What Happened to Me on the Cruise After Signing the Divorce Papers

I stretched out on the deck lounger and let the Adriatic sun pour over me without asking permission. It had been three weeks since I’d signed the divorce papers, and I still felt that empty marriage tightening around my chest, like a strap that would never quite come undone. But there, surrounded by water on every side, something inside me was beginning to loosen.

The salty wind lifted over my thighs. I had bought myself a black bikini the previous week, in a burst of anger and defiance, something a little bolder than anything I’d ever worn in front of my ex-husband. It emphasized everything he had stopped noticing years ago: my full breasts, the curve of my waist, the hips that now moved with a freedom I barely recognized in myself.

At last, I’m mine again.

I closed my eyes and let the heat sink into my bones. I had no idea that very night everything would change.

***

The main lounge had low lights and a pianist playing something slow that no one was really listening to. I had ordered a glass of red wine and was holding it more to keep my hands busy than because I wanted to drink. Then I saw him, leaning against the bar on the other side.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with several days’ worth of beard that gave him the air of a man who answered to no one. He had dark eyes, and he fixed them on me without even trying to hide it, as if he’d been waiting for me to look up. He was traveling alone, that much was obvious right away. There’s a way of being alone that you can spot from a distance.

He came over slowly, with a smile that took its time forming.

—Running away from something? —he asked. His voice was deep, the kind you feel more than you hear.

—From almost everything —I answered, crossing my legs so he wouldn’t notice my hand trembling—. From a divorce that left me hollow. And you? What are you doing on this ship?

—Until a minute ago, nothing —he said, and sat on the stool beside mine without asking—. My name’s Marco.

—Carla.

The name sounded strange in my own mouth, as if I were trying it on for the first time. We talked for a while about the sort of things people say when they’re really thinking about something else. I kept looking at his forearms, his large hands wrapped around his glass. He kept looking at my mouth every time I spoke.

—Do you dance? —he asked at last.

I hadn’t danced in ages. I told him yes.

***

There were hardly any people on the dance floor. Marco put a hand on my waist and pulled me closer than any dance required. I rested my forehead against his neck and breathed in his scent, a mix of salt and something warm beneath it. His hands slid down my back and stopped right at the end, over the curve of my ass, and stayed there.

I felt his erection pressing against my belly, hard, shameless.

It’s been so long since I provoked this in anyone.

He kissed my neck, slowly, and a sound slipped out of me before I could stop it. It was that tiny noise that decided everything. He took my hand and, without a word, we walked toward the elevators. The corridor to his cabin felt endless.

The door shut with a dull thud and there was no more preamble.

He shoved me against the wall and we kissed as if we’d been forbidden to do it. His hands yanked the straps of my dress down in impatient haste, and when my breasts spilled free, he lowered his head and took one into his mouth. He sucked it with a hunger that arched my back, while his other hand slipped between my thighs.

I was already drenched. He felt it instantly.

—You’re ready —he murmured against my skin, parting me with two fingers and sliding one inside—. You’ve been holding this in for a long time, haven’t you?

—Too long —I managed, digging my nails into his shoulders—. Don’t stop.

He lifted me in his arms as if I weighed nothing and carried me to the bed. Through the window, the moon split across the sea. He laid me on my back and knelt between my legs, and his tongue traced a slow path from the inner curve of my thigh to the center. He worked it in circles, pressing, easing off, playing with me with a patience that drove me insane.

—Please —I begged, tangling my fingers in his hair—. Like that, just like that.

He slid in two fingers and curled them until he found that spot that made lights flare behind my eyelids. He increased the pressure of his tongue at the same time, and the first orgasm hit me like a wave that doesn’t warn you.

—I’m coming —I panted, my hips moving on their own against his mouth—. Don’t stop, I’m going to come again.

He didn’t stop. He held me open and kept going until the pleasure became almost unbearable, until I had to grab his hair to make him come up.

