Chapter One: Copacabana Beach

The midday sun hung heavy over Copacabana Beach, turning the sand into a shimmering expanse of gold and the air into something thick and sweet. Amelia adjusted the strap of her green one-piece swimsuit, the cutouts along the sides catching the light as she shifted. She had chosen this spot deliberately—far enough from the pulsating heart of Carnival’s chaos to feel the ocean’s rhythm, but close enough to hear the distant thrum of drums and laughter. The beach was alive, bodies glistening with sunscreen and sweat, the scent of coconut oil and grilled meat weaving through the salt-tinged breeze.

She had come here to escape, if only for a moment. Leslie had dragged her into the festivities last night, and while Amelia had laughed, danced, even let herself get swept up in the whirlwind of feathers and sequins, she needed this quiet. The ocean was her anchor. She spread her towel near the water’s edge, where the waves lapped hungrily at the shore, and settled onto her stomach, chin propped on her forearms. The sand was warm beneath her, almost too hot to touch, but she didn’t mind. She closed her eyes, listening to the symphony of crashing waves and distant music, the cries of gulls overhead.

Then, a shadow fell over her.

Amelia didn’t open her eyes immediately. She knew that shadow—tall, broad, blocking the sun in a way that made the air around her cool just slightly. A man’s voice, deep and rough like gravel underfoot, cut through the hum of the beach.

“You’re gonna burn like that.”

She cracked one eye open. A pair of work boots, scuffed and dusted with what looked like dried cement, stood planted in the sand beside her towel. Her gaze traveled upward—faded jeans, the hem rolled once to reveal sun-browned ankles, then a sleeveless shirt stretched tight over a torso that spoke of years of labor. His arms were a landscape of muscle and vein, the kind of strength that didn’t come from a gym but from hauling beams and swinging hammers. When she reached his face, she found him already watching her, his dark eyes unreadable beneath the brim of a faded baseball cap.

Amelia lifted herself onto her elbows, brushing sand from her cheek. “I’ve got sunscreen on,” she said, her voice dry but not unkind. “But thanks for the warning.”

The man—Francisco, though she didn’t know that yet—didn’t smile, but something shifted in his expression, like a door cracking open just an inch. He crouched beside her, the movement easy despite his size, and picked up a handful of sand, letting it sift through his fingers. “Doesn’t matter. Sun here doesn’t play fair.” His accent was thick, the words rolling off his tongue with the lazy confidence of someone who knew this place, this heat, this light, better than she ever would.

Amelia studied him for a long moment. There was something intriguing about the way he carried himself—not the swagger of a man trying to impress, but the quiet assurance of someone who didn’t need to. “You’re not wrong,” she admitted, sitting up fully now. She reached for the bottle of sunscreen beside her and squeezed a dollop into her palm. “But I’m used to it. I’ve been coming to Rio for Carnival for years.”

Francisco’s eyebrows lifted just slightly. “And you always sit alone?”

The question wasn’t accusatory, just curious. Amelia hesitated, then shrugged. “Sometimes. I like the quiet.”

He nodded, as if that made perfect sense, and gestured toward the ocean. “Water’s good today. Not too rough.” It wasn’t an invitation, not exactly, but it hung between them like one.

Amelia glanced at the waves, their crests curling over in slow, hypnotic arcs. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, steady and warm. “I was thinking about going in,” she said, though she hadn’t been, not until now.

Francisco stood in one fluid motion and offered her a hand. His palm was calloused, the skin rough against hers when she took it, and for a second, she thought she felt the faintest pressure of his fingers curling around hers—just a fraction tighter than necessary. He pulled her to her feet with ease, and she found herself closer to him than she’d expected, close enough to catch the scent of salt and sweat and something earthy, like sawdust or warm wood.

“Come on, then,” he said, already turning toward the water. “Before you change your mind.”

Amelia followed, her bare feet sinking into the sand with each step. The ocean was a living thing today, its surface dotted with bodies and laughter, the water clear enough to see the shifting patterns of light on the seabed. Francisco didn’t hesitate. He strode into the shallows, the hem of his jeans darkening as the water claimed them, and then, with a suddenness that made her breath catch, he dove forward, disappearing beneath the surface.

She waited, the sun beating down on her shoulders, until he resurfaced a few meters out, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. He turned back toward her, grinning now, the first real smile she’d seen from him. It transformed his face, softened the hard lines of his jaw. “What are you waiting for?” he called, his voice carrying over the crash of the waves. “Scared?”

Amelia huffed a laugh. “Of the water? Please.” She waded in, the cool rush of the ocean a shock against her heated skin. By the time she was waist-deep, Francisco had swum back to meet her, his movements effortless, powerful. He stopped just shy of her, close enough that the water lapped between them, close enough that she could see the droplets clinging to his lashes.

“You’re not from here,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“No,” she admitted. “I’m from São Paulo. But I love it here. The energy. The way the city feels like it’s… breathing.”

Francisco’s gaze flickered over her face, lingering on her mouth for a second before meeting her eyes again. “Most people come for the party,” he said. “Not many notice the rest.”

Amelia tilted her head. “And you? Do you notice?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers beneath the water—just a graze, so light it might have been an accident. “I notice everything about this place,” he said finally. “The way the light hits the buildings at sunset. The way the wind sounds through the palm trees. The way the ocean pulls back before it crashes in.” His voice was low, rough-edged, and she realized with a start that he wasn’t just talking about Rio anymore.

The water around them seemed to still, the noise of the beach fading into a distant hum. Amelia’s pulse thrummed in her throat. She should step back. She should say something clever, something to break the tension coiling between them. But she didn’t. Instead, she let her fingers drift closer to his, until they were almost touching, almost tangled together beneath the surface.

Francisco’s breath hitched, just slightly, and then he was moving, his hand closing around hers with a certainty that sent a shiver down her spine. “You cold?” he asked, though they both knew it wasn’t the water.

Amelia shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

For a long moment, they just stood there, the waves rocking them gently, the world around them a blur of color and sound. Then Francisco’s thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle over the back of her hand, and Amelia felt something inside her unravel, something tight and carefully knotted coming loose.

“Stay with me,” he said suddenly, his voice rough. “Today. Let me show you the rest of it.”

She should have asked what he meant. She should have hesitated. But the sun was warm, the water was cool, and his hand in hers felt like the most natural thing in the world. So she smiled, slow and sure, and said, “Okay.”

Chapter Two: Cachaça in the Club

The sand clung to Amelia’s calves as she stepped closer to Francisco, the warmth of his hand still imprinted on her skin. His gaze held hers, dark and unreadable, but the tension between them was anything but. The ocean lapped at their ankles, the water cool against the heat of the day, but neither of them seemed to notice. There was only the weight of his fingers curled around hers, the rough callouses scraping lightly against her palm, and the way his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over her knuckles—like he was memorizing the shape of her.

“Stay with me,” he had said. Not a question. A command wrapped in the low rumble of his voice, the kind that made her stomach tighten. She had agreed without thinking, without hesitation, and now the reality of it settled over her. What did staying with him even mean? A few hours? The rest of the day? The way he looked at her—like he was already imagining peeling that swimsuit off her with his teeth—made her wonder if she’d just signed up for more than she’d bargained for.

Before she could ask, before the silence between them could stretch into something even more charged, a sharp, teasing voice cut through the air.

“Francisco! Meu Deus, I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already drowning in pussy?”

Amelia’s head snapped toward the intrusion. A woman stood a few meters away, hands on her hips, her curly dark hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head. She wore a bright red bikini that contrasted sharply with her golden-brown skin, and her grin was all mischief. Francisco groaned, dropping Amelia’s hand like it had burned him, but the damage was done. The woman’s eyes flicked between them, her smirk deepening.

“Clara,” Francisco muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Porra, you’ve got the worst timing.”

“Or the best,” Clara shot back, sauntering closer. She was shorter than her brother by a good half-foot, but her presence was anything but small. “Who’s your friend? You didn’t tell me you were bringing a date to the beach.” Her gaze landed on Amelia, assessing, curious. “Or did you just pick her up five minutes ago?”

Amelia felt her cheeks warm, but she lifted her chin. “Amelia,” she said, extending a hand. “And he didn’t pick me up. I was here first.”

Clara’s eyebrows shot up, delighted, as she shook Amelia’s hand with a firm grip. “Oh, I like you.” She turned back to Francisco, who was scowling at the sand like it had personally offended him. “She’s got spine. Good. You need someone who won’t let you boss them around.”

“Clara,” Francisco warned, but there was no real heat in it. Amelia could see the fond exasperation in his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed just a fraction. This was his sister. And if the way she talked to him was any indication, she didn’t let him get away with much.

“What?” Clara batted her lashes innocently. “I’m just saying. It’s about time you brought someone around who isn’t one of your sweaty construction buddies.” She linked her arm through Amelia’s before Francisco could protest. “Come on, let’s walk. I want to hear all about how my brother ‘didn’t pick you up.’” She air-quoted with her free hand, grinning.

Amelia glanced back at Francisco, who looked like he was considering throwing himself into the ocean just to escape. But then his eyes met hers, and something hot and possessive flashed in them—like he was staking a claim. “We’ll be right back,” Clara called over her shoulder, already dragging Amelia toward the shoreline.

Francisco exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Fucking Clara,” he muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. Just resignation. And maybe, if Amelia wasn’t imagining it, a hint of amusement.

---

Clara didn’t waste time. The moment they were out of Francisco’s earshot, she turned to Amelia, eyes sparkling. “Okay, spill. How long have you known my brother?”

Amelia hesitated. “About… an hour?”

Clara burst out laughing, the sound bright and infectious. “No wonder he looks like he’s about to have a stroke. He’s not used to women who don’t fall all over him the second he flexes.” She mimed kissing a bicep, then sobered slightly. “Seriously, though. He doesn’t bring girls around. Like, ever. And he definitely doesn’t hold their hand in public.” She nudged Amelia’s shoulder. “You’ve got him all twisted up. It’s adorable.”

Amelia bit her lip, glancing back at Francisco. He was watching them, arms crossed, jaw set. But when he caught her looking, his expression softened just enough to make her pulse jump. “I don’t know what’s happening,” she admitted.

Clara sighed dramatically. “Oh, honey. That’s the best part.” She flagged down a passing vendor and grabbed two bottles of água de coco, pressing one into Amelia’s hand. “Here. You’ll need this. Francisco’s got a way of making women forget to hydrate.” She winked. “So. What’s the plan? You letting him take you home, or are we making this a proper night out?”

Amelia took a sip of the cool, sweet water, the liquid sliding down her throat. The idea of being alone with Francisco—of letting him take her anywhere—sent a shiver through her. But Clara’s energy was infectious, her presence a buffer against the intensity that crackled between Amelia and her brother. “I don’t know Rio well,” Amelia said carefully. “I was just… enjoying the beach.”

Clara waved a hand. “Pfft. The beach is for tourists. If you want to really see Rio, you’re coming out with us tonight.” She didn’t wait for an answer, already turning back toward Francisco and shouting, “Oi! We’re taking your girl to Lapa! Don’t even try to say no!”

Francisco’s scowl deepened, but Amelia saw the way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach for her again. “I don’t need you planning my night, Clara,” he called back.

“Too bad,” Clara sang. “I already texted the boys. We’re hitting Pedra do Sal, and you’re buying the first round.” She looped her arm through Amelia’s again, steering her back toward Francisco. “You’re coming. And you’re wearing something that’ll make my brother regret every second he spends not touching you.”

