A/N : Many Thanks to my Beta Aretee for her help on this one.

This little story was thrust in to my brain while I was cleaning my house, listening to the Song 'Drunk on a Plane' by Dierks Bentley. It's very, very loosely based on it. I've taken it a little further though. ie; off the plane.

I just had to get it written down; and so I did. My big story, Pineapples and Cherries had to go on hold for a few days.

This is Part One. It's a Ness and Jake story. It's ALL HUMAN. And I think a lot Heart-Breaking.

Let me know you're thoughts when you're done. Me and my ego really do like the reviews... saying that...

Namaste, folks - May the light within me honor the light within you.

Marina

... PART ONE ...

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Sue Clearwater-Swan had been like a mother to him for most of his life, and if yesterday had gone to plan, she would have become an actual mother to him, of sorts. An in-law at least, that is.

But, yesterday had not gone as planned.

Not even close.

"I'll be fine Sue," he answered to the woman. "Tell dad I'll call him when I get there." He lent down placing a peck on her cheek, picked up his carry-on luggage and walked down to the customs check point.

He had the tickets booked; they were non-refundable. And he had to two weeks off work. So he went on his honeymoon… alone.

...

As they hurtled across the Pacific Ocean, somewhere between the refueling stop at LAX and Brisbane, he ordered his fifth scotch on the rocks and toasted the empty seat next to him. It was supposed to be her seat.

The stewardess refused him service with around four hours of the last leg of the journey still remaining. The journey was twenty-two hours, a drink every hour, even more over the four which were spent waiting in transit. It had been a long flight after that. So, as they'd flown up the East coast of tropical Australia, he'd plugged in his head phones, wrapped himself up in a thin courtesy blanket that was much too small for his frame, found the most depressing music he could, and remembered what he wanted to forget.

It had all blown up in a fiery ball of flames in the early hours of Thursday night. She'd convinced him that, to try and maintain some order of tradition, she was to say at their modest one bedroom apartment in the center of town, while he went back home to stay with his father for three nights.

Three nights they were meant to spend apart, before they began the rest of their lives together. But she was his everything; his first and— what he thought was— his last. The love of his life; his natural path. He'd been unable to stay away from her for so long, especially knowing she was just a few miles away.

So, after waking from a practically stimulating dream around 3 am, and not really wanting to fix the problem himself, he'd headed back to his own home. And found her naked… in what had been and was to be, their marital bed… with another man.

Needless to say, the encounter had not gone well. It had not been quiet and it had not been cordial. And the end result had been a called off wedding, a broken relationship of ten years, and a non-refundable vacation to a tropical paradise in Australia… for two.

With a heavy heart, jet-lag of global proportions and a hangover to give Charlie Sheen a run for his money, he picked up the rental car. A sports convertible, sleek and a pleasure to drive, he hardly noticed, his heart was no longer in it. With his half of the couple's luggage they'd bought months ago, he loaded up the car and traveled up the coast.

It was early hours of the morning when he arrived at the resort, there was minimal staff on shift, the valet doubling as the porter. He said good bye to the hire car. Deciding he'd see the area the old fashion way— on foot. It was her who'd insisted on the car. She wasn't the outdoorsy type.

The beautiful girl behind the counter gave him a questioning look as he stood there asking for the key to the honeymoon suite… alone.

"It's a long story," he smiled— a fake smile, but a smile none the less.

As tall as the beautiful girl was she'd still had to reach to unhook the clip board off the hanger. As she did, the back of her white, pressed, collared shirt riding up to reveal the fine edges of some kind of tattoo drawn into the small of her back before it escaped under the fitted black of her pencil skirt.

"Room 305," she smiled as she turned back to him. Her eyes pitying and kind as she handed him the plastic card. Two of them, to be exact.

He slept for most of the day, waking up mid-afternoon to a headache and hungry stomach.

After a phone call to his father, two Tylenol, and an overpriced room-service burger, he headed downstairs to explore the bay.

The reason they'd booked the vacation half way across the world, was —while sitting on their sofa, curled up in one another's arms, watching TV— she'd seen some spectacular footage of the Great Barrier Reef on a travel show and she'd begged and pleaded that they'd go there for their post wedding escape. And that had been that, a seven day honeymoon in the sub-tropics. Until she fucked someone else, that is… two days before the wedding, to be exact.

But it hadn't just been someone else, it was him. The musician. It had always been him; that was what she'd said as she broke his heart and spirit, that fateful Thursday morning. And it hadn't just been two days before the wedding. It had been two years. For two years she'd been taking work trips to Seattle, visiting her mother in Florida, staying back at the library where she worked filing books. She'd confessed that they'd all been lies.

With her high school sweet-heart, that was where she'd been, each and every time she'd deceived him.

He felt like a fool, taken for a ride, cuckolded, and abased. The musician had exited her life after her first year of college, leaving her heartbroken but then very much free for the boy next-door. And he taken that opportunity. The boy next-door, still only a senior in school; he'd wooed the collage junior. He'd flirted and invited, dated and eventually fallen in love—madly—with Bella Swan. And her, him. Until he'd come back to the town that is.

With the clarity of hindsight, the clues might have been there. Her awkwardness and the way she'd dropped his hand the time they'd run into him on the street one Friday night. Her overly doting care on her return after her visits to her 'mother'— 'Guilt Lasagna' he now thought of it as; the text messages at odd hours, and her obsession with keeping her inbox empty.

The high school senior had filled the hole the musician's absence had left all those years ago. And he'd filled it well. But the scar of that absence had never healed. That is, until he'd come back into her life, and filled her… to the hilt.

She'd been his first, in everything. He'd worked hard to save up enough for a ring for her. They'd talked about what names their children would have. They'd looked in relater shop windows, imagining and speculating on what kind of house they'd call a home one day.

