Three Days in Hvar

Friends Short Stories · approx. 9 min read · 18+

A sailing trip around Hvar with my best friend of fifteen years. A literary short story. 18+.

Lukas and I had booked the sailing trip four months ago. It was an old tradition between us, every three or four years chartering a week, with a tiny skipper named Davor who took us from Trogir to Vis and back. We had known Davor since the second time. We had known each other for fifteen years.

Lukas had been divorced for three years. I hadn’t been in a serious relationship for five. We had never slept together. We had kissed once, at twenty-two, drunk, at a wedding, and the next morning made a silent agreement never to repeat it.

On day three we were anchored in the bay of Pakleni Otoci, almost empty because it was still early in the season. Davor had rowed ashore to get bread. Lukas and I sat on the foredeck in the late afternoon sun, each with a glass of rosé.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been weird since Trogir.”

He looked over the water, which was a bright mint green in the late light.

“Anna’s been asking me for three weeks if I’m happy. I don’t know why.”

“Are you?”

“Here, yes. Otherwise, not really.”

I nodded. I hadn’t heard him talk like that often. Lukas was a reserved person, shaped by a home where feelings were treated as a logistical problem. He rarely said something twice, and when he said it once, he meant it.

“Why not otherwise?” I asked.

“Because for three years I haven’t known what I’m getting up for.”

“Have you told anyone that?”

“Just you.”

We sat in silence. A seagull screamed further out, another answered. Lukas drank, set down his glass, looked at me.

“Theresa.”

“Yes.”

“If I tell you something now that I haven’t told you for years, will you do something sensible with it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

He nodded. He turned the glass in his hand.

“I don’t think I would have taken this trip under normal circumstances. Davor was an excuse. You weren’t a reason, you were the reason.”

“What’s the difference?”

“One is casual. The other is intentional.”

I looked at the water. The water didn’t look back, which wasn’t surprising.

“We decided that fifteen years ago.”

“At twenty-two. Without being sober. I don’t think such a decision lasts a lifetime.”

“It was a convenient decision.”

“We haven’t been convenient for three years.”

I turned my glass. Lukas was someone I had never turned down in fifteen years because he had never asked for anything. He was now asking for something I hadn’t answered for years because the question had never been asked.

“What if it doesn’t work?” I asked.

“Then we’re back in Vienna in a week, and we’re the same as before.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I’m trying to believe it.”

Davor came back from the beach. We saw the dinghy from afar. We had maybe twelve minutes. Lukas looked at me, I looked at him, and I said very quietly:

“Tonight. When Davor sleeps.”

He nodded. He took his glass, went into the galley, came back with a second glass and refilled mine. Davor climbed aboard, patted my shoulder, cursed about the bad bread he had found. We all three laughed. No one noticed a thing.

At midnight, the lights were out. Davor slept in the forward cabin, door closed. We usually slept on opposite benches in the salon because it was more practical. Tonight we didn’t sleep in the salon.

Lukas and I went to the stern. On the aft deck was a narrow mattress that Davor sometimes pulled out when it was too hot. It was already out tonight. We hadn’t discussed it, but it was there.

We lay down, side by side, faces to the stars. For half a minute we said nothing.

Then Lukas turned his head to me. In the starlight I could barely see his eyes, but I felt his gaze. He raised a hand and placed it on my cheek. His fingers were warm, rough from the sailing lines. He stroked my cheek, gently, almost hesitantly, and then he leaned forward and kissed me.

It wasn’t a tender kiss. It was a kiss that had been pent up for fifteen years. His lips pressed against mine, firm, demanding. I opened my mouth, let his tongue in. It tasted of the red wine we had drunk with dinner and something salty, of the sea and of him. I felt his hand grab my hair and pull me tighter against him. A soft moan escaped me, half surprised, half aroused.

“I want you,” he whispered against my mouth. His voice was hoarse, barely audible over the gentle rocking of the boat. “I want you now. For years. Since that fucking wedding.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I slid my hand under his T-shirt. His skin was warm, the muscles under my fingers tensing. He shuddered as I stroked his chest, over the hard nipples that stiffened under my touch. I unbuttoned his shirt, almost tearing at it, and then his upper body lay naked before me in the moonlight. I bent down and took one of his nipples into my mouth. He moaned loudly, a sound he immediately stifled as he thought of Davor. But I didn’t let up. I sucked on the little hard tip until he gasped and writhed beneath me.

“God, Theresa,” he whispered. “You’re driving me crazy.”

I laughed softly and let my hand wander further down. His stomach twitched under my fingers. I felt the heat radiating from his body, and then my hand on his belt. I opened it with a quick motion, let the zipper fly open. His arousal was immediately palpable: a hard, thick shaft pressing against the fabric of his boxers. I slid my hand inside, and when I wrapped my fingers around his cock, he jerked violently.

He was big, bigger than I had expected. His cock head pressed against my palm, moist and smooth. I began to massage him, slowly, up and down, while I returned his kiss. He groaned into my mouth, his hands trembling as he tried to pull off my dress. I helped him, pushing the fabric over my head until I lay naked before him. The cool night air brushed over my skin, but his body was hot as he leaned over me.

His hands roamed over my breasts. They were heavy tonight, sensitive, and when he took my nipple between his fingers and rolled it, a jolt shot straight to my cunt. I arched my back, pressing my chest against his hand. He took the hint, bent down, and took my nipple into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue made me moan, a low, guttural sound that I barely recognized as my own.

“Fuck,” I breathed, my fingers digging into his hair.

He sucked harder, his hand sliding down my stomach, over my hip, until his fingers found my wet cunt. I was already soaked, the anticipation and the years of denial making me slick. He groaned against my breast when he felt how wet I was.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “All for you. Always.”

He pushed a finger inside me, then another, stretching me slowly. I cried out, a sharp, bitten-off sound, as he curled them inside me, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. His thumb pressed against my clit, circling it with a pressure that made my hips buck.

“Don’t stop,” I begged.

He didn’t. He fucked me with his fingers while his mouth moved to my other breast, biting gently at the nipple. I was close already, the years of wanting him boiling over into a desperate need. But I didn’t want to come like this. I wanted him inside me.

“Lukas,” I said, my voice shaking. “I want you inside me. Now.”

He pulled his fingers out, and I whimpered at the loss. He positioned himself between my legs, the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance. He looked down at me, his eyes dark and hungry in the moonlight.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Instead of answering, I reached down and guided him inside me. The sensation of him filling me, inch by inch, was overwhelming. He was thick, stretching me in a way that was almost too much, but I didn’t care. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

“Yes,” I hissed. “Fuck, yes.”

He began to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate and deep. I could feel every inch of him sliding in and out, the friction building a heat that spread through my entire body. He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “You feel so good. So tight. I’ve dreamed of this.”

I couldn’t answer. I could only cling to him, my nails digging into his back, as he picked up the pace. The sound of our bodies meeting, wet and rhythmic, mixed with the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. I was close again, the pressure building in my core like a wave about to break.

“Come for me,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. “Come on my cock.”

That was all it took. I shattered, my cunt clenching around him as I came, a cry tearing from my throat that I barely managed to muffle against his shoulder. He followed moments later, his body shuddering as he spilled inside me, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips.

We lay there, tangled together, panting. The boat rocked gently. The stars wheeled overhead. After a long moment, he kissed my forehead.

“Fifteen years,” he said softly.

“Worth the wait?”

He laughed, a quiet, breathless sound. “Absolutely.”

We fell asleep there, on the narrow mattress, wrapped in each other, as the sea whispered around us.