Shoreline Secrets

The road curled lazily along the coastline, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun. The sea sparkled in the distance, and I found myself leaning slightly toward the window, eyes half-closed, just breathing in the salty air. I'd kicked my sandals off hours ago, tucking my feet beneath me on the passenger seat. James glanced over at me every so often -- I could tell he liked the way my dress rode up just enough to reveal my thighs. I pretended not to notice.

We'd been driving for about three hours, mostly in silence. Not the heavy kind, just... familiar. Comfortable. Every now and then he'd reach over and rest his hand on my leg, giving it a light squeeze, like a reminder that he was there. That he was mine. His wedding ring glinted faintly in the sunlight, and I smiled.

James and I have been married for two years now, though we've been together a little longer than that. We met young -- mid-twenties -- and when we clicked, everything else just kind of aligned. He's a good man. Solid. The kind who brings me tea when I have cramps and insists on double-knotting my sneakers if we go hiking. Physically, he's nothing flashy -- average height, slim build, slightly messy dark brown hair and warm, quiet eyes. But he's always had that soft kind of charm. The one that grows on you, the one that feels safe.

I know I'm not exactly striking either. I've always been on the petite side -- just barely five feet tall -- with soft curves and pale skin that burns too easily. My breasts are small, but firm, and James always says he loves the way my body fits against his. He calls me delicate, even though I don't always feel that way. I try to stay in shape, but I've never been obsessive about it. Just enough to feel good in my clothes... and in his hands.

I glanced over at him now, watching the way his fingers tapped the steering wheel in rhythm with the music -- some playlist we made ages ago. I reached out and rested my hand over his, letting my thumb glide over the veins on his wrist.

"We haven't done this in a while," I said softly.

He glanced over. "What, driven somewhere together? Just the two of us?"

I nodded. "Feels nice."

He smiled. "It does. I missed this."

I paused for a second, then added, "I've missed you."

He didn't say anything right away, just took my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. "Me too."

We stayed like that for a while -- his hand in mine, the ocean beside us, the sky slowly shifting from gold to rose. Then I shifted in my seat, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Cami said they're already at the house," I said. "She texted me earlier. Said she's making shrimp tacos tonight."

James chuckled. "Of course she is. You know Rob's probably already opened a bottle of mezcal."

I laughed softly. "You think we'll end up drunk the first night?"

He gave me a sideways look. "Depends. Are we drinking for fun or... for courage?"

I raised a brow. "Courage?"

He hesitated, then shrugged. "I don't know. This weekend feels... big. I mean, it's the first time we're away since we decided to stop being careful."

I fell quiet for a second. My fingers played with the hem of my dress, tugging it gently down over my thighs again.

"I know," I said. "It's kind of scary."

He nodded. "Exciting too."

"Yeah," I whispered. "It feels different now. Like every time we're together... it might mean something more."

He reached over and squeezed my hand. "It already does."

I smiled, even though I could feel a small knot in my stomach. Not fear, exactly. More like... anticipation. I'd stopped taking my pills just three weeks ago, and I hadn't told anyone but James. Not even Cami. It felt like a quiet, sacred little secret between us. And maybe that's why this weekend felt important. Like a soft line being drawn between who we were and who we were about to become.

"We don't have to force anything," James said gently. "Let's just enjoy it. Relax. Be with friends."

I nodded. "I'd like that."

The GPS on his phone lit up again -- fifteen minutes to go. I sat back, looking out the window at the changing sky. Ahead of us, the beach house waited. Familiar voices. Old friends. And maybe, without realizing it, the start of something new.

We turned onto a narrow gravel road lined with palm trees, the tires crunching softly beneath us. I sat up a little straighter, brushing down my dress and pulling my hair into a loose knot. My stomach fluttered -- not nerves exactly, just that little pulse of energy that comes from seeing people you haven't seen in a while.

"There it is," James said, pointing ahead.