He was finding it hard to contemplate a life without her there by his side.

But he was doing it. One solo honeymoon at a time.

The area was beautiful, white beaches and crystal blue water. A small yet thriving town that swelled in size in the summer. Tourists and backpackers, tanned and relaxed, casually mixing with the locals.

After sundown, he found himself back at the resort, the pool-side bar calling. He was on to his second beer when he saw her. The girl from the front desk. In a similar white pressed shirt, she had on some high wasted, high cut shorts that night. Her long toned legs bare as she waited tables around the pool.

"Can I get you something else?" she asked, her accent strong, her smile bright.

Handing her the empty bottle, "Can you recommend anything local that's good?" he asked.

She took it, eyeing him though her long brown lashes, "I think I have just the thing."

This continued for several more bottles. Until he found it increasingly hard to stay standing in the soft sand that surrounded the pool.

When she came to collect his last bottle, she had a cleaning rag in her hand, and wiped the table he was leaning on, looking up at him, and then back to the table.

"Anything else local I might be able to sample?" he asked, his speech slightly slurred.

"I think I'm going to have to cut you off now, sir," she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

He hid the pout—at being called "Sir"— not the lack of alcohol.

"If you've just flown into the country, you're going to want to try to get your body clock in sync with local time. Try and at least sleep at some point in the night and get up before noon tomorrow."

They were wise words for such a young woman. Too young for him, if he was being honest. But he wasn't— being honest that is. She was too beautiful to care about age. Age was just a number.

"You're very beautiful," he said to her, leaning in closer as she lifted the bus-bucket off the stool next to him.

"Thank you," she said, a slight blush heating her cheeks, "and you're very drunk. Time to go back to your room I think." She placed a soft hand in the middle of his back, directing and compelling him to make his way back up to the hotel wing.

He did, stumbling his way across the bar and pool area, fumbling with his plastic white card as he'd taken it from his back pocket and dropping it in the sand. He was down on his hands and knees, searching through the hidden sandy shadows of the evening, when he felt her kneel down next to him. Her phone in her hand, a light from it illuminating the ground as her toned arm reached by his ankle, picking up the card.

"Room 305, right?" she asked, standing, her long legs in short shorts stretching up as he tilted his head to follow her as she stood.

He nodded, mute, from those legs.

"I think I'd better make sure you get in safely, sir," she said, holding out a hand to help him up. He took it, but he didn't use her as a hoist much. He feared she'd think him much too weak to lift himself. He wasn't. He knew he was strong. He'd been a regular attendee to the local gym. And he knew he had the musculature underneath to prove it. And her hands were very soft.

She helped him to the lift, pressing the button as he lent on the wall to the side for support. She held the door open as he entered behind her and she pressed the floor number.

She had on a pair of white sand shoes, no socks. The color only accentuated the dark tan on her skin. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as they waited for the elevator to climb the three floors, his gaze raking up over her firm ass and tight stomach. Her shirt was neatly tucked into the shorts, pulling over her breasts and accentuating her hour glass figure.

The ding of the elevator brought him back to the space, his eyes darting to the opening doors and her ass as she walked out in front of him.

He followed her down the corridor, stopping only a half foot behind her, his face only inches from her neck as he lent over her shoulder while she unlocked his room door for him.

She turned, stepping back, a little started at his nearness. "Here you go sir, call the front desk if you need anything. I might see you tomorrow."

"Will you be at the bar again?" he asked, leaning on the door frame, his body levitating to hers.

"No," she said, shaking her head and stepping back a half pace, "I've just been filling in for the last few days, I go back to my normal job tomorrow, Leisure Activities."

That title got his attention. "What does that mean? Leisure Activities?"

She laughed a little at his poorly hidden interest. "It just means things like snorkeling, and scuba diving. I take learn-to-surf lessons if guests are interested. I'm the girl who has the keys to the kayaks and the jet skis. Those kinds of leisure activities." She gave him a little hand direction into the room, leaning in and pushing the card into the air conditioner slot, the internal light flashing on soon after.

He stepped into the room looking back at her, the unsaid questions in his eyes.

She stood in the doorway, looking at his face until she suddenly stepped back in the corridor. "Get some sleep, sir. Your package includes all leisure activities, you may as well get some use out of them. We have a boat that leaves at 10 am, it goes out to the reef. If you're interested in snorkeling and seeing some beautiful coral it's a pretty good day. But we disembark at 10 sharp."

He nodded, blinking slowly, watching her as she stepped back a little further. She kept his eye for several seconds more, before turning and heading back to the lift. He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh as he stood in the empty room.

He'd only ever been with one woman his entire life. He didn't even know how to try it on someone else. He heard the elevator ding and he stepped forward, sticking his head out the room as the doors opened. She turned to look as she stepped into the lift.

"Ten o'clock you say?" His voice echoing down the quiet hallway.

She smiled, nodding, "ten," and the elevator doors closed.

He was on time for the boat launch. The girl, himself, a family of four, and an older couple were all on board as they jetted away from the mainland towards the reef.

The coral was beautiful. With her help, he'd donned a mask and snorkel, and flippers on his feet. He floated over the underwater rainbow jungle at peace with the world around him for the first time since that fateful Thursday night. He'd seen bright yellows and vivid reds, greens of every shade and orange that had been almost luminescent against the clear water. The clams opening and closing quickly as his shadow slid over the surface fascinated him. The symphony of fish and other marine life were a psychedelic explosion of color in his grey-scale heart.

After a few hours of snorkeling they boated away from the reef, mooring at a small island nearby. The would-be Gilligan ensemble ate the provided picnic lunch on the sandy shores. They spent some time on the island, the young family and older couple setting of for a short exploration as he and the girl sat on the beach. They watched the undulating waves lap against the shore. At fist they sat side by side, quietly watching the boat tied to the pylon as it rocked with each swell.