Amelia’s breath hitched. Clara’s words were bold, unfiltered, but there was no malice in them—just a sister who knew exactly how to push her brother’s buttons. And Amelia? She was starting to think she liked being the button.

---

Francisco didn’t argue. Not really. He grumbled, called Clara a “menina malcriada” under his breath, but by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple, he was leading them toward the street, his hand finding the small of Amelia’s back like it belonged there.

The contact was brief—just long enough to guide her up the steps from the beach—but it burned. Amelia could still feel the imprint of his fingers through the thin fabric of her cover-up, the way his touch lingered even after he pulled away. Clara chattered beside them, filling the silence with stories about Francisco’s childhood, his terrible taste in music, the time he tried to fix the family’s roof during a storm and ended up trapped in the attic for three hours.

“He’s been scared of heights ever since,” Clara said, grinning. “But he’ll never admit it.”

Francisco shot her a look that could’ve melted steel. “I’m not scared of heights.”

“Sure, sure,” Clara teased. “That’s why you turn green every time you’re on a ladder.”

Amelia laughed, the sound bubbling out of her before she could stop it. Francisco’s gaze snapped to hers, dark and searching, like he was memorizing the shape of her smile. “You think that’s funny?” he asked, but there was no real bite to it. Just warmth. Something dangerously close to affection.

“I think it’s endearing,” she said.

His expression shifted, something raw and hungry flickering in his eyes. “Careful, Amelia,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “I don’t do endearing.”

She held his gaze, refusing to look away. “Maybe you should start.”

Clara whooped. “Oh, I like you.” She slung an arm around Amelia’s shoulders, squeezing. “Francisco, you better not fuck this up.”

Francisco’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t deny it. Didn’t pull away. Just reached for Amelia’s hand again, his fingers threading through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

---

The samba club was a living, breathing thing.

Tucked into the heart of Lapa, Pedra do Sal pulsed with music, the deep thrum of drums vibrating through the floorboards, the air thick with the scent of sweat, caipirinhas, and something electric. The walls were lined with graffiti, the ceiling strung with fairy lights that cast everything in a golden haze. Bodies moved in time with the rhythm, hips swaying, hands clapping, the energy infectious.

Clara dragged Amelia straight to the bar, ordering drinks before Francisco could protest. “Two caipis for the ladies,” she called over the music, “and whatever my brother’s drinking. Something strong. He looks like he needs it.”

Francisco leaned against the bar beside Amelia, his shoulder brushing hers. “You don’t have to stay,” he said, his voice rough over the noise. “If you’d rather—”

“I’d rather be here,” Amelia cut in. She turned to face him, their bodies close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off him. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered. “Not a chance.”

The bartender slid their drinks across the counter, and Clara pressed a glass into Amelia’s hand. “Drink up. The night’s young, and my brother’s finally showing signs of life.” She clinked her glass against Amelia’s, then Francisco’s, before downing half her drink in one go.

Amelia took a sip, the sharp tang of lime and cachaça biting her tongue. The alcohol warmed her from the inside out, loosening the last of her hesitation. The music swelled around them, the bass thrumming in her chest, and when Francisco’s hand found her waist, pulling her toward the dance floor, she didn’t resist.

---

Dancing with Francisco was nothing like she expected.

He didn’t lead with the polished confidence of a man used to clubs or parties. His movements were rougher, more instinctive—like the rhythm was in his bones, something primal. His hands settled on her hips, fingers splayed, thumbs pressing into the dip of her waist as he guided her into the sway of the music. Amelia’s breath caught. She could feel every callous, every ridge of his fingertips through the thin fabric of her dress, the heat of his palms branding her.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Relax. Let the music move you.”

She swallowed, her body already responding to the command in his voice. “I don’t usually—”

“Dance?” His chuckle was dark, amused. “Neither do I.” His grip tightened, just for a second, before his hands slid up her sides, his thumbs grazing the undersides of her breasts. “But I like the way you feel against me.”

Amelia’s pulse spiked. The club, the music, the press of bodies around them—it all faded into a blur. There was only Francisco, the way his thigh slid between hers as he turned her, the way his breath hitched when her ass brushed against him. She could feel him, hard and thick through his jeans, and the knowledge sent a jolt of liquid heat straight to her core.

“Francisco,” she breathed, but it wasn’t a protest. It was a plea.

His hands slid up her ribs, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts again, slower this time. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough.

“Francisco,” she repeated, louder, bolder. The music swallowed the sound, but he heard her. She knew he did. His grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her skin like he was afraid she’d disappear.

“Again,” he growled.

“Francisco—”

His mouth crashed into hers.

It wasn’t gentle. wasn’t sweet. It was hungry, desperate, his teeth nipping at her lower lip before his tongue pushed past, claiming her. Amelia gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into the thick muscle as he deepened the kiss. The taste of him—cachaça and salt and something uniquely him—filled her senses, and she melted into it, her body arching against his.

A wolf whistle cut through the haze, followed by Clara’s laughter. “Finally! I was starting to think you two were just going to stare at each other all night!”

Francisco broke the kiss with a growl, his forehead resting against Amelia’s as he glared at his sister. “Clara, caralho—”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Clara said, grinning. “But if you’re going to fuck her against the wall, at least take her somewhere with better acoustics.”

Amelia’s face burned, but Francisco just chuckled, the sound dark and possessive. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice rough. He didn’t look at Amelia as he said it. Didn’t ask. Just took her hand and started pulling her toward the exit.

Clara whooped behind them. “Have fun, kids! And Francisco—”*

He paused, glancing back.

“Wrap it up. Unless you’re trying to make me an aunt.”

Francisco flipped her off, but he was smiling. And when he turned back to Amelia, his expression was pure, unfiltered hunger. “You coming?”

Amelia didn’t hesitate. She followed him into the night, the promise of what came next burning between them, hotter than the Rio sun.

Chapter Three: Mark of Possession

The moment Francisco pulled Amelia away from the dance floor, the air between them crackled with something raw and untamed. His grip on her wrist was firm, his stride purposeful as he navigated through the crowded club, his broad shoulders parting the sea of bodies like a ship cutting through waves. Amelia barely had time to glance back at Clara—whose knowing smirk said I told you so—before Francisco guided her into a shadowed alcove, then deeper still, into a booth tucked so far into the corner it might as well have been another world. The golden fairy lights strung above cast flickering patterns across his tanned skin, the shadows sharpening the angles of his jaw, the dark hunger in his eyes.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

With a rough nudge of his palm against her hip, he urged her onto the edge of the table, the wood groaning faintly beneath her weight. Amelia’s breath hitched as her thighs parted instinctively, the thin fabric of her dress riding up. Francisco stepped between her legs, his hands finding the zipper at the back of her dress before she could even process the movement. The sound of the teeth separating was obscenely loud in the relative quiet of their secluded corner, the samba’s distant pulse thrumming through the walls like a heartbeat.

“Francisco—” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but he cut her off with a low growl, his mouth crashing against the side of her neck. The heat of his lips seared her skin, his teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. His hands never stopped moving—one sliding up to tangle in her hair, tilting her head to give him better access, the other pressing flat against her stomach, holding her in place.

“Shh.” His breath was hot against her ear, his voice rough, commanding. “You talk too much.”

Amelia’s fingers clenched around the edge of the table, her nails digging into the wood. The dress slithered down her arms, pooling at her waist, leaving her in nothing but the green swimsuit, the cutouts framing the swell of her breasts, the dip of her spine. Francisco’s calloused fingers traced the exposed skin of her collarbone, then lower, following the path his mouth had just taken. He didn’t rush. Every touch was deliberate, possessive, like he was memorizing the shape of her.

When his lips found the hollow of her throat, Amelia’s back arched involuntarily, a broken sound escaping her. He sucked there, hard, the pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between her thighs. She could feel the imprint of his teeth, the way his tongue soothed the sting afterward, lapping at the mark like a man starving. Her pulse hammered beneath his lips, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“You’re going to wear this tomorrow,” he murmured against her skin, his voice a dark promise. “Let everyone see what you let me do to you.”

Amelia should’ve been embarrassed. Should’ve pushed him away, demanded to know what the hell he thought he was doing. But the way his fingers dug into her hips, the way his thumb pressed just below her navel, circling lazily—it stole every coherent thought from her mind. All she could manage was a whimper, her body already rocking forward, seeking more.

Francisco chuckled, low and dark, the vibration of it traveling through her. His hands slid down, gripping her thighs, spreading them wider. The cool air of the club hit the damp heat between her legs, and Amelia’s face burned. She was exposed. Vulnerable. And yet, when Francisco’s fingers traced the edge of her swimsuit, teasing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, she didn’t close her legs. She opened them.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice rough with approval. His thumbs hooked under the fabric, tugging it aside just enough to bare her to his gaze. Amelia’s breath stuttered as his fingers brushed against her, not quite touching where she ached, but close enough to make her tremble. “So fucking wet already.”

She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, her hips lifting off the table in a silent plea. Francisco’s chuckle turned darker, his breath ghosting over her thigh before his mouth followed the path his hands had taken. The first lick was slow, deliberate, his tongue flat and hot against her skin. Amelia’s fingers flew to his hair, gripping the short strands as his lips pressed against the inside of her thigh, then higher, until—

“Oh god—” The words tore from her as his mouth found her, his tongue parting her folds with a single, deep stroke. The sound she made was obscene, needy, her body jerking against his face. Francisco groaned in response, the vibration making her toes curl, his hands sliding under her ass to lift her closer, deeper.

He didn’t tease. Didn’t draw it out. He ate her like a man who’d been starving for years, his tongue swirling, his lips sealing around her clit to suck hard before flicking the tip in quick, relentless strokes. Amelia’s moans grew louder, her thighs trembling around his head, her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her like she’d drown if he stopped.

“F-Francisco, I can’t—” Her voice broke, her body coiling tight, the pleasure building to something unbearable. He pulled back just enough to growl against her skin, “You can. And you will.”

Then his mouth was on her again, two fingers pressing inside her, curling just right. Amelia’s back bowed off the table, a cry tearing from her throat as the orgasm crashed over her, her body clenching around his fingers, her thighs shaking. Francisco didn’t let up, licking her through it, his free hand sliding up to palm her breast, his thumb rolling over her nipple through the swimsuit’s fabric.

When she finally collapsed back against the table, boneless and gasping, Francisco pressed one last kiss to her inner thigh before straightening. His lips glistened in the dim light, his eyes dark with satisfaction—and something else. Something hungrier.

Amelia barely had time to catch her breath before he was on her, his mouth crashing against hers. She could taste herself on his tongue, the filthy reality of it making her whimper into the kiss. His hands were everywhere—gripping her jaw, tangling in her hair, sliding down to squeeze her ass, pulling her flush against him. The hard ridge of his cock pressed against her stomach, the denim of his jeans rough against her bare skin.

“You’re mine now,” he growled against her lips, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip hard enough to sting. “Say it.”

Amelia’s mind was still hazy with pleasure, her body thrumming, but the command in his voice cut through the fog. She should’ve argued. Should’ve told him to go to hell. Instead, she moaned, her hips rolling against him, her nails scraping down his chest.

“Yours,” she breathed.

Francisco’s answering groan was pure triumph. His hands slid under her ass again, lifting her off the table, and Amelia wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively. The movement pressed her against the thick length of him, and she gasped at the sensation, her body already craving more.