The house sat just a few steps from the shore, tucked into the landscape like it had always belonged there -- two stories, white stucco walls, wide balconies, and faded wooden shutters that gave it a kind of coastal charm. The driveway was already full: Rob's old SUV, Cami's Jeep, and what I guessed were Leo and Luke's cars.

As soon as we parked, the front door swung open.

"There they are!" Cami's voice rang out, warm and bright. She came down the steps barefoot, her sundress flowing in the breeze, arms open like she hadn't seen us in years.

I barely had time to step out before she wrapped me in a hug. "You look gorgeous," she said, kissing my cheek. "Tiny as ever."

"And you," I smiled, hugging her back. "You haven't aged a day."

"Oh, please," she laughed, waving her hand. "I age in mezcal years now. Come in, come in."

Rob was already at the door, holding a beer in one hand, grinning like the host of some beachside variety show. "James, my man!"

James stepped into a quick half-hug, and I could hear their familiar banter as we followed Cami up the steps. The house smelled like lime and grilled shrimp, with music floating in from the back patio.

Inside, it was just as I remembered: open, airy, full of sun and soft colors. The windows were wide open, letting in the sea breeze, and someone had already set the table with mismatched plates and little glass bowls of salsa.

"Leave your bags, you're not unpacking yet," Cami said, already handing me a drink -- something icy and pink with a wedge of grapefruit. "You're on vacation now."

"I missed you," I told her sincerely. "We really needed this."

"I know," she said, giving me a knowing look. "That's why I didn't let you say no."

Just then, Leo appeared at the edge of the room. He was taller than I remembered -- broader, too -- but his posture was still the same: slightly hunched, hands in his pockets, eyes kind but shy. He gave me a quick smile and a small wave.

"Hi, Pauline."

"Hi, Leo," I said, walking over to hug him. "You grew up on me."

He laughed softly. "Yeah... I guess so."

"You remember James?"

"Of course," he nodded, shaking James's hand.

Behind him, another boy stepped in. I could tell instantly he wasn't family -- his presence had a different rhythm to it. Same age as Leo, maybe a bit leaner, with messy dark blond hair and a sun-kissed face. He gave us a polite nod, then looked out toward the patio like he wasn't sure whether to stay or go.

"That's Luke," Leo said, glancing over his shoulder. "My friend from school."

James extended his hand, always the kind one. "Nice to meet you, man."

Luke shook it briefly. "You too."

"Where's Sophie?" I asked.

Cami rolled her eyes fondly. "Out back with her phone, pretending she's not part of this family."

"Teenagers," Rob said, already pulling out chairs for dinner. "Let's eat before the tacos get cold."

We sat together around the big wooden table, the sound of waves just behind us and the soft clink of glasses filling the air. Cami kept refilling our drinks, and James had that relaxed, happy look he always got after a few sips. We told stories, laughed about old vacations, and teased Rob about the time he'd burned an entire tray of shrimp trying to impress guests.

At some point, I caught Leo looking at me -- not in a strange way, just with the kind of affection that comes from years of knowing someone. I smiled at him, and he looked away, cheeks a little pink. It was sweet, really. He'd always been that gentle boy who clung to his mom's leg when we visited.

After dinner, the group drifted into smaller conversations. Cami was showing me the new tile work in the kitchen, Rob and James argued about mezcal vs. tequila, and the boys disappeared somewhere toward the beach.

It wasn't until later, when the sun had fully dipped and the moon began to rise, that I stepped out onto the back deck alone. The air was warm and salty, and the soft hum of laughter echoed from somewhere down the shore.

I closed my eyes, letting the sound of the sea wash over me. We were here. Together. At peace.

And even if I didn't know what this weekend would bring... for now, everything felt just right.

Later that night, the air had cooled just enough to feel good against my skin. The sky was deep and full of stars, and the sound of the waves had become a steady rhythm -- like the house itself was breathing in time with the ocean.