They walked along the shore, side by side for several minutes, it could have been hours. soon the natural ease they felt between them won out as they'd started to talk. He lost track of time as they'd conversed.

He found a shell and picked it up and dusted the soft sand off it's edges. It had been the shape of a cone, small and white, a pattern light brown dots lined around it. He gave it to her.

She found a small piece of coral. Dried and sun beached white; small finger like projections sprouting off, on either side. She kept it. She knew a painting technique, she'd said, that made it look alive again.

They came back to the moored area and sat down in the sand. They chatted some more. The subject was non-consequential. She was as young as she looked–a university student, on summer break from her last year of a Biology degree. She was local to the area and had been working at the resort for several years.

"Thank your for your help last night," he said after a short lull in the conversation. "I really don't drink that much… normally." His fingers drew patterns in the sand, four fingers clawing marks on the pristine beach.

"But this isn't a normal time for you, is it?" she had a knowingness in her tone. Like she'd remembered that he was staying in the honeymoon suite… alone.

"No," he said quietly looking down to his toes, they were covered in tiny grains of white, a few flecks of brown, but mostly white. "It's a long story."

"Well if you need it, I'm a sucker for War and Peace," she smiled. The sinking afternoon sun was in her eyes as she squinted to him, her sincerity apparent.

He didn't feel she needed to know the hardships of his life, or the humiliations. She was young and beautiful and— if he was reading the situation right, and he thought he was—attracted to him.

"I'm Jake," he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. He'd been too drunk last night to appreciate the touch of her hand. But he'd remembered it and he'd wanted a sample again.

She slapped her hands together, dusting the sand of before placing hers in his. "Ness," she said simply, letting him grip her hand with assurance, a short current flowing over their fingers as they touched.

"Ness," he repeated, "it's very nice to meet you."

"Like wise Jake, like wise."

For three more days this same pattern repeated itself. Each day she would be coordinating an activity, and each day he would attend.

Together, they went paddle boarding, jet-skiing, and tubing. Always surrounded by a small throng of other guests. Always a respectable arm's length from one another. Always superficial small talk. Never the reason he was here alone. Never why he was staying in the honeymoon suite… alone.

Each day she wore her resort polo shirt and black quick dry pants. Depending on the activity, sometimes she'd wear flip flops, sometimes a boat shoe. Her hair was a copper brown color, mostly worn in a long braid down her back; sometimes she'd coil the braid around itself into a bun. The color complemented the green of her eyes perfectly. She kept her eyes covered most days by sunglasses, but he could tell she was watching him behind the tint, the same way he'd watch her through his.

He's seen the way her body moved as she walked. The way her breasts, high and perky, pressed into the life vest as she zipped it up over her chest. The way her throat stretched as she called to gather the other guest attentions. She didn't need to gain his attention as the groups would gather, she always had it.

It was the weekend, a Saturday and her day off. She'd met him on the surf side of the bay at 10 am, like they had arranged the day before.

She was going to teach him to surf.

On her own time.

She wasn't in her normal polo and shorts this day. She had on a simple black string bikini. As she trotted over to where he'd been waiting— in nothing but that simple black bikini— she had a black and white rash shirt and her flip flops in her hand and her surfboard under the other arm . Her hair too was different; out and free, long curls that almost came down to her hips were whipping over her shoulders and arms in the ocean wind. She was spectacular to look at.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, "I was stuck talking to someone."

He just smiled, shrugging a 'not to worry'. He hadn't trusted himself to speak and not say something idiotic.

He watched her through the sunglasses as she threaded her arms through her rash shirt, the material bunching in her hands as the pulled it over her head. Her breasts rose and squished as she lifted her arms. It was a spectacular sight to see. He almost complained out loud as the shirt covered her perfect mounds, hiding them from his gawp. He'd turned and followed her instead, disappointed that again, that tattoo he'd seen the first day was still hidden for his view. He consoled himself by watching her bottom in those cutaway briefs as she walked up the sand to the equipment shed. The black material sat halfway, diagonally across each cheek. Even her ass was tanned he'd thought to himself. And perfect in the flesh too.

They spent the first hour practicing to surf on the beach. Lying on the fiberglass, practicing to paddle, then jumping up on to both feet with the stability with the sand underneath. When she'd been happy he was fast enough onto his feet they proceeded into the water. He was happy also—on how good his abdominals and chest looked as they bunched doing it. More so, he was stimulated by how amazing her inner thighs looked as her muscles flexed holding her steady.

He had numerous attempts catching a wave before he caught his first. He stayed upright for six seconds, then for twelve on the next. They'd both paddle out and wait together before surfing in on a set, side by side, the process repeated again and again. For the whole day they did this. They would wait, lying on their boards for a good wave to come, the sound of the ocean break would be far away, the small lapping as it splashed on the board and on her skin his focus.

They added to their repertoire of small talk. She now knew about his mechanical business back home. She knew he had two sisters, twins who left the reservation where they grew up, to leave him to care for their wheelchair bound father. She discovered his favorite meal was baked salmon, cooked on open coals on the beach. The same he'd had at the salmon bake events of his home town, every year of his life. The same event where, after a day of food, family and stories, and a celebration of tradition, he'd asked her to marry him; and she'd said yes. That had been 14 months ago.

"Why isn't your wife with you Jake?" she finally asked. He knew she'd been curious to know this, ever since he first checked in… alone, five days ago. Initially he hadn't wanted to talk about it, now though, he hesitated because he did't want it to interfere with whatever it was that was burgeoning between them.

He'd opted for the honest approach, sitting up on the board, his legs hanging either side. She'd mirrored him, her long hair stuck to her chest, the outline of her black bikini top detailed though her white Lycra shirt.