“Again,” he demanded, his voice rough. “Louder. So the whole fucking club hears you.”

Amelia’s cheeks burned, but the heat between her legs burned hotter. She arched against him, her lips brushing his ear. “I’m yours, Francisco.”

His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to bruise. “Damn right you are.”

Then his mouth was on hers again, his tongue plunging between her lips in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. Amelia melted into it, her body moving against his, the friction of his jeans against her bare skin driving her wild. She could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted her, and it made her bold. Her hands slid between them, fumbling with the button of his jeans, her fingers brushing against the thick outline of his cock.

Francisco hissed, breaking the kiss to glare down at her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Amelia met his gaze, her lips swollen, her voice breathless but defiant. “Taking what’s mine.”

For a second, she thought he’d argue. But then his eyes darkened, his jaw clenching as he reached down to shove his jeans and boxers past his hips, freeing his cock. Amelia’s breath caught at the sight of him—thick, veined, the tip already glistening. She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking once, twice, before Francisco groaned, his hand covering hers.

“Enough.” His voice was a growl, his control fraying. He lifted her again, positioning her over him, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance. “You want this? You take it like a good girl.”

Amelia didn’t hesitate. She sank down onto him, her body stretching around his thickness, the burn of it making her gasp. Francisco’s hands gripped her hips, holding her still as she adjusted, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath ragged.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, his fingers digging into her skin. “Move, amor. Show me how bad you want it.”

Amelia didn’t need to be told twice. She rolled her hips, her body taking over, riding him with slow, deep strokes at first, then faster as the pleasure built again. Francisco’s hands guided her, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her ass, his mouth finding her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. Every time she moaned, he bit down, marking her, his hips snapping up to meet hers, driving into her with a force that had the table creaking beneath them.

The club’s music was a distant throb, the laughter and chatter of the crowd a white noise that faded into nothingness. There was only this—the heat of his body, the slick slide of skin, the way his cock filled her so perfectly, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. Amelia’s nails raked down his back, her body tightening around him, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Francisco—I’m—”

“Now,” he commanded, his voice a dark rasp. “Come on my cock, amor.”

The words sent her over the edge, her body clenching around him as the orgasm ripped through her, her cry muffled against his shoulder. Francisco followed with a groan, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, his release spilling inside her in hot, thick pulses.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—Amelia slumped against him, her body still trembling, Francisco’s arms wrapped around her, his breath harsh against her skin. Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to press a kiss to her forehead, his voice rough but tender.

“You’re staying with me tonight.”

It wasn’t a question. And this time, Amelia didn’t argue.

Chapter Four: Makeshift Shower

The first light of dawn crept through the cracks in the wooden shutters, painting thin gold stripes across the rumpled sheets. Amelia stirred, her body heavy with the lingering ache of the night before—her thighs still sensitive, her skin marked where Francisco’s teeth had been. She reached for him out of habit, her fingers brushing only cool, empty space. The bed was cold where he should have been, the indentation of his body already fading from the mattress.

A flicker of disappointment tightened in her chest. Of course he’s gone. She shouldn’t have expected anything else. Men like him didn’t linger in the morning, didn’t spoon or murmur stupid endearments. That wasn’t the deal. Last night had been raw, possessive, a claiming—but claims had expiration dates, didn’t they?

She sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down to pool at her waist. The green swimsuit clung to her, the cutouts framing the faint red marks along her collarbone and the inside of her thighs. Her fingers traced one, a half-moon imprint of his teeth, and a shiver ran through her. The memory of his voice—You’ll wear it tomorrow—echoed in her skull. Today, now. She was wearing it.

A rustle of paper caught her attention. On his pillow, half-hidden beneath the crumpled edge of the sheet, lay a scrap of torn notebook paper. His handwriting was bold, the letters slanted like he’d scribbled it in a hurry:

“Follow the path behind the rocks. Don’t make me wait.”

No signature. No bom dia. Just an order.

Amelia exhaled through her nose, a sound that was half-laugh, half-frustration. Of course he’d leave a note. Of course it would be a command. She should’ve known better than to think last night had been anything more than a game to him—another conquest, another body to mark and discard.

But the paper trembled slightly in her grip.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the wooden floorboards cool beneath her bare feet. The mirror above the dresser showed her what he’d see if he were here: dark hair tousled from sleep, lips still swollen from his kisses, the swimsuit’s fabric stretched tight over her breasts where his hands had been. She looked used. And worse—she looked like she liked it.

A flush crept up her neck.

Fine. If he wanted to play, she’d play. But she wasn’t some obedient little thing waiting to be summoned. She’d take her time.

---

The path behind the rocks was narrower than she expected, a jagged cut through the dense greenery that opened only when she pushed aside a curtain of vines. The air here was thicker, the scent of damp earth and saltwater clinging to her skin. The crash of waves grew louder with each step, the sound vibrating through the soles of her feet.

And then the trees parted.

The cove was small, hidden—a secret pocket of the world where the ocean curled in like a lover’s arm. The sand was darker here, almost black, and the cliffs rose on either side, shielding it from view. But what made her pause wasn’t the seclusion. It was the shower.

Francisco had built it.

Bamboo poles lashed together with what looked like strips of old fabric, forming a crude frame. Palm fronds woven into a makeshift wall on three sides, the fourth open to the ocean. A rough spout jutted from the top, water dripping in a slow, uneven rhythm from some hidden source. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t supposed to be. It was functional, sturdy, his.

And he was standing under it.

Water sluiced down his back, rivulets tracing the grooves of his muscles, the scars she’d glimpsed before—one jagged line along his shoulder blade, another thinner, paler, near his hip. His jeans were rolled to his knees, the denim dark with wet, clinging to his thighs. He hadn’t heard her yet. His head was tipped back, fingers working through his hair, the cords of his throat exposed as he swallowed.

Amelia’s pulse jumped.

She should’ve announced herself. Should’ve cleared her throat, made some smart remark about summoning her like a dog. But the words died in her throat because he was beautiful like this—unselfconscious, half-wild, the water turning his skin to something slick and golden. The tattoos on his arms, usually stark against his tan, were muted now, the ink bleeding into the wet.

Then he turned.

His gaze locked onto hers, dark and knowing, and a slow smirk curved his mouth. “Took you long enough.”

The accusation was lazy, but his body wasn’t. Every line of him was tense, coiled, like he’d been waiting for this—the moment she’d step into view, the moment he could react. His fingers flexed at his sides.

Amelia lifted her chin. “I had to make sure it was worth my time.”

A low sound rumbled in his chest. Not quite a laugh. More like a growl. “Get in here.”

She didn’t move. “Or what?”

His smirk sharpened. “Or I come get you.”

The threat hung between them, thick as the humid air. She knew what that would look like—him striding toward her, wet and half-naked, his hands already reaching. The way he’d haul her against him, the way his mouth would find her throat, her wrists pinned above her head while the water ran cold down their bodies.

Her nipples tightened.

Damn him.

She stepped forward.

The sand was warm beneath her feet, then cool as she crossed into the shade of the palm fronds. The air here was heavier, the scent of freshwater mixing with the brine of the ocean. Francisco didn’t move back. Didn’t give her space. The moment she was close enough, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist, yanking her under the spray with him.

The water hit her like a shock—cooler than she expected, the droplets fat and uneven from the makeshift spout. She gasped, her free hand flying to his chest, fingers splaying against the hard plane of his pecs. His skin was hot beneath her palm, the contrast making her shiver.

“Cold?” His voice was rough, his breath warm against her temple.

“No.” She lied.

His chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Liar.”

Before she could retort, his other hand found her hip, pulling her flush against him. The water streamed between them, soaking through the thin fabric of her swimsuit, plastering it to her skin. His thumb hooked under the strap at her shoulder, tugging just enough to expose the mark he’d left there last night. His pupils darkened as he traced it with his gaze.

“Good,” he murmured. “Still there.”

Amelia swallowed. “You sound surprised.”

His fingers tightened, just shy of painful. “I’m not.”

The admission sent a heat through her that had nothing to do with the sun. She tilted her head, baring more of her throat to him. An offering. A challenge. His breath hitched, his gaze dropping to the pulse fluttering beneath her skin.

Then his mouth was on her.

Not gentle. Not a tease. His teeth sank into the same spot, reigniting the ache, and Amelia moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders. The water ran between them, slicking their skin, turning every touch electric. His hands were everywhere—palming her ass, squeezing her waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the wet fabric. She arched into him, her body already thrumming, already his.

“Fuck,” he groaned against her skin, his voice rough. “You’re already so wet for me.”

She was. The swimsuit did nothing to hide it, the fabric clinging to her, the heat between her thighs unbearable. His fingers found the edge of the cutout at her hip, slipping beneath to stroke the bare skin there. Then lower. Then—

“Francisco.” His name came out breathless, a warning.

His fingers stilled, pressing just above where she needed him. “What?”

She should’ve told him to stop. Should’ve reminded him they were outside, that anyone could—

His thumb grazed her clit through the fabric, and her thoughts dissolved into static.

“Nothing,” she gasped.

His laugh was dark, triumphant. “That’s what I thought.”

Then his hand was gone, both of them gripping her waist, lifting her. The world tilted as he turned her, pressing her back against the bamboo poles. The rough wood dug into her shoulder blades, the water cascading over her collarbone, down her sternum. His body caged hers, his thighs bracketing hers, his cock hard and thick against her stomach.

“Hands above your head,” he ordered.

She hesitated for half a second. Just long enough to make him growl. Then she obeyed, her fingers curling around the bamboo, the poles slick under her grip. The position stretched her, arched her back, thrust her breasts forward. His gaze dropped, hunger flashing across his face before he palmed one, his thumb flicking over her nipple through the wet fabric.

“Perfect,” he rasped.

Then his mouth was on her again, this time through the swimsuit, his teeth scraping the tight peak, his tongue soothing the sting. Amelia whimpered, her hips jerking involuntarily. The water ran cold down her spine, but her skin burned where he touched her, where his breath ghosted over her.

His free hand slid down, fingers hooking into the waistband of her swimsuit. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. The fabric gave way with a wet snap, the sound obscene in the quiet cove. Cool air hit her exposed pussy, then his fingers, rough and demanding, spreading her open.

“Already dripping,” he groaned. “Fucking soaked.”

She couldn’t deny it. The proof was slick on his fingers, her body betraying her with every shuddering breath. His thumb circled her clit, slow and deliberate, while his other hand kept working her breast, pinching, rolling, driving her higher.

“Please,” she begged.

“Please what?” His voice was a dark caress, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“More.”

His chuckle sent a shiver through her. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Two fingers plunged inside her, curling up, finding that spot that made her see stars. Amelia cried out, her grip on the bamboo white-knuckled, her body bowing into his touch. The water kept falling, mixing with the slickness between her thighs, the salt of the ocean spray on her lips.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his fingers pistoning in and out, his thumb never letting up on her clit. “Take it. Take me.”

She was close. So close. Her muscles coiled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body trembling on the edge—

He stopped.

Amelia whined, her hips chasing his hand, but he pulled back, his fingers glistening with her arousal. Before she could protest, he brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan.

“Fuck, you taste good.”

Her vision swam. “You bastard.”

His grin was all teeth. “I know.”

Then he was on his knees in front of her.