We'd moved out to the patio with more drinks, dim string lights overhead casting a soft amber glow over everything. Rob had lit a few citronella candles, which flickered lazily on the table between us. The mezcal bottle had made its way around twice, and even James looked a little flushed -- his cheeks pink, his eyes a touch glassy. He didn't drink much, usually. Neither of us did. But something about being out here -- far from the city, from work, from responsibilities -- made everything feel lighter. Simpler.

I curled up on one of the lounge chairs, pulling my knees to my chest. I wore one of James's old cotton shirts over my swimsuit, soft and oversized, the hem brushing against my thighs. My hair was still damp from a quick shower, and I let it fall loose around my shoulders.

"Alright," Cami said, holding up a speaker in one hand and a glass in the other, "who wants beach music and who wants guilty pleasures?"

"Guilty!" I called out, already laughing.

"Thank you," she said dramatically, connecting her phone. "Rob's been playing the same playlist since 2015."

"That playlist slaps," Rob muttered.

"I rest my case," Cami said, pressing play.

Soon we were all moving with the music -- not dancing, exactly, but swaying in our seats, nodding to familiar songs we hadn't heard in years. James came to sit behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.

"I love watching you like this," he murmured into my ear.

"Like what?"

"Relaxed. Happy. Glowing."

I smiled, leaning my head against his. "It's the mezcal."

"No," he whispered. "It's you."

I closed my eyes for a second, letting the moment settle. It was rare to feel this still -- not distracted, not tired, not trying to cross something off a list. Just here. With him.

Leo and Luke reappeared a little later, barefoot and sandy, towels slung over their shoulders. They'd gone down to the water after dinner, and now their skin shimmered slightly under the lights, the kind of glow only the ocean can leave on you. Leo smiled politely and dropped onto a chair, while Luke stood for a moment, scanning the space before settling on the armrest of the couch across from me.

I didn't pay much attention to their conversation at first -- something about volleyball, or maybe surfing. I just listened to the sounds around me: waves, laughter, the low hum of the music, Cami singing along out of tune, Rob laughing too loud.

It felt like the beginning of summer, even though we were halfway through spring.

James ran his fingers lazily along my thigh, tracing idle lines. He didn't mean anything by it -- not tonight. It was just habit. A gentle claim. A comfort.

"I could fall asleep right here," I whispered.

"Don't," he said. "Then I'd have to carry you inside."

I smiled. "You're strong enough."

He kissed my shoulder. "Barely."

The boys got up again a few minutes later, heading back toward the beach. I heard Luke say something about the stars, and Leo agreed, his voice softer now, like the night had wrapped itself around all of us and lowered the volume of the world.

Cami caught my eye, her face glowing in the candlelight. "I love having you two here," she said. "You bring a kind of peace. Balance. You always have."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I just nodded, quietly touched.

Eventually, we started to peel away. Rob stretched and announced he was going to bed, Cami followed him soon after. James and I stayed out a little longer, curled up in each other's warmth, just listening to the ocean.

When we finally made it inside, the house was still. Our bags were already in the guest room. The sheets were cool, the room faintly scented with salt and lavender.

James wrapped himself around me as we slipped into bed, his fingers tracing circles on my back, his breath steady against my neck.

"I love this place," I whispered.

"I love you," he replied.

I turned to face him, brushing my nose against his. "Always?"

"Always."

I smiled, eyes drifting shut.

And that's how the first night passed -- slow, quiet, wrapped in comfort and the softness of everything we thought we knew.

The sun was still high when Cami started pulling things from the fridge with the chaotic focus only she could pull off -- lime wedges, thinly sliced onions, marinated chicken, some kind of herbed rice she'd "improvised." I offered to help, of course, but she waved me off like always.

"Just keep me company," she said, sipping a glass of white wine and tossing chopped cilantro into a bowl. "Talk to me while I pretend I'm in control."

I leaned against the counter, barefoot and already a little flushed from the sun. "You are in control."