"She's not my wife," he stated abruptly. It was important to him that she know he'd never been— married that is. "I caught her in bed with another man, and she called of the wedding two days before," he said, "I had the vacation booked and the time off work, so I came anyway."

She'd just sat there, mouth gaping and down turned as her eyes filled with sorrow for him. "Oh Jacob, that's terrible."

He simply shrugged, "ten years down the drain, the best decade of my life wasted with a cheater."

She lent over her board, her hand reaching across to his. "Don't say that. If I'd hazard to guess, I'd say your best years are yet to come," she smiled, giving his hand a tight squeeze as the boards began to rock with a new set of waves, the current flowed through their fingers once again.

Then, looking behind, she let go of his hand. She swung her legs up as she lay down and paddled with the tide.

He did the same, keeping pace and surging forward to get in front of the swell. She let him. Each time, she let him go first. And then she would follow.

Standing knee deep in the water, board under his arm, he watched and waited as she rode a following wave in. He loved watching her hair flying behind, her long arms outstretched for balance. That tiny bikini bottom had ridden up, just cupping the edges of her ass, the smooth firm skin underneath teasing him. No wonder she was tanned everywhere, he'd thought to himself.

"What?" she asked as she walked to shore, her board floating out in front. He'd been staring, watching her body as it moved. He was admiring her pretty face, the way her cheek bones rose, giving her face a natural heart shape, her eyebrow arching smoothly to the even bronzed skin of her brow. He liked the way her mouth was set to a perpetual smile, even when she was relaxed. Like she was now. Her lips, he wanted to kiss them. He'd never kissed another pair of lips before, he'd never wanted to. But these lips here… these lips had started to invade his thoughts and his dreams. Constantly.

"Nothing," he smiled, adjusting his board under his arm and stepping up the sand. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Do you want to go for a late lunch?"

She smiled, nodding as she came into step with him. "I'll have to go home to get some clothes first, how about an early dinner?" she said, looking at the sports watch on her wrist.

"It's a date," he said, cringing the second the presumptuous comment left his mouth.

She looked briefly at him, not breaking her stride. If she'd felt awkward from the remark, she didn't make it obvious.

Once his board was back in the equipment shed and they'd walked, side by side, to the hotel lobby, they made no move to separate.

They hovered in the foyer and after a moment, she'd started twisting on one foot, wrapping the towel he'd lent her tighter around her waist. "Do you want to meet somewhere? Do you have a palace in mind?" she seemed suddenly nervous and unsure. He guessed she'd noted his 'date' comment and was going with it. "Or… you could just come with me to mine, we can take my car into town together," she'd continued.

Yes, she'd definitely noted the 'date' comment, he thought.

Her house. He wanted to see her house. He'd dreamed of what her bedroom looked like.

"Sure, we can go together. Do you want to come up real quick—while I change?" he asked, moving to the elevator. His confidence growing from her subtle advances.

"Why not," she nodded, following.

She'd hid the smirk as he'd lead the way, silent watching his ass as he moved.

She'd stood, timidly in the hallway of his room as he flustered around, hurrying to pick up the layers of dirty clothes that had accumulated over the past week. It had always been a contentious issue between Bella and himself— to keep his clothes off the floor, that is. And he'd cherished leaving every shirt, sock and under-short on the carpet of the singly occupied honeymoon suite every day he'd been a guest at the resort… because he could. He was regretting it now. A little.

He'd thought he'd seen her staring at his muscled back as he dashed, shirtless, around the room, bending and stuffing the balled piles of dirtied clothes under his arm. She'd simply laughed at his fussing, her carefree singsong giggle filtering through the deluxe suite. She had a very pretty laugh, he'd though.

She'd ridden her bicycle to the beach that day and he followed her through the staff entry to the where it was locked away. There were many second looks and just as many 'hellos' from her co-corkers, mostly male, as the pair waked through the kitchen. Him in cargoes and a t-shirt, her in nothing but that bikini, her wet rash shirt in hand; the hotel beach towel discarded on the bathroom floor back in his room. He saw the tattoo then, as he followed her down the hallway. It was a coral reef design, a kaleidoscope of colors weaved in an out in the small scene, reef fish and turtles, a dolphin diving beneath the waves, the indigenous inspired marine-scape spread out in a transverse line just above her backside. He wanted to look closer at the details. Much closer. His heart gave a little splutter at the thought.

She rode her bicycle, with her surfboard under her arm, in nothing but that black bikini and flip flops while he kept pace the three blocks back to her home. She lived in a granny flat that was attached to her grandparent's home. It was a grand house; large windows that made use of the vast ocean views across the road. She'd said her grandfather was the local doctor, it fitted with the luxury vehicles in the driveway.

He followed her to the entry of her flat and was at her side as she'd unlocked the font door. The scent of her perfume was strong in the studio style room. Her bed was similar to how he'd imagined it, clean white cotton, full and fluffy, the sheets crinkled, he'd assumed from her body as she'd slept. He imagined what that body would look like asleep, and in other less rested positions.

He watched with a reciprocated humor as she immediately set to work tiding and picking up the layers of clothes strewn across her couch and bed. A pure white bra on the floor. The matching lace panties by the dresser.

"I might have a quick shower," she'd said, moving to the sofa and clearing the pile of clean but unfolded clothes off it. "Here, sit," she motioned with her head. She threw the clothes on another seat and turned the television on for him. He'd sat down, wondering how many other men had sat in that same seat. He'd never sat in a woman's apartment before, only ever his own… and hers. The one they'd shared together. Until last week.

From the kitchen area she called. "Can I get you drink? I've got coke and sprite… there's beer here if you want?" her voice echoing from within the stainless steel box.

"Sure, a beer would be good."

She returned with the open drink and a large packet of chips that she lay on the coffee table in front. While already chewing, she took a second handful, "just make yourself at home, I'll just be five minutes."

