Hating Him Feels Too Good

Benjamin lounges on the edge of the king-sized bed in the larger room, his athletic frame stretching out casually as he looks up with that infuriating smirk, green eyes glinting under the warm resort lighting. "Yeah, I did. Bigger bed, better view—figured the maid of honor wouldn't mind slumming it in the closet-sized one." He stands up slowly, his tattooed arm flexing as he crosses the room toward the shared living area, the faint scent of his cologne—woody and sharp—trailing behind him. "Don't worry, I'll try not to snore too loud through those paper-thin walls."

He chuckles low, leaning against the kitchenette counter with broad shoulders squared, his dark hair slightly tousled from the flight, making him look effortlessly disheveled and annoyingly handsome. "Out of your way? In a villa this cozy? Good luck with that." The air between you feels charged already, the tropical breeze from the open balcony doors doing little to cool the tension as he pours himself a drink from the minibar, ice clinking softly. "Want one? Or are you too busy plotting how to survive me?"

Benjamin sips his drink, his piercing green eyes following you as you head to your room, the smirk never fading from his strong jawline shadowed by stubble. "Unpack fast. Olivia's got us all roped into beach volleyball later—mandatory fun and all that." He sets the glass down with a deliberate clink, stepping closer to block the narrow hallway just enough to make you brush past him, the heat from his body radiating through his thin shirt. "Try not to trip over your own spite out there."

The sun dips lower outside, casting golden hues across the villa as the day wears on, but inside, the atmosphere thickens with unspoken barbs. "Cursed? Nah, just karma for calling me an arrogant ass at that party." He follows you loosely toward the bathroom, his presence looming as he adjusts the silver stud in his ear, muscles shifting under his athletic build. "Admit it, you loved saying it. Gave you that little thrill."

Benjamin's laugh echoes a bit too loud in the small space, his intense gaze locking onto yours as he leans against the doorframe, blocking your easy escape. "Deserved it? Maybe. But you've been holding onto that grudge like it's your favorite accessory." The faint hum of the resort's waves crashes in the background, mirroring the undercurrent building between you, his cologne mixing with the salty air. "What would it take to let it go, huh? A week here might just force your hand."

Evening falls, and after a tense group dinner where snipes fly under the table, you both end up back in the villa, the alcohol loosening the edges of the hostility. "Bold words for someone sharing a bathroom with me." He strips off his shirt in the living area, revealing the bold lines of his American traditional tattoos across his chest and arm, the ink stark against his light skin as he tosses it aside carelessly. "Your move—shower first, or should I?" The room feels smaller now, the dim lamp highlighting the defined lines of his broad shoulders and the way his green eyes challenge you.

Water runs in the bathroom soon after, the sound carrying through the thin walls like an invitation you didn't ask for, steam seeping under the door as he showers. "Suit yourself. But don't blame me if the hot water's gone." He emerges minutes later, towel slung low on his hips, droplets tracing paths down his athletic torso, the scent of soap—clean and masculine—filling the air as he pauses in the doorway. "All yours. Unless you're scared of a little steam." His smirk deepens, body still glistening slightly, close enough that you can feel the warmth rolling off him.

Benjamin doesn't move as you brush past, his piercing gaze following you into the bathroom, the door left slightly ajar in the humid haze. "Keep telling yourself that." The shower starts for you, but he lingers outside, voice carrying over the spray as if he owns the space. "You know, three years of this dance—maybe it's time we rewrite the steps." When you step out, wrapped in a towel, he's still there, leaning shirtless against the sink, the air thick with moisture and something heavier.

His green eyes darken as he straightens, the small space forcing proximity, his tattooed chest rising with a slow breath, the faint scent of your shampoo now mingling with his. "Sarcasm's just the foreplay, sweetheart." He reaches past you for a comb on the shelf, his arm brushing your damp skin, sending an unexpected spark through the air, his stubble grazing close as he murmurs. "What if I said I've been thinking about that night—the one where you called me out—more than I should?" The tension coils, his body heat pressing in, but he holds back just enough, waiting.

Benjamin's hand pauses, fingers lightly tracing the edge of your towel without pulling, his intense gaze searching yours, breath warm against your neck in the steamy confines. "Every damn time I see you. That fire in your eyes—it's stuck with me." The villa quiets around you, only the distant waves and your shared breathing filling the space, his muscular frame inches away, tattoos shifting as he leans in closer. "Tell me you haven't wondered what it'd be like if we'd skipped the hate." His voice drops lower, rough with unspoken want, lips hovering near yours.

A low growl escapes him, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you flush against his bare chest, the contrast of your damp towel and his warm skin igniting a shiver that races through you both. "A little? That's all it takes to crack that armor." His other hand cups your jaw gently but firmly, thumb brushing your lower lip, green eyes burning with the same intensity that's simmered for years, the air electric with the scent of soap and desire. "Show me, then—let go." He tilts his head, lips parting as they near yours, the moment stretching taut, bodies aligned in inevitable pull.