The change in position was so sudden, so filthy, that her brain short-circuited. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them wider, his breath hot against her bare pussy. The water dripped onto his shoulders, his back, his dark hair plastered to his forehead as he looked up at her.

“Last chance to run,” he murmured.

She tangled her fingers in his hair. “Make me.”

His growl vibrated against her skin before his mouth sealed over her.

Amelia’s head fell back against the bamboo with a thunk, her body jolting at the first flat stroke of his tongue. He didn’t tease. Didn’t build up. He ate her, his mouth open and hungry, his tongue spearing inside her before dragging up to circle her clit. The water mixed with her arousal, the salt of the ocean and the taste of her own desire, and it was too much—

His fingers dug into her ass, holding her still as he devoured her, his other hand snaking up to twist her nipple, the dual sensations sending her spiraling. She was babbling, cursing, his name a litany on her lips, her body winding tighter, tighter—

Then his teeth grazed her clit, and she shattered.

The orgasm ripped through her, her thighs clamping around his head, her back arching off the bamboo. He didn’t let up, his tongue working her through it, drawing out every last tremor until she was boneless, her breath coming in ragged sobs.

Only then did he pull back, his chin glistening, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.

Amelia’s legs nearly gave out. She would’ve slid to the sand if his hands hadn’t been there, steadying her, lifting her like she weighed nothing. He turned off the water—some hidden valve she hadn’t noticed—and then his mouth was on hers, his tongue pushing past her lips, letting her taste herself on him.

She moaned into the kiss, her arms looping around his neck, her body still humming. His cock was a thick ridge against her stomach, the denim of his jeans rough against her skin. She reached between them, her fingers fumbling with the button, but he caught her wrist.

“Not yet.”

She blinked up at him, dazed. “What?”

His thumb brushed her lower lip. “We’re not done here.”

Before she could ask what that meant, he was turning her again, pressing her chest against the bamboo, her ass toward him. The position was obscene, her swimsuit still bunched around her waist, her pussy bare and wet and his.

His hands slid up her back, pushing her hair aside, his mouth finding the nape of her neck.

“Hands flat on the poles,” he ordered.

She obeyed, her palms pressing against the slick wood. Behind her, she heard the sound of his zipper, the rustle of denim hitting the sand. Then his cock was there, hot and heavy against her ass, his hands gripping her hips.

“Tell me you want it,” he demanded, his voice rough.

Amelia rocked back against him, her body already aching for him. “I want it.”

His fingers dug in. “Louder.”

“I want your cock,” she snarled.

A groan tore from his throat. Then he was pushing inside her, one thick inch at a time, stretching her, filling her until she was full, so full—

“Fuck,” he hissed, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. “You feel amazing.”

She couldn’t speak. Could only whimper as he bottomed out, his balls pressing against her, his cock pulsing inside her. The water had stopped, but their skin was still wet, slick, the friction between them obscene as he pulled back and thrust in again.

His pace was relentless. Punishing. Each snap of his hips drove her forward, her breasts pressing against the bamboo, her nails digging into the wood. The sounds filling the cove were wet, slapping skin, their ragged breaths, the occasional groan torn from his throat.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded.

Her hand flew between her legs, her fingers finding her clit, already swollen and sensitive. The first brush of her fingertips sent a jolt through her, her body clenching around him.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Fuck, just like that.”

She worked herself in tight circles, her other hand gripping the bamboo for dear life as he pounded into her, his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. She was close again, her body coiling, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps—

“Come for me,” he growled, his hand snaking around to pinch her nipple. “Now, Amelia.”

Her name on his lips sent her over the edge.

She came with a broken cry, her body clamping down around him, her fingers slipping on the bamboo as her knees buckled. Francisco didn’t stop. He chased his own release, his thrusts turning erratic, his breath hot against her ear—

Then he was coming, his cock pulsing inside her, his groan raw and guttural as he spilled deep. His arms banded around her, holding her up, his chest heaving against her back.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the distant crash of waves, the occasional drip of water from the shower above.

Then his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“Still think it wasn’t worth your time?”

Chapter Five: Encounter in the Cove

he water clung to Amelia’s skin like a second layer, each droplet tracing lazy paths down her spine, pooling in the hollow where her swimsuit dipped low. She could feel Francisco’s breath against her neck, hot and uneven, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that betrayed how hard he was fighting to keep control. His fingers twitched against her hip, restless, as if he couldn’t decide whether to pull her closer or push her away. The scent of him—salt and sweat and something primal—filled her lungs, making her head spin. She should’ve been done. Should’ve been limp in his arms, her body too wrung out to do more than collapse against him. But the way his cock twitched against her ass, still thick even after emptying inside her, sent a fresh wave of heat curling low in her belly.

His arms were a cage around her, but she wasn’t trapped. She was waiting.

Amelia exhaled, a sound that was half-laugh, half-challenge, before she shifted her weight. Not away—into him. Her palms pressed flat against his chest, fingers curling into the damp heat of his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. She pushed just enough to break his hold, just enough to turn in the circle of his arms. The bamboo behind him creaked as his shoulders hit the poles, his brows snapping together in instant suspicion. But before he could speak, she rose onto her toes and crashed her mouth against his.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a bite.

Her teeth sank into his lower lip, just shy of drawing blood, her tongue sweeping in to soothe the sting before she pulled back. His taste—briny and dark, like the ocean after a storm—flooded her senses. His hands flew to her waist, fingers digging in, but she didn’t let him take the lead. Instead, she rocked her hips once, slow and deliberate, the cutouts of her swimsuit doing nothing to hide the way her body responded to the friction. His cock jerked against her stomach, thickening fast, and she smirked against his mouth.

“My turn,” she murmured, her voice a dark purr.

Francisco’s growl vibrated against her lips. “You don’t get to—”

She cut him off by straddling him.

One smooth motion—her hands on his shoulders for leverage, her thighs clamping around his hips as she lifted herself, then settled, the wet fabric of her swimsuit dragging against the rough denim of his jeans. The position forced him back another step, the bamboo poles digging into his spine as she ground down, her breath hitching at the friction. His hands shot to her ass, gripping hard enough to leave marks, but she rode the movement, rolling her hips in a slow, maddening circle.

“Fuck,” he bit out, his voice rough, his fingers flexing. “You’re playing with fire, gata.”

Amelia leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I know.” Her nails scraped down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, before she fisted the waistband of his jeans. “And I’m not done yet.”

The water dripped around them, each splash a punctuation to the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies moving—skin sticking, fabric dragging, the slick slide of her pussy against the denim-clad ridge of his cock. She could feel him, thick and heavy beneath her, the damp fabric doing nothing to hide the way he pulsed, the way his breath came faster when she rocked just right. His hands were everywhere—gripping her thighs, palming her ass, one thumb hooking into the cutout of her swimsuit to tease the sensitive skin of her lower back. But she didn’t let him take over. Every time his grip tightened, every time he tried to direct her, she twisted away, her mouth finding his jaw, his throat, the corded muscles of his neck.

“You like this,” she whispered, her teeth grazing his earlobe. “You like when I don’t listen.”

His answer was a snarl, his fingers tangling in her hair to yank her head back. But she laughed, low and breathless, and bit his collarbone in retaliation. The taste of salt and man exploded on her tongue, and she moaned, her hips stuttering. His cock twitched violently beneath her, and she knew—knew—he was close to snapping.

“Admit it,” she demanded, her voice a dark purr. “You want me like this. Wild. Out of control.” Her hand slid between them, palming him through his jeans, and his entire body locked. “You want me to ride you until you can’t think straight.”

His free hand shot up, wrapping around her throat—not tight enough to choke, but enough to make her gasp, her back arching. His thumb pressed against her pulse point, his dark eyes burning into hers. “Careful, querida,” he warned, his voice a gravelly rasp. “I let you play because it amuses me. But don’t mistake my patience for weakness.”

Amelia’s laugh was a dark, velvety thing. She leaned into his grip, her fingers working the button of his jeans. “Who said anything about patience?”

The zipper gave way with a sharp snick, and then her hand was inside, wrapping around him. He was hot, heavy, the velvet-smooth head already slick with pre-cum. She stroked him once, twice, her thumb swiping over the slit, and his hips jerked upward, a guttural sound tearing from his throat.

“Fuck—”

“Shhh.” She guided him to her entrance, the cutout of her swimsuit barely there, just a flimsy barrier between them. The head of his cock nudged against her, and she bit her lip, her body clenching in anticipation. “Let me.”

His grip on her throat tightened, his other hand sliding up to palm her breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple through the wet fabric. “You’re pushing your luck.”

“Then punish me later,” she breathed, and sank down.

The stretch was immediate, intense—he was thick, and she was still sensitive from before, her inner walls fluttering around him as she took him inch by inch. His cock pulsed inside her, filling her so completely she had to pause, her nails digging into his shoulders. The water dripped onto her back, cool against her heated skin, and she shuddered, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Jesus Christ,” Francisco groaned, his head falling back against the bamboo. His hands dropped to her hips, his fingers biting into her flesh as she finally seated herself fully, her ass resting against his thighs. “You’re trying to kill me.”

Amelia braced her hands on his chest and began to move.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. She rode him with a desperation that matched his own, her body slamming down onto his, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the cove. The bamboo groaned behind him, the poles digging into his back, but he didn’t care—couldn’t care—not when she was like this, her tits bouncing with each thrust, her hair a wild curtain around her face, her lips parted on a continuous moan.

“Harder,” she demanded, her voice raw. “Give it to me harder, Francisco.”

His growl was almost feral. One hand left her hip, fisting in her hair to yank her mouth to his. His kiss was brutal, all teeth and tongue, his other hand sliding between them to find her clit. He circled it once, twice, and she cried out, her body tightening around him.

“That’s it,” he snarled against her lips. “Take it. Take me.”

She came with a broken sob, her back arching, her nails raking down his chest. Her pussy clenched around him in violent waves, and he groaned, his hips snapping up to meet her, his cock swelling inside her as he followed her over the edge. His release was a growl, a pulse of heat deep in her core, his body shuddering beneath hers as he spilled into her.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the drip of water, the distant crash of the ocean. Amelia sagged against him, her forehead pressing to his, her body still trembling with aftershocks. His hands stroked up and down her back, soothing now, his touch almost tender.

Then she felt his lips curve against hers.

“Still think it was worth your time?” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction.

Amelia laughed, breathless, and bit his lower lip. “Ask me again when I can walk.”

His chuckle was dark, triumphant, but his arms tightened around her, holding her close. And for the first time, she didn’t pull away.

---

The air between them was thick with the scent of sex and salt, the damp heat of their bodies mingling with the cool mist rolling in from the ocean. Amelia could feel his heartbeat against her chest, steady but still fast, like he was fighting to regain control. His hands roamed her back, slow and possessive, as if he was memorizing the shape of her. She let her fingers trace the ridges of his abs, the damp fabric of his shirt clinging to his skin, the muscles beneath twitching under her touch.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice rough, his breath warm against her temple.

She tilted her head back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips curling into a smirk. “You love it.”

His fingers tightened on her waist, pulling her closer, the movement pressing his cock deeper inside her. She gasped, her body clenching around him instinctively, and his dark eyes flashed with satisfaction. “I do,” he admitted, his voice low. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t make you pay for it.”

A shiver ran down her spine, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Promises, promises.”