She smiled, her cheeks full of the crisps and winked as she tiptoe ran to the bathroom just to the right of where he'd sat. He couldn't help but follow her with his eyes. He could see the side of her breast in that black triangle, bouncing as she trotted. Her mostly dry hair had swung and curled over her back. He wandered what that hair might feel like under his fingers. Changing the channel on the television he found the local football playing on a station. He hadn't understood all the rules but, football was football, and he'd appreciated the athleticism none the less.

But watching the screen was a lost cause, the sound of the shower turning on had completely distracted him from the field. He could hear the sound of water as it sluiced over her skin. The picture he'd visualized of how she would look naked and with soapy foam falling over her body had made it hard to stay seated on that sofa.

He consoled himself with the fact that they were going out for a meal together. That was a step in the right direction. He stayed seated.

She emerged, less than five minutes later, wrapped in nothing but a towel. She had setup near her bed a Japanese paper like screen. He supposed it was to make some kind of division to the room. Again she'd run on tiptoe to it.

With a deep, optimistic breath, he discreetly turned on the sofa, craning his neck to see if the shadow of her outline as she dressed was evident. It wasn't. His shoulders slumped on the exhale.

She'd chosen to wear a short hot coral skirt that afternoon, matched with a cream, wide strap tank, cut of at the midriff. It was tight and hugging her waist and the tops of her breasts. He didn't think she had a bra on under that thing. The bright orange-pink of her skirt did something to the way her tan sat within her skin, it illuminated her. It had taken all of Jake's willpower to not reach out and place a large palm on her slim, warm thigh as it moved, depressing the clutch with her foot as she drove. She really looked so very good in that skirt; with legs that went to her armpits. Bella had always had good legs, but she'd never had the confidence to wear anything that short outside of the swimming pool or the bedroom. Ness had the confidence… deservedly so.

They found a grill house and chose to sit out on a deck that over looked the ocean. They ate in companionable silence, both ravenous from a full day on the water. The sun was setting over the mountains behind them as the house band started setting up. With full bellies but still hungry for more, they ordered a second round of drinks and moved to the bar area. Her drink of choice: soda, lime, and vodka. He stuck with the local beer.

The longer they sat, the more they drank. The better they got acquainted, the more daring he became. They were enjoying the music, watching people as they walked past on the beach in front when she turned to see him watching her. That was the second time that day.

"What?" she'd asked, smiling, her teeth clean and bright and straight. For someone as beautiful as this woman, she still seemed so innocent and doe eyed he'd thought to himself. Young and fresh and an excellent choice for a fling.

"Jake, you're staring at me," she laughed as she spoke, but he could hear the uncertainty in her voice too. She'd thought he was attracted to her, but she still wasn't sure. It had been five days after all.

"You Ness, I'm staring at you. You're really just, a very beautiful woman," he said, shifting closer in on the private love-seat they'd been sharing.

She swallowed hard, licking her lips as she lent her hand on the seat next to her. He was so close, just a few inches and their lips would be touching.

"And, you are a very handsome man."

He lent further in to her then, a hand coming up to the side of her waist, pulling and encouraging. Then his lips met hers. Her eyes flickered closed and so too did his. Both operated by feel. Both were expert navigators.

She'd been smiling when he'd kissed her. Her lips were open on his, before she slowly shut them. Her's captured his before releasing them and then acquiring them once again. Over and over this happened. Lips open, lips shut. Hearts racing.

His hands became animated, dancing over the soft skin between her skirt and top. His thumb had brushed upwards, underneath the shirt. He'd felt the bare skin of her breast from underneath. A surge of excitement jerked through him as he felt the evidence that he had indeed been correct…there was no bra.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and the two found themselves lost within each other's lips. She moved closer, her leg attempting to wrap around him, the illuminating skirt riding up her tanned and toned thigh. His hand covered the place where the material had been.

They pulled away after several minutes. Both panting, both excited.

Her hand came flat over his heart, pressing a palm to his chest. "Do you want to get out of here?" She asked, her emerald green eyes looked up at him, shimmering and hot.

He nodded then and a smile had spread across his handsome face, his hands were still twisted in her hair. "Your place or mine?" he answered breathlessly.

"Mine."

…

His fantasies hadn't begun to actuate the real thing. She was spectacular underneath it all.

They'd arrived back at her home, lips and hands exploring every inch, as clothes once again were laid strewn on the floor. A trail was left from the front door to the bed.

He'd laid her down, his nakedness covering hers as he worshiped her sun-tanned skin. It was sweet and salty, and exceptionally responsive. The studio was filled with her moans of pleasure as he made good on all the practice he'd had from the first of her kind.

She kept herself bare. She'd replied that it looked better in swimsuits when he commented— thankfully of course—on the smoothness of her lips. He'd agreed and then enjoyed her some more to prove it. He'd spelled it out as evidence of his approval... with his tongue.

The first time she came undone that night was around his fingers with a loud shrill call from the white crumpled sheets. He placed a satisfied kiss inside her thigh as he crawled back up to her mouth. Then she'd moved from beneath him, twisting and reaching to lie on her side. He'd taken that opportunity, exploring the curves of her side and the straighter lines of her back. His mouth blew hot breaths behind her ear as his hand reached around to the front. He'd cupped her small pert breast as he pinched, enjoying the sounds that ensued.

She'd reached behind then, griping the thing that was pressing into her ass and tugging—hard.

He'd let out a guttural sound, his hips thrusting enthusiastically into her palm. They stayed there like that for quite some time, him covering her back as his hands played at the front, her hand reaching behind and stoking up the fire that had started burning between it all.

He wanted to be inside her. He'd never been inside another woman before, and he wanted inside this one particularly badly. His arm gripped under her hips, pulling her up on to her knees as he lined himself up.

