you now.  You want him with you…always.  You’re willing to drop everything because of him.  You know it’s not healthy and you know you’re more into the relationship than he is.  But you can’t help yourself. 

You look down beside your hip and see his hand still there, holding onto yours, not letting you go.  Something’s going on with him and you wish you had the guts to ask.

One of these days…

One of these days it won’t be awkward any more and you’ll be able to share anything with him and ask him anything with no fear of upsetting him or freaking him out.  God, you hope it lasts that long.  You hope you get the opportunity to know every little thing about him.  You hope you don’t fuck up before then.

It’s late now and when the elevator opens the find the hallway empty.  He pushes himself from the elevator cell and you follow him, hands still laced as he continues down the hall to the end where it turns.  Your room is there, nestled in a little private alcove away from everyone else.

You can’t stand it anymore.  You can’t fucking stand it.

You need his attention on you…now.  That’s what he had said this vacation was about.  It was about you….about him really getting to know you.  That’s what he had said.  That’s what he had promised.  And he’s got to learn that you can’t just wait around like this. 

You need answers. 

“Justin…”

He looks back over his shoulder from where he’s plunging his hand down into his pocket, pulling out the room key. 

You pluck your hand from his and turn his shoulders so he’s facing where you are leaning against the wall.  You grip your hands in his soft shirt and pull him close to you.  You glance into his distant, tired eyes only for a moment before staring at his lips.  You close your own eyes and pull his body against yours, your lips against his, tugging on his shirt to getting him there.

You press your pursed lips against him and hear him sigh, you can feel it too, feel his body relax underneath your tight grip and when you pull back and open your eyes he’s got you pinned between him and the wall, his hands flat against wallpaper above your head, his eyes still half opened, just staring at you.

“What’s wrong with you?”  You whisper.

He only shakes his head and surges his mouth against you, forcing your head against the wall, and pressing his body, hard and strong against your own.  He keeps kissing and while you love it, you can’t help but have your mind still clouded by his strange behavior.

You pull him back a little, hands still fisted in his shirt.  “No Justin, you need to tell me what’s going on.”  He still just stares and you look away from him shyly, “You’re scaring me.”

His voice is soft when he leans in against the side of your face and whispers, “Don’t be scared.” 

You feel one of his hands against your thigh now, pulling your leg over his hip, the material of your dress moving up and bunching against your thighs.  You suck in a breath when he pushes the front of his jeans against your underwear and you immediately feel yourself flood for him. He’s hard….hard just for you.

He starts to kiss you again, slow, seductive, lingering strokes of his tongue against your own. 

You pull your head to the side and his mouth moves down to your neck, nipping the skin there slightly and then sucking, just a light, small suction against the curve.  You sigh and look to see one of his hands still flat against the wall but his other is no longer holding your hip up.  You are doing that with your own power now.

Because his hand…oh god, his hand is in between, rubbing the wet material of your panties, probing it, sliding against it and finally hooking into it and pulling it over to the side, exposing you.

“Justin…”  You gasp, you’re in public, even though the hallway is deserted and you’re only a few feet from your door.  You should go inside and finish this, you know this.  You’ve been coached by his PR and security about this sort of thing.

But when he pulls his head up and presses his forehead into yours you know there’s no way in hell either of you are going anywhere.  This is going to happen, right here. 

His hand keeps your panties pulled aside and he looks down at himself and then back up at you, asking you silently to help him out.  You work quickly to get his jeans undone and reach inside to find there’s no material underneath the rough denim.  You smile at him and he smiles back when you pull him out from the confines of his jeans.  You hold him there in your hand, thick and warm and heavy.

He doesn’t waste any time and leans in, your tug him right to your core.  You feel the head of him press up against your silky wetness and his hand is now holding up your thigh instead of holding back your panties, one of your hands still on his thickness pressed against your core, the other holding onto his shoulder. 

“Move your hand…”  He whispers.  You oblige and hold onto his shoulders again, waiting.

And waiting.

You suck in a breath and raise your eyes from where he’s pressing into you to his face.  His eyes are searching your own.  He looks scared, he looks like he wants to back out.

But he doesn’t back out.

He surges your lips together and presses in, sinking deep inside you. 

You cry out against his mouth and feel his hand grip your thigh. 

He starts a slow, pulsating rhythm.

And it doesn’t stop.  It goes on for minutes or hours… 

But then it quickens. 

And soon you can’t think and you can’t see.  You’re holding onto him and crying out into his shoulder as he groans with every thrust up into you, pressing your back and rear against the wall, gripping your thigh tight and rough, almost painfully.

But it’s not painful.  God no, it feels so, so good.

You almost forget his strange mood.

Until…

“Look at me…”  He whispers against your cheek.

You move your head and stare into him.  It’s coming, it’s coming fast and hard as you look into his eyes and you know you’re about to be washed over with the biggest wave you’ve had in a long, long time.  You bite your lip and tighten your muscles, concentrating all your thoughts and energy to where he’s dipping into you over and over and over again so swiftly.

A door slams down the hallway, out of view and you turn your head sharply towards the noise and gasp.  You’re body pauses, moments from your peak.  It doesn’t die, just pauses and holds there, and you almost scream from frustration, from fear, from need.

He places his hand that was against the wall against your cheek and pulls your face back to his.

“I love you.”  He says simply.

Your heart stops and your body starts to play again.  The wave still there, coming slower now, but god still there…

“Wh-what?” You can barely make a noise when you ask and end up just mouthing to him.

“I…”  He kisses you roughly and then pulls his lips away and presses his cheek against your own, thrusting again, thrusting quick and hard, hitting your spot with a guttural ‘oh’.

“I love you…” 

You grip his shoulders again and press your body up on your foot, up on the tips of your toes and you squint your eyes and try not to let this come over you too fast.  You want to savor this, savor every fucking moment of this.

You felt it the moment you met him, the moment from that first kiss with him.  You knew you were in love with him but you wouldn’t tell a soul, no one, not even your best friend.  You knew the dangers of falling for a man like him, a man that had a hard time feeling that emotion and an ever harder time saying those words.

And here he is saying those words to you and only you.

“I’ve been trying…”  He sucks in a breath.  “Trying to tell you all d-day…”  He chokes a little as his body starts to let go and he spits out “oh god” into your shoulder.  You feel him start to spasm inside of you, hot, sticky and hard, jerking violently.  He cums deep, coating you, making you feel warm inside.

But your body jolts and sucks him deeper and you grind your body down against his and cry out his name and close your eyes, two tears slipping down your cheeks.  You don’t know why.  You’ve never cried during sex before and you don’t know if it was just that good, or if you’re just that happy that he said those words to you.

His body slumps against yours and pins you completely to the wall.  His hand lets go of your thigh. It slides limply down against his leg and your foot hits the floor.  Your legs are still trapping him there, still inside you but barely staying in. 

He takes a deep breath and pulls back, glancing towards the hall for a moment to make sure no one is spying on you two before tucking himself back in and zipping up his jeans.

You stare at him and he reaches for your hand and tugs you closer to the room.

Not a word is spoken. 

Not a word has to be spoken.

And before he gets the door open he pulls you against him in a deep, strong embrace.  He smiles down at you and kisses your forehead.  “And I mean it, girl…”  He moves his lips to yours and kisses you deeply, moving his hand to the door handle, pushing it down and opening it.  “I really do love you.”

All you can do is smile at him.  And you don’t say a word.