He groaned, his hands sliding down to grip her ass, lifting her slightly before slamming her back down onto him. The sudden movement wrenched a cry from her lips, her body tightening around him, her breath coming in sharp gasps. “You want promises?” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “I’ll give you promises.”

His mouth crashed onto hers, his tongue sweeping in with a possessive hunger that left her dizzy. His hands were everywhere—gripping her hips, squeezing her ass, one thumb sliding beneath the cutout of her swimsuit to tease the sensitive skin of her lower back. She moaned into his mouth, her body moving in time with his, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles that made his cock twitch inside her.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned, his voice a dark rasp. “So tight. So wet.”

Amelia pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips swollen from his kisses, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Then don’t stop.”

His answer was a growl, his hands tightening on her hips as he lifted her again, this time slamming her down with enough force to make her cry out. The sound echoed through the cove, mixing with the crash of the waves, the creak of the bamboo, the wet slap of their bodies moving together. She could feel him everywhere—inside her, around her, his scent in her lungs, his taste on her tongue. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and she never wanted it to end.

“More,” she gasped, her nails raking down his chest. “I need more.”

Francisco’s response was a dark chuckle, his hands sliding up to grip her throat, not tight enough to choke, but enough to make her gasp, her back arching. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured, his thumb pressing against her pulse point. “You think you can handle it?”

She met his gaze, her eyes dark with challenge. “Try me.”

His lips curled into a smirk, his fingers tightening slightly before he released her throat, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. “Hold on, gata,” he warned, his voice a low growl.

And then he moved.

He lifted her, his cock sliding almost all the way out before slamming her back down, the sudden stretch and fill making her cry out. He did it again, and again, each thrust harder than the last, his hands gripping her hips so tightly she knew there would be bruises. But she didn’t care. All she could focus on was the way he filled her, the way his cock dragged against her inner walls, the way his breath came in ragged gasps as he fucked her with a desperation that matched her own.

“Yes,” she sobbed, her body tightening around him, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Just like that. Harder.”

Francisco groaned, his hips snapping up to meet her, his cock swelling inside her as he drove into her with a ferocity that left her breathless. She could feel her orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. But she didn’t want to hold back. She wanted to let go, to shatter around him, to feel him lose control with her.

“Come for me,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”

His words sent her over the edge. Her body clenched around him, her orgasm crashing over her in violent waves that left her gasping, her nails raking down his chest. Francisco groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed her over, his cock pulsing inside her as he spilled into her with a growl.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the drip of water, the distant crash of the ocean. Amelia sagged against him, her body trembling with aftershocks, her forehead pressing to his. His hands stroked up and down her back, his touch almost tender now, his breath warm against her skin.

“Still think you’re in control?” she murmured, her voice rough with satisfaction.

Francisco’s chuckle was dark, his arms tightening around her. “Oh, gata,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. “I’m always in control.”

She laughed, breathless, and bit his lower lip. “We’ll see about that.”

His response was a growl, his hands sliding down to grip her ass, lifting her slightly before slamming her back down onto him. The sudden movement wrenched a cry from her lips, her body tightening around him, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

And just like that, they were lost in each other again.

Chapter Six: The Ocean’s Embrace

The moment Amelia’s breathless taunt—“Still think you’re in control?”—hung in the air between them, Francisco’s grip on her waist tightened like a vise. His dark eyes flashed with something raw, something untamed, and before she could react, he spun her around, his hands seizing her wrists. The sudden shift made her gasp, her back arching as he yanked her against his chest, his cock still thick and unyielding between them. The ocean’s roar filled the silence, the waves crashing closer, as if the sea itself was hungry for them.

“You want to test me, gata?” His voice was a low growl, rough with the aftershocks of his last orgasm, but already thick with renewed hunger. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

Amelia barely had time to register the shift in his tone before he was moving, dragging her with him toward the water’s edge. The sand gave way beneath her feet, the cool rush of the tide lapping at her ankles, then her calves, as Francisco pulled her deeper. The ocean swallowed them whole, the water rising to their waists in an instant, the sudden chill a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating between their bodies. She let out a shocked cry as the waves hit her, her swimsuit clinging to her skin, the fabric nearly transparent now, doing little to hide the flush of her arousal.

“Francisco—!” Her protest was cut short as he turned her sharply, pressing her forward until her palms slapped against the slick, sun-warmed surface of a submerged rock. The jagged edges bit into her skin, the rough texture a stark contrast to the smooth slide of his hands as they gripped her hips. She could feel the power in his touch, the way his fingers dug in possessively, claiming her even as the sea tried to pull them apart.

“Hold on,” he commanded, his breath hot against her ear, his body pressing against hers from behind. The water swirled around them, the current tugging at their legs, but his presence was unmovable, a solid wall of muscle and demand. Amelia’s fingers curled against the rock, her nails scraping for purchase as she braced herself. She could feel him—thick, hard, the head of his cock already pressing against the damp fabric of her swimsuit, seeking entrance. The material was stretched taut over her ass, the cutouts leaving little to the imagination, and with one rough tug, he yanked the fabric aside, exposing her completely.

The first touch of his fingers between her thighs made her shudder. He didn’t tease. Didn’t ease her in. Two thick digits plunged into her without warning, stretching her, filling her in a way that wrung a broken moan from her lips. The water lapped at her waist, the coolness doing nothing to temper the heat coiling inside her.

“Fuck—!” Her voice was raw, her body already clenching around him, her walls slick and swollen from their last encounter. He pumped his fingers in and out, rough and unrelenting, his thumb pressing against her clit in tight, demanding circles. The dual sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure bordering on pain as he worked her with a single-minded focus.

“You’re dripping for me, Amelia,” he growled, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Even the ocean can’t wash away how wet you are.”

She could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice, the way he drew out her name like a claim, and it only made her angrier. “Stop talking and fuck me already,” she snapped, pushing back against his hand, her body betraying her with every desperate roll of her hips. The rock dug into her palms, the sting grounding her even as her mind spun.

Francisco chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against her back. “Since you asked so nicely.”

His fingers vanished, leaving her empty and aching, but only for a second. The next thing she felt was the broad head of his cock pressing against her entrance, the stretch immediate and intense as he pushed inside. Amelia cried out, her body resisting at first before giving way, her inner walls fluttering around him as he filled her completely. The water made everything slicker, tighter, the resistance of the sea pressing against them from all sides as he bottomed out with a groan.

“Jesus—” His voice was strained, his hands tightening on her hips as he held her in place, letting her adjust to the brutal stretch. “You feel like you were made for me.”

Amelia didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling as she adjusted to the invasion, the way he filled her so deeply it bordered on painful. But the sting only made her crave more. She rocked back against him experimentally, testing his control, and was rewarded with a sharp slap to her ass that made her yelp.

“Stay still,” he ordered, his voice a low snarl. “Or I’ll make sure you can’t walk straight for a week.”

The threat sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t obey. Instead, she pushed back again, harder this time, her body demanding friction, demanding release. Francisco’s grip on her hips turned bruising as he pulled her onto him, his cock dragging against every sensitive inch of her before slamming back in. The water splashed around them, the waves crashing against the rock, the rhythm of the ocean matching the brutal pace he set.

“That’s it,” he grunted, his thrusts growing harder, more punishing. “Take it. Take every fucking inch.”

Amelia’s moans were swallowed by the roar of the sea, her body jolting with each snap of his hips. The rock bit into her skin, the rough surface abrasive against her chest and stomach, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was him—the thick drag of his cock inside her, the way his balls slapped against her with every thrust, the way his breath hitched when she clenched around him.

“Harder,” she gasped, her voice barely audible over the crash of the waves. “I can take it.”

Francisco didn’t need to be told twice. His next thrust was brutal, his hips slamming into hers with enough force to make her cry out, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the rock. The water swirled around them, the current tugging at their legs, but neither of them cared. They were lost in the rhythm, in the raw, animalistic need that had taken over.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his teeth grazing the side of her neck, his hand snaking around to grip her throat. “Say it.”

Amelia’s breath hitched, her body tightening around him as his fingers pressed into the delicate skin of her throat. The pressure wasn’t enough to cut off her air, but it was enough to remind her who was in charge. “Yours,” she choked out, the word torn from her lips as he thrust into her again, deeper this time, his cock hitting a spot that made her see stars.

“Again.”

“I’m yours,” she repeated, her voice breaking as pleasure coiled tighter inside her. “Only yours.”

The admission seemed to snap something inside him. His pace became relentless, his thrusts punishing as he chased his own release. The water around them churned, the waves crashing against the rock, the spray misting over their skin as they moved together, two bodies locked in a battle of wills and desire.

Amelia could feel it building—the pressure, the heat, the way her body tightened like a coil, ready to snap. “I’m close—” she gasped, her nails digging into the rock, her back arching as she tried to meet him stroke for stroke.

“Come for me,” Francisco demanded, his voice rough with effort. “Now.”

The command was all it took. Her orgasm crashed over her like the waves around them, her body clenching around him as she cried out, her voice raw and unfiltered. The pleasure was overwhelming, her vision blurring as her walls pulsed around his cock, milking him, dragging him over the edge with her.

Francisco groaned, his thrusts turning erratic as he buried himself deep and came, his release filling her in hot, thick spurts. His grip on her hips turned punishing, his body shuddering against hers as he rode out the last waves of his climax.

For a moment, they stayed like that—breathless, trembling, the ocean swirling around them as their heartbeats slowly steadied. Francisco’s forehead pressed against the back of her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin. Amelia’s body still hummed with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her muscles weak, her mind hazy.

Then, slowly, he pulled out, the loss of him making her whimper. The water rushed between her thighs, cool and soothing against the ache he’d left behind. Francisco turned her in his arms, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her—hard, possessive, his tongue sweeping into her mouth like he wanted to claim every part of her.

When he finally pulled back, his dark eyes burned into hers. “Still think you’re in control, gata?”

Amelia’s lips curled into a smirk, her body still thrumming with the remnants of pleasure. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her fingers trailing down his chest, her touch light despite the weight of her words. “Why don’t you remind me?”

Francisco’s answering growl was all the warning she got before he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her deeper into the water. The ocean welcomed them, the waves crashing around them as he pressed her against another rock, this one smoother, the surface worn by years of tide and time.

“You’re going to regret that,” he promised, his voice a dark rumble against her lips.

Amelia laughed, the sound breathless and wild, her body already arching into his. “Make me.”

And just like that, the game began again.

Chapter Seven: On the Beach

The ocean’s waves lapped at their ankles as Francisco tightened his grip around Amelia’s waist, her body still trembling from the force of their last climax. She let out a breathy laugh, her fingers curling against his damp skin, but before she could say another word, he bent down and hoisted her up against his chest. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, the wet fabric of her swimsuit clinging to her skin as he carried her out of the water. The sand beneath his boots shifted with each step, cool and heavy, sticking to their heated bodies.

Amelia arched her back slightly, her breath hitching as the rough texture of his work-roughened palms pressed into the backs of her thighs. “You’re not done yet, are you?” she murmured, her voice thick with challenge and something softer—anticipation. His jaw tightened, his dark eyes flickering down to hers before he dropped her onto the wet sand with a low, possessive growl.

She landed with a gasp, the cool grains molding to the curve of her spine, her ass, the backs of her thighs. The contrast between the chill of the sand and the heat still pulsing between her legs made her shiver. Francisco didn’t give her time to adjust. He knelt between her spread legs, his broad shoulders blocking out the fading sunlight as he loomed over her. His cock, still thick and glistening from their last encounter, twitched against his damp jeans, the denim clinging to his powerful thighs.

