Villa Walls Too Thin

Benjamin steps out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, water droplets tracing paths down his tattooed chest, his green eyes locking onto yours with that infuriating smirk. "Well, if it isn't the maid of honor gracing me with her presence. I figured I'd get a head start before you turn this place into a war zone." He leans against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space, the scent of his fresh soap wafting over, making the air feel thicker. "Don't worry, princess, I left you some hot water. Or are you planning to complain about that too?"

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that echoes off the thin walls, pushing off the doorframe to saunter closer, his athletic build moving with effortless confidence. "Dreaming? About you? Nah, that's your territory—calling me names in front of everyone like some jealous ex." His intense gaze doesn't waver, piercing green eyes challenging you as he stops just inches away, the warmth radiating from his skin brushing against yours. "But hey, three years later, and you're still obsessed. Flattering, really."

Benjamin doesn't budge, his smirk deepening as he towers over you at 6'1", the faint stubble on his strong jaw catching the light, his arm brushing yours accidentally—or not—as he reaches for a shirt on the nearby chair. "Choke, huh? On what, your words? Because they always seem stuck in your throat around me." The proximity makes his cologne mix with the tropical humidity outside, creating a heady atmosphere in the small kitchenette, his defined arms flexing subtly. "Go on, try to push past. I dare you."

He tilts his head, dark brown hair still damp and tousled, falling just so over his forehead, as a flicker of something less arrogant—curiosity, maybe—crosses his features. "Because fighting with you is the highlight of these group hangs. Admit it, you live for it too." He steps back slightly, but not enough to break the tension, his piercing eyes searching yours, the silver studs in his ears glinting. "Or is there something else under all that fire? Something you've been hiding since that party?"

A genuine laugh escapes him, loud enough to probably carry to the next villa, his green eyes crinkling at the edges as he runs a hand through his messy hair. "Touché. But come on, we've got a week trapped here. Truce? Or are you gonna keep pretending you hate everything about me?" He grabs a beer from the mini-fridge, the cool condensation dripping onto his fingers, offering you one with a raised brow, his tattooed sleeve shifting with the motion. "Beach group's meeting in an hour. Don't make me drag you."

He pops the cap off his beer with his thumb, the sharp sound cutting the air, then slides the other towards you across the counter, his intense gaze softening just a fraction. "Wouldn't dream of it. But who knows, maybe by Saturday you'll be toasting to more than just Olivia." The late afternoon sun filters through the balcony doors, casting warm shadows over his athletic frame, highlighting the contours of his chest as he takes a sip. "Grab your suit. Let's see if you can keep up on the beach."

Out on the beach later, the group disperses after volleyball, leaving you both walking back to the villa as the sun dips low, painting the sky orange; Benjamin's shirt clings to his sweat-dampened skin, accentuating his broad shoulders. "Dust? From you in that bikini? Bold claim." He shoots you a sideways glance, his smirk playful now, voice dropping lower as the waves crash nearby, the salt air mixing with his scent. "Truce holding? Or should I prepare for round two back at the suite?"

Back in the villa, the evening humidity clings to everything, and as you both unwind in the shared living area, he sprawls on the couch, legs spread wide, his green eyes tracking your every move. "Pushing is what I do best. But tonight? Maybe I'll play nice." He pats the spot next to him, the faint outline of his tattoos visible through his thin shirt, the room's thin walls amplifying the distant resort music. "Movie? Or are you heading to bed early to avoid me?"

The screen flickers to life with some action flick, but his attention is on you, sitting close enough that his thigh brushes yours on the couch, the heat from his body cutting through the AC. "Decent? Coming from you, that's high praise." As the plot thickens, he shifts, his arm draping casually over the backrest, fingers inches from your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear during a quiet scene. "This truce thing... it's not so bad. You smell like the beach—salt and sunscreen. Kinda distracting."

His voice lowers, the arrogance fading into something huskier, his piercing green eyes darkening as they meet yours in the dim light, the movie forgotten. "Like, in a way that makes me wonder why we've wasted three years sniping instead of... this." He leans in slowly, his strong jawline tensing, the scent of his skin—clean sweat and ocean—intensifying, his hand grazing your arm, sending a shiver through you. "Tell me to stop if I'm wrong, but I don't think you want me to."

Benjamin's smirk returns, but softer, charged, as he closes the gap further, his athletic body shifting to face you fully, the couch creaking under his weight. "Crazy? Yeah. But we've been dancing around it forever." His fingers trace a light path up your arm, calloused from who-knows-what, igniting sparks on your skin, his breath quickening as his green eyes bore into yours with raw intensity. "One week, no strings. Or are you scared I'll make you regret that party insult?"

The air thickens with anticipation, his hand cupping your jaw gently but firmly, thumb brushing your lower lip, the warmth of his palm contrasting the cool room, his tattooed chest rising and falling faster. "That's my girl." He pulls you closer, lips hovering just a whisper from yours, the texture of his stubble promising roughness, his free hand sliding to your waist, fingers digging in with possessive need. "I've wanted to shut you up like this since day one—"