The air was thick with salt and summer. That honey-warm heat you only feel on an island where time forgets to move.
We’d barely made it back to the villa before I was slipping off my dress—bare feet, sun-kissed thighs, the scent of coconut still on my skin from the beach. I stood by the open balcony doors, naked except for a silk sarong wrapped loosely around my hips.
Behind me, I heard him set the champagne on the table. But I didn’t turn around.
I wanted him to look first.
To take in the curve of my spine, the dampness between my thighs, the way my nipples peaked from ocean breeze and anticipation. My hair was still wet from swimming. My body still warm from the sun.
“You’re unreal,” he said behind me, voice low, a little hoarse.
“Come prove it,” I replied.
He came up behind me and ran his hand slowly down my back. I leaned into his chest, letting my head rest on his shoulder as I guided his hand between my legs.
“I’ve been wet since the boat,” I whispered. “You touching me there just made it worse.”
He groaned, fingers slipping between my folds, lazy and confident. My hips rocked against his hand as the ocean roared in the distance, waves crashing like my breath against his neck.
I turned to face him, pulling his shirt over his head, licking a drop of sweat from his collarbone. “Lie back,” I said, leading him to the lounge bed just off the balcony.
He did, and I climbed on top of him—wet, soft, glistening. The sun was setting in shades of honey and coral, and I started to ride him slow, letting him feel every inch of how good island air made me feel.
No distractions. Just my pussy, his cock, and the heat building between our bodies.
His hands gripped my hips as I leaned forward, kissing him breathless.
“You feel that?” I moaned. “That’s the ocean inside me, baby.”
When we came—sweaty, tangled, golden with sun—we stayed wrapped in each other as the sky turned from orange to ink. My cheek on his chest. His fingers tracing my thigh like he didn’t want to let the moment go.
Neither did I.