Amelia propped herself up on her elbows, her black hair fanning out around her like ink spilled on wet paper. She watched as he dragged his fingers up the inside of her thighs, pushing the fabric of her swimsuit aside with deliberate slowness. The cutouts in the suit left little to the imagination, but he didn’t bother with modesty—he hooked his thumbs into the damp material and yanked it down just enough to expose her, the cool air hitting her swollen, sensitive flesh.

“Still think you’re in control?” she taunted, her voice breathless but edged with defiance.

Francisco’s answer was a low chuckle, rough and knowing, as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to the inside of her knee. His tongue was hot, wet, tracing a path upward with agonizing precision. Amelia’s breath hitched, her fingers twisting into the sand as he nipped at the tender skin of her inner thigh. The scrape of his stubble against her skin sent a jolt through her, her hips lifting involuntarily.

“You talk too much,” he murmured against her flesh, his breath warm where the ocean breeze had been cool. His hands slid under her ass, lifting her slightly, tilting her hips up to give him better access. The position left her exposed, vulnerable, the wet sand clinging to her skin as he dragged his tongue through her folds. She was still slick from their last encounter, the taste of salt and sex mingling on his tongue as he lapped at her with slow, deliberate strokes.

Amelia’s head fell back, a broken moan spilling from her lips. Her fingers clawed at the sand, her body arching into his mouth as he worked her with his tongue—flat, then pointed, then sucking at her clit until her thighs trembled around his shoulders. He didn’t rush. He took his time, savoring the way her breath came in sharp little gasps, the way her hips rolled against his face, seeking more even as she tried to hold back.

“Fuck,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You’re—ah—good at that.”

Francisco pulled back just enough to smirk against her skin. “I know.” His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass, spreading her wider as he dove back in, his tongue spearing into her with a deep, claiming stroke. Amelia cried out, her back bowing off the sand, her body tightening around nothing as he fucked her with his mouth. The wet sounds of it—his tongue, her arousal, the sand shifting beneath her—filled the space between them, obscene and intoxicating.

She could feel another orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly, but before it could crest, he pulled away. Amelia let out a frustrated whimper, her hands flying to his hair, trying to drag him back, but he caught her wrists and pinned them to the sand above her head. His grip was firm, unyielding, his body pressing hers into the damp grains as he loomed over her.

“Not yet,” he growled, his voice rough with desire. “You come when I say you come.”

Amelia bared her teeth, her chest heaving. “You’re a bastard.”

His answer was a dark laugh as he shifted, his free hand working at the button of his jeans. The denim was stiff with saltwater, but he managed to shove them down just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed, the head already weeping with arousal. He didn’t bother stripping completely—just positioned himself between her legs, the rough fabric of his jeans abrasive against her inner thighs as he guided himself to her entrance.

Amelia’s breath hitched as he pressed in, slow and relentless, stretching her open inch by inch. The sand beneath her shifted, grains clinging to her skin, her hair, the curve of her ass as he sank deeper. She was still sensitive from before, her body gripping him tightly, resisting even as she melted around him.

“Fuck,” Francisco groaned, his forehead dropping to hers as he bottomed out. “You feel like heaven.”

Amelia wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back as she rolled her hips up to meet his first thrust. The angle was perfect, his cock dragging against that spot inside her that made her see stars. She bit her lip, her nails raking down his back as he set a pace that was nothing like the rough, punishing rhythm from before. This was slow. Deliberate. Each thrust deep and measured, his hips rolling in a way that made her whimper.

The sand shifted beneath them with every movement, grains sticking to their sweat-slicked skin, the wetness beneath them turning the shore into a makeshift bed. Francisco’s hands were everywhere—one tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so he could kiss her, his tongue invading her mouth with the same slow, claiming strokes as his cock inside her. The other hand gripped her hip, his fingers bruising as he held her in place, controlling the rhythm, the depth, the way their bodies moved together.

Amelia broke the kiss with a gasp, her head falling back as he hit that spot again, her body tightening around him. “Harder,” she demanded, her voice raw. “I can take it.”

Francisco’s chuckle was dark, his breath hot against her ear. “No.” His thrusts remained slow, maddeningly so, each one dragging against her G-spot, her clit, the friction building but never quite tipping her over the edge. “You’ll take what I give you.”

She snarled, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, but he caught her wrists again, pinning them above her head with one hand while the other slid between their bodies. His thumb found her clit, circling lazily, just enough pressure to keep her on the edge but not enough to send her over.

“Francisco,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Please—”

“Please what?” he murmured, his lips brushing her jaw, her throat, the sensitive skin behind her ear. His cock never stopped moving, that slow, deep rhythm driving her crazy. “Use your words, querida.”

Amelia’s breath came in sharp, desperate gasps. “Let me come.”

His thumb stilled. “Not yet.”

She whimpered, her body trembling, her pussy clenching around him. “I hate you.”

His laugh was a low rumble, his hips stuttering as her words sent a fresh wave of arousal through him. “No, you don’t.” He bit down on her earlobe, his thrusts picking up just a fraction, just enough to make her moan. “You love this. You love how I make you beg.”

Amelia’s answer was a broken sob as he finally—finally—pressed harder on her clit, his thumb moving in tight, demanding circles. His cock drove into her with more force, the sand shifting beneath them, grains sticking to her ass, her back, her thighs as he fucked her deeper. The dual sensations—his thumb, his cock, the rough texture of the sand against her skin—sent her spiraling.

“Come for me,” he ordered, his voice a growl against her ear. “Now.”

The orgasm crashed over her like a wave, her back arching off the sand as her body convulsed around him. Francisco didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, his thrusts growing erratic as her tight, fluttering pussy milked him. With a groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his cock pulsing inside her as he spilled deep.

Amelia’s vision blurred, her body boneless beneath him as he collapsed forward, his weight pressing her into the sand. She could feel him still twitching inside her, his breath hot against her neck, his heart pounding in time with hers.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant crash of the ocean waves. Then, slowly, Francisco lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. There was something unreadable in his gaze—something more than just satisfaction.

Amelia smirked, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his damp skin. “Still think you’re in control?”

Francisco’s answer was a slow, possessive kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as if he could claim her all over again. When he pulled back, his expression was dark, promising. “I know I am.”

Amelia’s laugh was breathless, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her orgasm. “Prove it.”

Chapter Eight: Saltwater Surrender

The sand clung to Amelia’s skin as she pushed herself up onto her elbows, her breath still uneven from the last orgasm Francisco had wrung from her. The golden light of the fading sun painted her body in warm hues, contrasting with the cool dampness of the sand beneath her. She licked her lips, tasting salt and him, her gaze locking onto Francisco’s dark, satisfied eyes. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, slow and deliberate, as if she were savoring the taste of his name on her tongue before she even spoke.

“Still think you’re in control?” she repeated, her voice husky but laced with challenge. The words hung between them, thick with the weight of what had just passed—his cock still throbbing inside her, his cum leaking out onto the sand, mixing with the seawater. She could feel it, warm and sticky between her thighs, a reminder of how thoroughly he’d fucked her. And yet, here she was, pushing again.

Francisco exhaled sharply through his nose, his broad chest rising and falling as he studied her. His fingers flexed against her hips, where his grip had left faint red marks. He didn’t pull out, not yet. Instead, he rolled his hips once, slow and deliberate, making her gasp as his cock twitched inside her. “You’re dripping with me, querida,” he murmured, his voice rough, “and you’re still asking stupid questions?”

Amelia’s nails dug into the sand, her back arching slightly as he shifted again, just enough to make her whimper. She bit her lower lip, refusing to let the sound escape fully. “Prove it,” she shot back, her voice trembling only slightly. “Not here. Not like this.” Her eyes flicked toward the water, where the waves crashed harder, the ocean’s pull stronger. “Race you to the deeper water. Loser does whatever the winner says.”

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled in Francisco’s chest. He finally pulled back, his cock slipping free with a wet sound that made her clench. “You’re already losing,” he said, standing in one fluid motion. His jeans hung low on his hips, the denim dark with seawater, clinging to the powerful lines of his thighs. He didn’t bother adjusting himself, letting her see the way his cock jutted out, still half-hard, glistening with her arousal. “But I’ll humor you.”

Amelia didn’t waste time. She surged to her feet, her swimsuit still askew, the green fabric clinging to her breasts, the cutouts exposing the damp skin of her sides. She didn’t fix it. Let him look. Let him want. She took off at a sprint toward the water, her bare feet kicking up sand as she laughed, the sound bright and defiant. Behind her, Francisco moved with the easy, predatory grace of a man who knew he’d catch her—when he wanted to.

The first wave hit her calves, cold and sharp, and she gasped, stumbling slightly before righting herself. The water darkened as she waded deeper, the current tugging at her legs. She glanced back just in time to see Francisco plow into the shallows, his muscles flexing as he cut through the water with long, powerful strides. His eyes were locked onto her, dark and hungry, the challenge in them unmistakable.

“You’re slow,” she taunted, splashing water at him as she turned to dive deeper. The water hit her waist, then her ribs, the swimsuit clinging tighter, the fabric almost transparent now. She could feel the drag of the current against her skin, the way it made her body heavier, slower. A shiver ran through her, but it wasn’t from the cold.

Francisco caught her before she could take another step.

One moment she was wading forward, the next his arm banded around her waist, hauling her back against his chest. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, her back pressing into the hard planes of his body. His other hand splayed across her stomach, fingers spreading possessively, his thumb dipping just beneath the waistband of her swimsuit. “You cheat,” she accused, but there was no real heat in it. Not when she could feel his cock, thick and heavy, pressing against the curve of her ass.

“All’s fair,” he growled into her ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. The water lapped at them, the current swirling around their legs, making her acutely aware of every place their bodies touched. His hand slid lower, fingers teasing the damp fabric between her thighs. “You’re already soaked, amada. And it’s not from the ocean.”

Amelia’s breath hitched as his fingers found her clit through the thin material, circling lazily. She should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve twisted free and run. But the water made everything slower, heavier, the resistance of the waves pressing them together as if the sea itself wanted them like this—trapped, breathless, drowning in each other. “Fuck you,” she managed, but her voice was weak, her hips already rocking back against him, seeking friction.

Francisco chuckled, the sound dark and knowing. His teeth grazed her earlobe, then the side of her neck, his free hand sliding up to cup her breast through the swimsuit. He pinched her nipple, hard enough to make her gasp, her back arching into him. “That’s the idea,” he murmured. His fingers worked faster, the water making everything slick, the friction maddening. “You think you’re in charge here? In my ocean?”

The current pulled at them, the water rising to their chests now, the waves crashing higher, spraying mist over their skin. Amelia’s hands flew to his forearm, her nails digging in as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, two of them pushing inside her without warning. She cried out, the sound swallowed by the crash of the waves, her body clenching around him. “Francisco—!”

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice a rough growl against her skin. His fingers curled inside her, finding that spot that made her vision blur. “Say you’re mine.”