"I need you to keep telling me that," she said with a laugh. "Because Rob is out there trying to grill chicken while arguing with Leo about soccer teams, and I think he just put the wrong burner on."

I peeked through the kitchen window. Rob had, in fact, put one piece of chicken directly onto the side table instead of the grill.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't see that."

Cami smirked. "Exactly."

The house buzzed with light movement -- James was helping Rob now, trying to salvage the chicken; Leo and Luke had brought the patio chairs in closer around the table; Sophie was upstairs, "getting ready" even though she'd been wearing the same bikini for six hours. Everything felt loose and easy, like the day had stretched everyone out and softened the edges.

Dinner was finally served just as the light began to turn golden. The table was long, slightly weathered, full of mismatched plates and bowls of grilled vegetables, tortillas, spicy salsas, and a massive pitcher of cucumber water that Rob had poured tequila into when no one was looking.

We sat wherever we landed -- Cami next to me, James at my other side, Leo across from me, and Luke beside him. The energy was relaxed, full of laughter and little stories being tossed across the table like soft tennis balls.

"I'm telling you," Rob was saying, already deep into one of his rants, "kids today don't know how to camp. It's all Airbnbs and portable speakers. When we were their age, we slept in the back of trucks."

"Because you didn't have money," Cami teased.

"No," he said, raising a finger. "Because we were men."

Everyone laughed.

James leaned closer, whispering in my ear, "He says this every time."

"I know," I whispered back. "And she destroys him every time."

Cami caught my eye and grinned, refilling my wine. "He needs the humiliation. Keeps him humble."

Across from me, Leo smiled softly. "I think I've heard that camping story like five times."

"You'll hear it five more," Luke muttered.

I turned slightly toward them. "So how long have you two been friends?"

Leo shrugged. "Since sophomore year, I guess. Chemistry class."

"I was the quiet one," Luke added. "Still am, I guess."

"Not when there's music on," Leo said with a little nudge.

I smiled. "Well, you seem like a good influence."

Luke gave a small, appreciative nod. "Trying my best."

James leaned across me a little. "Leo, you playing soccer this semester?"

"Yeah," Leo said. "Not starting, but I'll be in the rotation."

"Proud of you, man," Rob said, raising his glass. "Just don't let them stick you on defense."

Everyone chuckled again, and the conversation floated on -- about school, sports, the best tacos in Mexico City, whether mezcal was better than tequila (a debate that could last for hours), and a memory Cami told about Pauline and a kayak that ended with me falling into the lagoon.

"That wasn't my fault," I insisted, laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

"You screamed so loud, I thought a crocodile had taken you," James added.

"I swallowed water," I said between giggles.

"You swallowed half the lake," Cami corrected.

Even Luke smiled at that, and I caught him watching me for just a second before he turned back to his plate. Not in a strange way -- more like he was still figuring me out. I didn't think anything of it.

As the plates emptied and the wine disappeared, Rob brought out a speaker and started playing soft jazz, then something funkier. Sophie joined us for dessert -- just long enough to eat a slice of cake and roll her eyes at every adult in the room before retreating again.

Eventually, people began shifting into smaller conversations. Cami sat with her feet in Rob's lap, both of them half-asleep in their chairs. James and Leo were on the edge of the deck talking about James's job, and Luke stood nearby, sipping a beer slowly, the breeze tugging lightly at his shirt.

I watched them from the kitchen doorway, my hands warm from washing a few dishes, the scent of lime and grilled onions still clinging to my skin.

It was a good night. A familiar night. The kind that wrapped around you like a soft blanket -- full of old stories, new laughter, and the feeling that, for now, everything was right where it needed to be.

The night wound down slowly, like a song fading into its final notes. The laughter around the table had softened into quiet conversation, wine glasses half-full, plates pushed aside. The breeze coming in from the sea grew cooler, and someone -- maybe Leo -- had pulled a hoodie on. Even the music from the speaker had slipped into something gentler.

Cami yawned first, dramatic as always, stretching her arms high. "Alright," she said, standing. "This woman needs sleep and moisturizer."