Then she'd twisted again, showing him the square foil packet between her fingers. How stupid he'd felt for forgetting. He'd not used them for many years. Then an unwanted and stray thought entered his mind; he hoped she had been using them with the musician for the last two, at least.

Ness had known what to do. She'd opened it, getting a good two handed grip before she'd slowly rolled it on. The foreskin had been sensitively pulled back as she did. She'd shifted under him again, shuffling to face him as his lips found hers once more. Open and then closed. Now with the addition of tongues—two of them, to be exact—they kissed.

Her hand had remained on his erection, rubbing herself with his tip. His were still on her breasts, kneading them like sweet bakers dough, soft and pliable, a once a week treat. He hoped for more before the week was through however.

And then it had hit him. He'd be leaving in three days' time. With a cold shudder, he pulled back from her kiss, his head still just lingering at her entrance. "You know I'm leaving on Tuesday, Ness." His words had abruptly cut through the bubble of heat and lust and carnality that had surrounded them.

"I know," she'd said meeting his eye with a fierceness he'd rarely seen in another human being. The green in them was so vivid, so alive. He almost regretted bringing it up. But he hadn't wanted to be one to take advantage. Even of a spectacularly naked beautiful woman with her legs apart beneath him.

"Why'd you have to go and spoil it by reminding me we only have three days?" Her eyes were glassy, the beginning tears fighting their escape. "You don't think I know exactly how long we have? That's why I never date tourists Jacob. Never. But you. You… God, there's something here that I can't explain. There's that spark, that chemistry… and ugh... Just look at you!" she'd said in reply to his frankness.

Then she'd started running her hands over his shoulders, as if to remind her self of his dimensions, she explored the lines between each muscle. He'd understood what she'd said, he'd felt that spark too. Kismet his mother would have called it. Kismet.

Her arms had snaked under his from where he'd held himself, suspended above her. Her hands had palmed up the ripples of muscle in his back, tracing the deep grove that ran along the spine as her fingers curled over his shoulders from the back. She lifted her hips, running her heat along the length of his before she'd continued to speak. "I'm under no false illusions of just where you'll be, come Tuesday afternoon, Jacob. You'll be on an airplane. And I'll still be here." He'd felt how that fact had physically caused her to wither a little, he'd withered a little too.

But then her hand was back, stroking over the latex, and he'd bloomed once again.

"I just wanted it to be clear. Full disclosure," he'd said, a finger leaving her breast to find her cheek. He drew a soft line down her skin to the plumpness of her lips swollen form his kisses. They couldn't have a real relationship, what this was— whatever it was— could only exist inside the vacation bubble. A place where business and school, bills, and ex's had ceased to exist—for the week at least.

"If we're doing full disclosure, then I have something to say too." Her hands were still sliding over the latex, up and down, up… and down. "I know you were with her for a very long time, and I'd guess not with anyone else since then."

"Or ever," he added, tipping his hips and sighing as she keep up the movements.

"Or ever," she repeated, stilling her fist and pulling on his hair until he lowered his lips to hers. It was a short but sweet kiss, she'd tugged on his hair to pull back. "And my confession is, nether have I. Only the one, and no-one else since my high school boyfriend. It's been over a year since we broke up."

"A year!" he'd said, leaning back surprised, only to be wrangled back down, his chest pulled to hers. "It's been a year! How? I mean, look at you!" He'd been shocked. A girl that beautiful could have had her pick of the men. They flocked to her like seagulls. He'd seen it.

"And look at you," she replied, reciprocating his comment before lifting off her pillow to kiss the underside of his Adams apple. "Yet still, here we both are. Both of us in each other arms and still unfucked this entire week. So let me make this promise to you, Jacob. That even if we never see each other again, for the rest of our days, we will never, ever forget the three days we are about to have."

And with that she'd lifted her hips, pressing herself to him. Both let out a corresponding guttural moan of pleasure as they became one.

They'd started the three days off well, several times. He got to see how the soapy foam rinsed from her body. He got to have the pleasure of helping it along with his hand and his lips.

They'd woken in each other arms the next day. Her face pressed to his chest, his arms had been encircling hers. One of hers had lay on his chest, playing with the fine sprinkling of hair above his heart.

Nuzzling into her throat, he said good morning to her the best way he knew.

She had ended up on all fours, his arms and legs covering hers as he rocked back and forth. The heat of the early day had their bodies sweat and slick, the skin of his lower stomach gliding over her tanned derriere. He's gaze had found that tattoo as he'd knelt back, lifting his torso and tilting in a way inside her that brought forth a new symphony of sounds. His thumbs traced over the sea-scape beneath him, while his fingers had still gripped her hips. He pulled her back on to him, over and over. Again and again he'd done this, in and out, pulling her back to meet him with hard and fast thrusts until he'd felt himself almost reach the finish line. He'd lent forwards again, one arm braced to her side, the other hand weaving fingers through her damp bare flesh.

Around and around, his fingers had started to circle, moving with her body as her hips had rocked harder back. Around and around, his fingers slick and sticky. She'd pulled her long, curing hair over one shoulder, it flowed like a mahogany waterfall, down to the crumpled white sheets beneath. She had a very beautiful neck, he'd thought as he'd filled her, his breath blowing through the shell of her ear. She'd tilted her head back and his lips had kissed gently behind the soft skin of her throat. The sweet caress causing already upright nipples to bunch further; tight and proud as they'd hung beneath her. He'd come back onto his heels then, pulling her back with him. Then she was kneeling upright too, her back had pressed into his chest, her ass sitting in his lap as they moved as one.

His fingers still circled her pearl, and the other hand had then been free to crisscross over her chest, grabbing handfuls of plump, soft dough. Her little cherries were puckered, and had fit nicely between his thumb and finger as he'd tweaked and pinched.