***

He straightened and took off his shirt. Under it was a firm torso, the body of a man who takes care of himself without obsession, with a line of hair running down and disappearing. He unfastened his trousers and freed himself, thick, the tip shining. I pushed myself up on my elbows and looked at him.

—Come here —I told him.

I took him into my mouth slowly, going down as far as I could, feeling his body go taut. Marco groaned and rested a hand on the back of my neck, not forcing, just guiding. I looked up at him while I did it, and seeing him lose control turned me on more than any caress could have.

—Stop —he said, his voice broken— or this’ll be over before it starts.

I pulled back, breathless, with a smile I didn’t recognize.

—Then fuck me —I said—. Now.

He got me onto my knees on the bed and positioned himself behind me. He brushed the tip against me, teasing me, making me wait.

—Tell me —he murmured.

—I want you so badly it hurts —I answered, and it was true—. Get inside me already.

He came in with one hard thrust and filled me completely. I let out a muffled cry, that pleasure edged with pain I hadn’t felt in years. He started slowly, deeply, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. The slap of his skin against mine mingled with the murmur of the sea on the other side of the glass.

—Squeeze me like that —he growled, speeding up—. Just like that.

I pushed back, meeting every thrust. He held my hair gently to arch me a little more, and the rhythm turned feral. Sweat ran down our backs. I felt each movement taking me to the edge and pulling me back, over and over, until I stopped thinking.

—Look at me —he ordered, and turned me onto my side, one leg over his shoulder, to go deeper—. I want to see your face when you come.

The second orgasm tore through me whole.

—I’m coming —I screamed, clenching around him in spasms I couldn’t contain.

Marco held on a little longer, his hips pistoning, and at last he drove all the way in with a rough sound and stayed there, trembling, letting himself go inside me. We stayed joined for a moment, breathing like two shipwrecked people, our bodies pressed together with sweat.

***

I thought we were done. I was wrong.

He lay back and I, still sensitive, felt desire flare up again, slow, like an ember someone was blowing on. I climbed on top and guided him back inside me. I started moving slowly, circling my hips, feeling every inch as if it were the first time.

—You’re insatiable —he said, smiling, and grabbed my breasts, playing with my nipples between his fingers.

—You’re the one who made me this way —I answered.

I sped up, bracing my hands on his chest, letting him hold my hips and help drive me down hard. I touched myself while riding him, and he thrust up from below to meet every movement. The pleasure kept growing between us until there was no way to stop it.

—Come with me —I asked him, leaning down to kiss him—. I want to come with you.

The third one hit us at the same time. I collapsed onto his chest, undone, and he wrapped his arms around me and let me stay there, listening as his heartbeat slowly calmed.

***

The night stretched on with slower caresses, with words whispered in my ear that by day would have made me blush. At one point he took me standing against the window, the black ocean behind us and a handful of stars that looked made up. I kept asking him not to stop, and he didn’t stop.

When the sky began to tint pink in the east, we were both exhausted and awake, watching the sunrise without speaking. I rested my head on his shoulder.

—Tomorrow the ship docks —I said—. And then each of us goes back to our life.

—I know —he replied.

We made no promises. There was no need. Some things matter precisely because they have an expiration date, because they won’t be ruined by routine the way the other thing was ruined.

That morning I went down to breakfast alone and poured myself a coffee, watching the port draw nearer. I felt different. Not because of Marco, though that too. It was something else. I had boarded that cruise convinced the divorce had left me hollow, incapable of wanting or being wanted again. And I was disembarking knowing that the dull woman I had been for years wasn’t my real self. She had just been waiting for someone to open the door.

I confess I went home with a sore body and a silly smile that wouldn’t leave me. I confess I thought about him for weeks. But above all, I confess this: that night at sea was not given to me by Marco. I gave it to myself. He was only the stranger who reminded me that I was still alive, and that the best part of me had never been signed away on any piece of paper.