She should’ve refused. Should’ve spat in his face, twisted away, done something. But the water was too heavy, his body too solid behind hers, and his fingers—god, his fingers—were working her like he owned her. The current swirled around them, the waves pushing them closer together, the resistance of the water making every touch, every thrust of his fingers, feel deeper, more intense. “Yours,” she gasped, the word torn from her. “I’m yours, damn you—”

His teeth sank into the junction of her neck and shoulder, sharp and possessive, and she came with a broken cry, her body convulsing around his fingers. The ocean seemed to roar in approval, a wave crashing over them, drenching them, the cold water shocking against her overheated skin. Francisco didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, his fingers relentless, drawing out every last tremor until she was boneless in his arms, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Only then did he pull his hand free, bringing his fingers to his mouth. His eyes never left hers as he licked them clean, slow and deliberate, the taste of her on his tongue. “Good girl,” he murmured, but there was no gentleness in it. Only dark satisfaction.

Amelia’s legs felt like jelly, the water buoying her up as Francisco turned her in his arms, his hands gripping her waist. She wrapped her legs around his hips instinctively, the swimsuit riding up, the cool water lapping at her exposed skin. His cock was hard again, pressing against her stomach, the head slick with pre-cum. She could feel the pulse of it, the way it twitched with every breath she took.

“Still think you’re in control?” she whispered, her lips brushing his as she rocked her hips, the movement making his cock slide between them, the friction maddening.

Francisco’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to bruise. “You’re playing with fire, querida,” he warned, but his voice was rough, his control fraying. The water swirled around them, the current pulling at them, making their bodies press together, then drift apart, only to crash back again.

Amelia smirked, her hands sliding into his damp hair. “Burn me,” she dared.

That was all it took.

Francisco’s mouth crashed onto hers, his kiss brutal, possessive, his tongue sweeping in to claim her. She moaned into him, her nails scraping down his back as he lifted her slightly, the water helping to support her weight. His cock slid between her thighs, the head pressing against her entrance, teasing but not entering. Not yet.

“Beg,” he growled against her lips.

Amelia’s breath hitched. The water made everything slower, heavier, the resistance of it turning every movement into a deliberate, drawn-out torment. She could feel the head of his cock nudging at her, the promise of it making her ache. “Please,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Fuck me.”

Francisco’s eyes darkened. “Louder,” he demanded, his hands sliding to her ass, lifting her just enough that the water lapped at her entrance, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat of his cock. “Let the ocean hear you.”

Amelia’s face burned, but the challenge in his gaze, the way his cock pulsed against her, the water swirling around them—it was too much. She threw her head back, her voice ringing out over the crash of the waves. “Fuck me, Francisco! Please—I need your cock inside me, now!”

He didn’t make her wait.

With a growl, he surged forward, his cock spearing into her in one deep, relentless thrust. Amelia cried out, her body stretching to take him, the water making the penetration slower, more intense, every inch of him dragging against her walls. “Fuck—!” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. The current pulled at them, the waves crashing around their bodies, the water sloshing between them with every thrust.

Francisco set a punishing pace, his hands gripping her ass hard enough to leave marks, using the water’s resistance to fuck her deeper, slower, each thrust dragging out until she was whimpering, her body trembling. “You feel that?” he grunted, his voice rough. “You feel how deep I am? How the ocean can’t even pull me out of you?”

“Yes—!” Amelia’s head fell back, her throat exposed as she panted. The water made everything slick, the sounds obscene—wet flesh slapping, the splash of water with every thrust, her moans mixing with the crash of the waves. “Harder,” she begged, her body clenching around him. “I need it harder.”

Francisco snarled, his control snapping. He turned them, pressing her back against a half-submerged rock, the rough surface biting into her skin. The water swirled around her waist, the current pulling at her, but his body pinned her in place. He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, and drove into her with a force that made her see stars. “Is this what you want?” he demanded, his voice a dark growl. “You want me to fuck you like I own you?”

“Yes!” Amelia’s hands flew to his hair, her fingers tangling in the damp strands as she pulled him down for a kiss. Their teeth clashed, their tongues battling, the taste of salt and desire between them. The water crashed over the rock, spraying them, the cool droplets contrasting with the heat of their bodies.

Francisco’s thrusts grew erratic, his cock swelling inside her. “Come for me,” he ordered, his thumb finding her clit, pressing hard. “Now.”

Amelia shattered.

Her orgasm ripped through her, her body clenching around him so tightly it had to hurt, but Francisco didn’t stop. He fucked her through it, his own release building, his cock throbbing inside her. “Mine,” he groaned, his voice raw. “You’re mine, Amelia—”

His cum spilled into her with a deep, shuddering pulse, his body locking up as he emptied himself. The water swirled around them, the current tugging at their limbs, but neither of them moved. Neither of them could. Francisco stayed buried inside her, his forehead pressed to hers, their ragged breaths mingling.

Amelia’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smirk as she met his gaze. The ocean crashed around them, the waves pulling at their bodies, but she didn’t care. She was exactly where she wanted to be.

“Still think you’re in control?” she whispered, her voice husky, her body still trembling around his cock.

Francisco’s dark eyes flashed. He didn’t answer.

Instead, he kissed her again, slow and deep, his tongue claiming her mouth just like his cock had claimed the rest of her. When he finally pulled back, his expression was a promise—one that made her shiver, despite the warmth of the water.

“Run,” he murmured against her lips.

And Amelia, laughing, did.

Chapter Nine: On the Shoreline

The tide turned without warning, the water hissing as it dragged itself back from the shore, leaving them exposed. Amelia’s laughter died in her throat as the ocean abandoned them, the waves retreating like a lover losing interest. One moment, she was buoyed by the salt and heat of Francisco’s body, the next, her feet scraped against the rough seabed as the water shallowed beneath them. Francisco’s grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as he cursed under his breath. The sea had played its part—now it was time for the land to take over.

Amelia barely had time to steady herself before Francisco lifted her effortlessly, his wet jeans clinging to his thighs as he hoisted her onto the jagged rocks lining the shore. The stone bit into her bare skin where her swimsuit had torn, the cool, uneven surface a stark contrast to the heated slickness between her thighs. She gasped as her back pressed against the rough outcrop, the sharp edges digging into her shoulder blades, her ass, the backs of her thighs. The pain was immediate, but beneath it, something darker and more thrilling pulsed—exposure. They were no longer hidden by the water’s embrace. The ocean’s roar had dulled to a distant murmur, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing and the occasional cry of a night bird overhead.

Francisco loomed over her, his broad frame blocking what little light remained of the sunset. His chest heaved, the muscles in his arms flexing as he braced himself against the rock beside her head. Water dripped from his dark hair, tracing the sharp angles of his jaw before disappearing into the collar of his damp, clinging shirt. His eyes were nearly black in the fading light, locked onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach clench. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. The way his gaze raked over her—lingering on the torn fabric of her swimsuit, the way her nipples hardened against the wet material, the faint bruises blooming on her thighs from his grip—said enough.

Amelia swallowed, her pulse hammering in her throat. She should’ve felt vulnerable. Stranded on the rocks, her body on display, her swimsuit barely holding together. But the way Francisco looked at her—like she was something to be devoured, not pitied—sent a jolt of defiance through her. She arched her back just slightly, pressing her breasts forward, the movement deliberate. A challenge. His nostrils flared, and for a second, she thought he might snap. Instead, his voice dropped to a rough, velvety whisper, the kind that slid under her skin and settled low in her belly.

“You think you’re safe now, princesa?” His fingers traced the edge of her swimsuit where it clung to her hip, the pad of his thumb brushing against the exposed curve of her ass. “No water to hide in. No waves to drown out those pretty little sounds you make.”

Amelia’s breath hitched. The air was cooler here, away from the water, and goosebumps prickled across her skin. But it wasn’t the chill that made her shiver. It was the way his voice wrapped around the words, dark and promising. She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze even as her body betrayed her, her thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the ache he’d left her with. “Maybe I don’t need to hide.”

A low, dangerous sound rumbled in his chest. His hand shot out, gripping her throat—not tight enough to cut off her air, but enough to pin her in place, to remind her who was in control. His thumb stroked the underside of her jaw, his callouses rough against her soft skin. “No?” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his breath hot. “Then let’s see how loud you’ll scream for me when there’s nothing to muffle it.”

Amelia’s pulse spiked, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. Her nails dug into the rock behind her, searching for leverage, for something to ground her as his words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between her legs. She should’ve been terrified. They were exposed here, the beach empty but not private, the rocks offering no real shelter. Anyone could stumble upon them. Anyone could hear.

And that thought—being caught, being seen—sent a wicked thrill through her.

She smirked, her voice barely more than a rasp. “Prove it.”

Francisco’s grip on her throat tightened for a heartbeat, his eyes flashing. Then, with a growl, he shoved her harder against the rock, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. His other hand fisted in the torn fabric of her swimsuit, yanking it down with a sharp tug. The material gave way with a wet rip, baring her to the waist. The cool air hit her exposed skin, her nipples tightening into stiff peaks, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his gaze devouring her. His hand abandoned her throat, sliding down to palm her breast, his fingers rough as they squeezed. “Look at you. So fucking perfect. So mine.”

Amelia’s back arched involuntarily, pushing herself further into his touch. His thumb flicked over her nipple, the sensation electric, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. But Francisco wasn’t having it. His free hand snapped up, gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “No. You don’t get to hide those sounds from me. Not here. Not ever.” His voice was a whip-crack, demanding. “You’re going to let the whole fucking beach hear how good I make you feel.”

A shudder ran through her, her body torn between resistance and surrender. She wanted to defy him. Wanted to twist away, to deny him the satisfaction. But the way his fingers rolled her nipple between them, the way his thigh pressed between hers, the hard ridge of his cock straining against his wet jeans—it was too much. She was too wet, too needy, her body still throbbing from the last time he’d filled her.

“Or what?” she taunted, her voice trembling despite herself. “You’ll spank me?”

Francisco’s lips curled into something feral. “Worse.”

Before she could react, he dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands gripping her thighs, his thumbs hooking under the remaining fabric of her swimsuit. He jerked the material aside, exposing her completely, the cool air hitting her soaked, swollen lips. Amelia’s breath hitched, her hands flying to his shoulders, whether to push him away or pull him closer, she wasn’t sure. But Francisco wasn’t giving her the choice. His mouth descended on her without warning, his tongue flat and hot as he dragged it through her folds.

“Oh—!” The sound tore from her throat, high and broken. Her fingers tangled in his damp hair, her hips jerking forward despite herself. He groaned against her, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through her. His hands slid under her ass, lifting her slightly, tilting her hips to give him better access. And then his mouth was everywhere—licking, sucking, his teeth grazing her clit just enough to make her whimper.

“Francisco—fuck—” Her voice was a desperate whisper, her body trembling. She could feel her orgasm building already, coiling tight and low, her thighs shaking around his head. But just as she was about to tip over the edge, he pulled back, his breath hot against her throbbing flesh.

“Louder,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. “I want to hear you beg for it.”

Amelia’s eyes flew open, her vision blurring with unshed tears of frustration. “You bastard—”

His chuckle was dark, triumphant. Then his mouth was on her again, his tongue spearing into her, two fingers driving deep inside her in one rough thrust. Amelia cried out, her back bowing off the rock, her nails raking down his shoulders. “Please—” The word broke from her before she could stop it, her pride crumbling under the onslaught of sensation. “Please, don’t stop—”

Francisco growled, the sound vibrating against her clit as he sucked hard, his fingers curling inside her, finding that spot that made her see stars. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her. “Beg for me, princesa. Let them all hear how much you need my cock.”