If she hadn't already been, this would have brought her to her knees. So too, for him as he watched the scene in the dresser mirror. She was truly a spectacular goddess. He'd shown homage by his offering. She'd fluttered around his length, her arms had reached back and held his head to her shoulder as she'd lifted up, one last time, before pressing herself back down on to him. Hard and deep he'd gone, lifting to meet her as they both lost control.

They'd not dressed that entire second day, spending it naked and wrapped in each other's skin. The last of the protection had been used after their hot swim in the pool outside. The food too, had run out.

So together, they'd finally dressed, late in the afternoon. She'd chosen a thin summer dress, aqua like the ocean and a length so short that it had been hard for him to keep it on her. He knew for a fact this time that she wore no bra underneath. They hadn't driven, instead walking hand in hand along the water's edge, to a fish and chip takeaway that she knew near the beach. They both had appetites that had paralleled their level of activity that day… and that night before. They'd stopped at the drug store after they'd eaten; the box open and one square less before they'd left the sand.

Monday morning was the third day, it had found them sore and exhausted, and began with Ness unenthusiastically getting ready for a day at work. She'd been tempted to not go in, but she deiced she would once he'd reminded her that he could simply go with her to the reef that day. They'd left the house early, giving them time to swim in the ocean before her shift had to commence.

They rode on her bike the three blocks together. He sat on the seat with feet on the pedals, with her on his lap at his mercy.

Through the employee's hall they walked into the lobby. "Oh, Mr. Black," had come a voice from the desk. A dark skinned local boy, with long dark hair, streaked from the sun and tied back at the nape of his neck was holding out a slip of paper. He'd glowered at her as he stood behind the counter. And her hand dropped from his as she looked back.

"Renesmee," the boy had said, nodding briefly.

"Nahuel," was all she'd replied.

"Mr. Black, you have a phone message," he said, handing him the paper and ignoring the girl standing at his side. While professional, the man was brief and curt, turning and going about his work no less than a second later.

"Thank you," he said, his voice deep and resonate in the empty lobby. They'd walked to the elevator as he'd read the note. It was a message from his best friend to phone him immediately. The call was dated Saturday evening. He neatly folded the paper and placed in his pocket. He'd call Quil from his room.

He looked as the doors closed, the Leisure activity list for week stuck to the metal. He'd broken the silence, speaking as they rode to the third floor, "Not a friend?" he'd asked. He'd known he had no right to be jealous. He was leaving tomorrow morning, after all.

"My high school boyfriend. My ex," she'd answered inside a sigh. "My First." Her voice had become quiet with the avowal.

The elevator then dinged and the doors opened. He took her by the hand and pulled her along as he looked at her over his shoulder. "But not your last," he smiled, a brow arching up as they'd shared a knowing look.

She'd giggled at that. No, he hadn't been her last, she'd thought. And by far, he was not her best. The tall dark stranger in front of her was. And with a smirk, she'd thought to herself how lucky it was that they had an hour before her shift was to start.

He'd hurried to open the door, making several rushed attempts to insert the card. In it would go, and out it would come, three short beeps calling the fail with an angry red light. She nudged him aside and did it, first go.

The door opened with a satisfying click and finally, the honeymoon suite was put to good use.

She'd been dressing, tucking her work polo shirt in when he'd lifted the hotel telephone and punched out the numbers he had written down on a little book. He'd kept it with his passport.

"Hey Claire, it's Jake," he said.

Then there was a small pause as he listened. Oh, Jake! How are you, how's the vacation?

"Yeah, it's been good, they have a great leisure program here." He looked up at her then, his eyes burning in the large mirror that had been fixed to the wall as she'd looked back and sniggered, all the while twisting her beautiful hair into a long, thin braid. "I've been keeping myself busy.

"Is Quil there?" he asked, "I got a message to call him."

There was a rustling and he imagined the phone being pulled from her hands as his cousin— and friend— took the receiver.

Let me talk to him! Jake. Jake, where the fuck have you been? I left the message Saturday morning, our time! I was getting ready to call the local police.

"Sorry man I didn't get the message until this morning." He really hadn't been that sorry, he'd had far too satisfying a weekend to care.

Oh wait, have you been staying somewhere else? Oh shit, has our jilted groom been going down, down under?

He'd refused to answer his nosy friend. He'd tell him the details next week. He was determined to be a gentleman while she was in the room.

Oh shit, is she there?

Silence.

Oh come on Jake. Tell me something! Clare's shut up shop still.

They'd had their third child less than a month ago.

He still didn't answer.

"Would you stop being a creeper and tell we what the urgent message was bro!"

Oh shit. Well it doesn't even matter now. Bella was at your place yesterday morning. She's taken your couch, and the microwave. She's cleaning out the apartment, dude.

He paused at that. Thinking to himself that it hadn't taken her long. He'd assumed she'd go stay at her father's. But maybe she way staying at his house. The musician had a large, expensive home, deep in the Olympic forest.

Surprisingly, as he thought about it, he found that he didn't care. Quite frankly, he no longer had wanted anything that had been theirs. Lucky the lease was almost expired. He'd been thinking about not wanting to stay at that apartment when he returned home either. As he looked at the woman bent over as she put on her shoes there in front of him, he hadn't wanted to return home at all.

"Ah well, there's not much I can do about it now. Sue and Charlie won't let her take too much." He hoped. "Thanks for letting me know though, bro."

With laces tied, she'd come to sit on his lap, straddling his hip as she'd started to suck his earlobe, her hand rubbing over the growth in his pants. Her breasts had been right there at his eye line. He'd wanted to take her again, right there, on the hotel wing-back chair.

No worries. Me and Embry are gunna come get you Wednesday afternoon. The shop is fine by the way. We got Mrs. Stanley's Beemer going, finally. That thing is a piece of shit. Look under the hood before you buy a car not just the logo—

She'd kissed the long muscle that ran the length of his throat as he'd listened. Her fingers then, at his fly, unzipping and letting free his need and she slipped off his lap.

His friend had been rambling, and he had to cut him off. "Quil, dude. This phone call is gunna cost me fortune. Tell me all… about it… when I… get… in," his voice faltering as he felt the wetness of her mouth envelope him. Entirely.

Holy shit! Are getting fucked right this minute?

"Almost," he'd gasped, squeezing the words out as his throat tightened, the same time as hers tightened around him.

He never knew if his friend had said anything further. The receiver had been placed back in the cradle, the clicking sound cutting through the sound of suction.

He'd followed her out on the reef that day, at 10 am sharp. He opted to stay aboard and keep her company as guests new to the resort had explored the coral. They spent the entire day talking of their dreams and of their aspirations. Of all the things they'd do in their lives. Apart.

They did not sleep that last night. Instead, they spent their last hours together in darkness gazing up at the stars out on the deserted sandy beach. Heated skin, cooled by the ocean breeze. He didn't take her again that evening. Instead, waiting to make love one final time as the sun rose over the Pacific.

He was still inside her as the sun came up. The clouds, as they mixed with the warming rays of morning sunshine, created that same coral color that had illuminated her legs that night. It illuminated her entire body instead. Her body and her face… the first light lit up her beautiful face. He would remember that face for an eternity. Her skin was smooth, like polished marble, the radiance highlighting the arch of her brow, the fine line of her jaw, the full pout of her lips. She was truly beautiful.

She nestled into his side, a long tanned leg had wrapped around his. Their bodies hummed together.

When she'd run her smooth leg up his, it caused a further pulling in his loins as it went. Her face had been pressed just over his heart as she'd listened to the beating. Her lips, they had left small kisses on his brown skin.

She pressed her warm soft lips one last time to his chest, long and slow before pulling back. Her breath sent a shiver over his skin as she spoke. "Every time I look out at that ocean… and see the sun coming up… I'm going to think you, Jacob. Of how it's the same sun, on the same ocean; that you might be watching it set over there," she said quietly. He could hear the tears threatening in her voice.

He too felt the constriction in his chest. Letting her go was going to be exceptionally hard.

"And I'll be watching, every time is sets, beautiful girl. I'll know you're waking up to another beautiful day in your life. However it goes Ness, I will always remember this. I'll always remember you."

He'd pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. Her hair had smelt like salt and the rosemary shampoo that the hotel supplied. He'd felt a cool tear as it fell from her eye, onto the skin of his chest. He'd fought back his own.

She'd lent up then, crawling over him and placing her lips on his mouth. Then she kissed him in a way he'd never been kissed before.

With soul and passion…and heartbreak.

She stood then, quickly dressing in yesterday's clothes. He stood up as well, pulling on his shorts, he left his chest bare.

"I have to go home and get ready for work," she'd said, her voice full of her grief as she'd stepped closer to him. "I suppose you'll be gone by the time I get back."

He nodded, "the shuttle bus comes as eight."

"So…" she'd paused, pressing her palm into the base of her chest. That same location where he too had been feeling an aching ball of hurt build. He imagined she was feeling the pain there too. "Then this is good bye." Then she'd stood straight up, a gap of mere inches between them. It had felt like an ocean.

"I guess it is." That was all he'd said, he'd been powerless to speak from the fiery pain that had seared its way up his chest and had burnt him alive as he silently screamed.

"Well. It was very nice to meet you Jacob Black," she'd said, coming up on her toes and leaving a lingering light kiss on his lips. Her hands flat on his chest as she did.

He'd placed two gentle hands on her waist, willing his fingers to memorize the feeling.

"It was nice to meet you too, Renesmee." He'd never learnt her surname.

She'd turned then, running up the sand. He'd watched her go. He didn't follow, even though his entire being had been strained to do so.

When she was out of sight the burning became too much. He'd turned towards the water, running with all his might and diving underneath the waves.

...

He'd returned to the honeymoon suite… alone. He packed his half of the couple's luggage they'd bought months ago. Then he picked up the clothes that lay strewn on the floor from the morning prior. Sitting on the desk by the telephone, alone and with no note, he found that piece of coral from their first day out on the reef, the one she'd kept for herself. She'd given left it for him. He picked it up, imagining the warmth of it once having being held in her hands. She had colored it bright and bold. It seemed to be luminescing of its own accord. He'd placed in carefully in the pocket of his shorts.

And left.

He took the elevator down, checking out and handing in the white key cards. Two of them, to be exact. Then he boarded the small bus that would take him down the coast.

He'd watched out the window as they traveled along the road, waiting and hoping as the bus had approached the familiar house. There she'd stood on the driveway, her hand held up in a stationary wave, the other covering her mouth as she cried. She'd been in her white polo shirt and black quick dry pants. White sneakers on her feet. Her hair tied back in long thin braid.

As the coach had sped by, he'd held his hand up to the glass, his long fingers spread wide as if they might have gathered one more feel of her warm tanned skin. Then he'd turned backwards in his seat, spinning and rotating his head over his shoulder to watch as her figure had disappeared into the distance. He'd sat heavily then back in his chair. Then he closed his eyes, and let a single tear escape.

...

As they hurtled across the Pacific Ocean, somewhere between the refueling stop in Brisbane and LA, he ordered his fifth scotch on the rocks and toasted the empty seat next to him.

He took out the brightly colored coral piece form his pocket and held it to his chest. She'd painted it that orange-pink, the same as her skirt that night; the color that lit her tanned skin up from within.

He plugged in his head phones and wrapped himself up in the thin courtesy blanket that was much too small for his frame. He found the most depressing music he could and remembered what he wanted to forget.

Her.

...

I know this is sad, it's just way I saw it pan out in my head. Life isn't always a fairy tale.

Let me know what you think in the shape of a Review.