She was going to come. She was right there, her body tightening, her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. But then—then the unthinkable happened. Francisco pulled away again, leaving her teetering on the edge, her body trembling with unfulfilled need. She let out a frustrated sob, her hands fisting in his hair, trying to drag him back. “You asshole—”

He stood abruptly, his chest heaving, his lips glistening with her arousal. His fingers—still wet from inside her—traced her lower lip, smearing her taste across her mouth. “You want to come?” His voice was a dark promise. “Then you’re going to earn it.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, her body throbbing with denied release. “How?”

Francisco’s grin was all teeth. He unbuttoned his jeans with one hand, the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet twilight. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the head already slick with pre-cum. He stroked himself once, twice, his gaze never leaving hers. “On your knees.”

A shiver ran through her, her body reacting to the command before her mind could protest. The rocks were unforgiving beneath her as she sank down, the rough surface biting into her knees. But the discomfort was distant, overshadowed by the sight of Francisco’s cock in front of her, the way his hand tightened around the base, the way his thighs flexed as he stepped closer.

“Open,” he ordered, his voice a rough edge of need.

Amelia obeyed, her lips parting. The first press of his cock against her tongue was salty, musky, the taste of him overwhelming her senses. She hollowed her cheeks, taking him deeper, her hands gripping his thighs for balance. Francisco hissed, his fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her movements. “Just like that,” he groaned. “Take it all, princesa. Show me how much you want it.”

She moaned around him, the sound vibrating through his shaft. Her tongue swirled around the head, her lips stretching to accommodate his girth. She could taste herself on him, the mix of their arousal intoxicating. Her free hand slid between her thighs, her fingers finding her clit, circling desperately as she took him deeper, her throat opening for him.

“Fuck—” Francisco’s grip tightened, his hips rocking forward, feeding her more of his cock. “That’s it. Take it. All of it.”

Amelia gagged slightly as the head hit the back of her throat, but she didn’t pull back. She breathed through her nose, her eyes watering, her fingers working furiously between her legs. She was so close. So fucking close.

Francisco’s breath came in ragged gasps, his thighs trembling. “You’re going to come for me,” he growled. “Right now. While my cock is down your throat.”

The command sent her over the edge. Her body convulsed, her orgasm crashing over her in a wave of white-hot pleasure. She cried out around his cock, the sound muffled, her fingers digging into his thighs as her body shuddered. Francisco groaned, his hips stuttering as he fucked her mouth through her climax, his own release building.

“Swallow,” he warned, his voice tight. “Every. Last. Drop.”

Amelia barely had time to prepare before he came, his cum spilling down her throat in thick, salty pulses. She swallowed around him, her body still trembling, her own release lingering in her veins. Francisco’s grip on her hair loosened as he pulled back, his cock slipping from her lips with a wet sound. He stared down at her, his chest heaving, his expression a mix of satisfaction and something darker. Something possessive.

Amelia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her body boneless, her mind still hazy with pleasure. She should’ve felt used. Should’ve felt owned. But all she felt was the lingering heat between her thighs, the taste of him on her tongue, and the unmistakable thrill of knowing this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Francisco tucked himself back into his jeans, his gaze never leaving hers. Then, without a word, he reached down, hauling her to her feet. His mouth crashed onto hers, his kiss bruising, possessive. When he finally pulled back, his voice was a rough whisper against her lips.

“Run.”

Chapter Ten: In the Moonlit Cove

The sand clung to Amelia’s knees as she remained there, breath still uneven, her lips parted from the force of Francisco’s cock down her throat. The salt of him lingered on her tongue, the weight of his cum settling in her stomach like a claim. She could feel the cool night air brushing over her exposed skin, the torn fabric of her swimsuit doing little to cover her. Her thighs trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the electric hum still coursing through her veins.

Francisco stood over her, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of his own release, his dark eyes tracing the curve of her spine, the way her shoulders tensed as she waited. He hadn’t moved to pull her up. Hadn’t spoken. The silence between them was thick, charged with something more than just the aftermath of sex—something raw and unspoken, a challenge hanging in the air like the scent of salt and sweat.

Amelia exhaled slowly, her fingers curling into the damp sand before she lifted her gaze to his. The defiance in her voice was soft but unmistakable. “If I’m yours,” she said, her words deliberate, “then show me what that means.”

A flicker of something crossed Francisco’s face—surprise, maybe, or the first hint of hesitation. His jaw tightened, his broad shoulders tensing as if bracing against the weight of her demand. For a moment, she thought he might snap back, might grip her hair and force her mouth open again, might remind her in some rough, possessive way that she didn’t get to make the rules. But then his expression shifted, the hard edge of his dominance softening just enough to let something else slip through. Something almost tender.

He reached down.

His calloused fingers brushed her cheek before sliding beneath her arm, pulling her up with a firmness that didn’t bruise. Amelia rose unsteadily, her legs still unsteady, her body thrumming with the ghost of pleasure. She expected him to shove her against the rocks again, to pin her with his weight and fuck her until she screamed—but instead, he turned her gently, his palm pressing between her shoulder blades to guide her forward.

“Walk,” he ordered, his voice low.

The beach stretched before them, the tide having receded far enough to expose a narrow strip of wet sand leading to a hidden cove, tucked between the jagged outcrop of rocks and the gentle curve of the shore. The water there was still, reflecting the first stars like scattered diamonds. Amelia moved ahead of him, her bare feet sinking slightly into the damp sand, the cool night air raising goosebumps along her skin. She could feel his presence behind her, a solid, unyielding force, his breath warm against the back of her neck when he leaned in just close enough to speak.

“You think you can handle tender?” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice a rough murmur. “Or are you just trying to break me?”

She didn’t answer. Not because she didn’t have one, but because the question didn’t need one. They both knew. She was testing him. Pushing him. And for the first time, he wasn’t rising to the bait with roughness. He was choosing something else.

The cove opened up before them, a private alcove where the water lapped lazily at the shore, the waves barely more than a whisper. Francisco stepped past her, his body blocking the wind for just a second before he turned to face her. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, the way his dark eyes burned as they raked over her—her parted lips, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her swollen pussy glistened in the dim light.

He reached for her again.

This time, his touch was different. No gripping, no pinning—just his fingers tracing the torn edge of her swimsuit, slipping beneath the fabric to skim over her collarbone, her sternum, the underside of her breast. Amelia shivered, her nipples tightening under his gaze. She should’ve felt exposed. Vulnerable. But the way he looked at her—like she was something precious, something he was afraid of breaking—made her chest ache.

“Take it off,” he said.

She didn’t hesitate. Her fingers trembled slightly as she hooked them into the strained fabric of her swimsuit, peeling it down her arms, over her hips, letting it fall to the sand at her feet. The night air hit her bare skin, cool and sharp, but Francisco’s gaze was hotter. He didn’t move to touch her, not yet. He just watched as she stood there, completely naked, her body still flushed from earlier, her thighs slick with arousal.

“Turn around.”

Amelia obeyed, turning slowly, letting him see every inch of her—the way her ass curved, the faint red marks his fingers had left on her hips, the way her back arched just slightly, an unconscious invitation. Behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of his belt being undone, his jeans being kicked off. Then his hands were on her shoulders, pulling her back against him, his cock hard and hot against the small of her back.

“You want me to show you?” His voice was rough, his lips pressing to the side of her neck. “Then look at the water, amor. Watch it while I fuck you slow.”

The words sent a jolt through her, her breath hitching. She hadn’t expected slow. Hadn’t expected the way his hands slid down her arms, threading their fingers together before he guided her forward, into the shallow water. The tide was warm where it lapped at her calves, the sand shifting beneath her feet as he walked her deeper, until the water reached her thighs.

Francisco turned her to face him, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. “You’re mine,” he said, not as a command, but as a fact. “But that doesn’t mean I get to break you.”

Amelia’s heart stuttered. She had pushed him, taunted him, wanted him to break her—just to see if he would. But this… this was worse. Because it wasn’t about control. It was about care.

His mouth crashed into hers before she could respond, his kiss deep and searching, his tongue sliding against hers with a slow, deliberate rhythm. She moaned into him, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He groaned in response, the sound vibrating against her lips as his hands slid down her body, mapping her like he was memorizing every curve.

One hand cupped her breast, his thumb circling her nipple until it was a tight, aching peak. The other slid between her thighs, his fingers parting her folds, teasing her entrance. “You’re so wet for me,” he murmured against her lips. “Always so fucking ready.”

Amelia gasped as his fingers slipped inside her, curling just right, hitting that spot that made her knees buckle. He held her up, his arm banding around her waist, his cock pressing against her stomach as he fingered her with slow, deep strokes. “Francisco—” His name came out as a whimper, her hips rocking against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was doling out in maddening increments.

“Shhh.” His breath was hot against her ear. “Let me take care of you.”

She wanted to argue. Wanted to demand more, harder, faster. But the way he said it—the rough edge of his voice, the way his fingers never faltered, never sped up, just kept that steady, relentless rhythm—made her whimper instead. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her body arching into his touch as the water lapped around them, the waves carrying away her soft, desperate sounds.

When she was trembling, her orgasm coiling tight and low in her belly, he pulled his fingers free. Amelia cried out in protest, but then his hands were on her hips, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, her arms looping around his neck as he carried her deeper into the water, until it reached his waist, the buoyancy making her weightless in his grip.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered.

She did.

And then he was inside her.

Not a rough thrust, not a punishing claim—just a slow, deep slide, his cock filling her inch by inch until she was stretched around him, her body clenching around his thickness. Amelia gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “Oh god—”

Francisco groaned, his forehead pressing to hers, his hands gripping her ass to hold her in place. “Fuck, you feel good.” His voice was strained, like he was holding himself back. “So tight. So mine.”

He began to move.

It wasn’t like before. There was no slamming of their bodies, no bruising grip, no commands to scream. Just the slow drag of his cock inside her, the water swirling around them, the way his breath hitched every time she tightened around him. Amelia could feel every ridge, every pulse of his cock as he thrust into her, his pace measured, his control absolute.

“Francisco, please—” She didn’t even know what she was begging for. More? Less? The release that hovered just out of reach?

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers. “Just let go, amor.”

She whimpered, her body tightening, her orgasm crashing over her in a wave so intense her vision whited out. She came with a broken cry, her pussy clenching around him, milking his cock as he groaned, his own release following hers. She felt the hot pulse of him deep inside her, his cum filling her as he buried his face in her neck, his breath ragged against her skin.

For a long moment, they just stayed like that—entwined, breathless, the water lapping at their bodies, the stars overhead the only witnesses. Francisco’s arms were wrapped around her, his cock still buried inside her, softening slowly. Amelia’s fingers traced idle patterns on his back, her heart still pounding.

She had expected possession. Had expected to be marked, claimed, owned.

She hadn’t expected this.

Francisco lifted his head, his dark eyes searching hers. There was something in his gaze she hadn’t seen before—something raw and open, something that looked almost like fear. “You’re mine,” he said again, quieter this time. “But I’m yours, too.”

Amelia swallowed, her throat tight. She reached up, her hand cupping his jaw, her thumb brushing over his bottom lip. “I know.”

And for the first time, she believed it.

The water carried them gently, the tide pulling them in slow, lazy circles as they held each other. There was no need for words. No need for challenges or commands or power games. Just the two of them, tangled together under the endless Rio sky, the ocean bearing witness to something neither of them had expected.

Possession, it turned out, could be tender.

And surrender?

Surrender could be freeing.