Rob was next, rubbing his eyes. "I'm calling it too before I end up snoring in that chair."

They hugged us both, warm and lingering. "Sleep well, lovebirds," Cami whispered in my ear. "We'll see you in the morning."

Leo waved a quiet goodnight from the far side of the patio, already scrolling through something on his phone. Luke gave a nod, polite and distant, before disappearing into the hallway that led to the downstairs bedrooms. The soft thud of doors closing echoed behind us as the house slowly gave in to silence.

James and I lingered a few moments longer outside, just the two of us, sitting side by side on the wooden steps that faced the beach. The moon hung low, casting silver light across the water. He reached for my hand and held it, without a word.

Then, finally, we rose.

Our room was just as we'd left it -- dimly lit, the sheets freshly made, the air still holding a faint trace of lavender. I closed the door behind us and sighed, letting the quiet wrap around me like a blanket.

James pulled his shirt over his head in one motion, tossing it into the chair. "I forgot how good it feels to not think about tomorrow."

I smiled, already opening my bag to grab my toiletries. "I could get used to this."

We moved around each other easily -- brushing teeth, folding our clothes, deciding which side of the bed to take like we hadn't been doing the exact same thing for years. I changed into a soft tank top and cotton sleep shorts, nothing fancy, just the kind of thing that felt like me. James slipped into a pair of boxers and lay back on the bed with a soft groan of relief.

I stood in front of the mirror for a second, pulling my hair into a loose braid, my reflection glowing faintly in the warm light of the bedside lamp. My skin still carried the sun from earlier. My cheeks, flushed from wine. My shoulders, just beginning to show freckles.

James turned to look at me. His gaze was soft, familiar.

"Come here," he said.

I walked over and climbed into bed beside him, resting my head on his chest. His arms came around me instantly, the way they always did, like it was instinct.

We lay there like that, listening to the waves outside the window. The silence wasn't empty -- it was full. Of the day we'd just lived, of the memories we were already making, of the comfort of being known.

I pressed a kiss to his chest, just over his heart.

"Goodnight," I whispered.

He kissed the top of my head. "Goodnight, love."

And just like that, the house fell asleep.

I felt his fingertips first. Light. Barely there. Sliding along my hip, following the curve of my body beneath the thin cotton of my shorts. His breath was warm against the back of my neck, steady, but a little deeper than before. He wasn't asleep.

Neither was I.

We hadn't said anything, but I knew what he wanted. I could feel it in the way his hand rested -- not demanding, just waiting. Inviting.

I turned slowly in his arms, bringing my body to face his. In the dim light, I could barely make out the lines of his face, but I knew them by heart. I pressed my lips to his -- soft at first, more a promise than a kiss -- and he pulled me in tighter.

His hand slipped under my shirt, gliding up my waist until his palm cupped one of my breasts. My breath caught, just a little. I let him feel me, explore me, take his time. His thumb brushed over my nipple, and I sighed into his mouth, my own fingers tracing the waistband of his boxers.

He was already hard.

When I reached down and freed his dick, he exhaled sharply -- that deep, needy sound I loved. I stroked him gently, slow at first, just feeling the weight of him in my hand. He kissed my neck, then lower, his lips trailing down to my chest. His tongue circled my nipple while his hand slid beneath my shorts, fingers finding the heat between my legs.

I was already wet.

I spread my thighs for him, just enough to give him space, and he slipped one finger inside me, slow and careful. My hips moved on instinct, responding before my mind could catch up.

I pulled off my shirt, then pushed my shorts down and kicked them away. He did the same with his boxers, and for a moment we just looked at each other -- naked, breathless, wanting.

He rolled on top of me, guiding his dick to my pussy, and I opened for him, wrapping my legs around his waist.

The first push always took my breath away. He filled me slowly, completely, until I felt stretched and full and impossibly close to him. My fingers dug into his back as he began to move -- slow at first, like he was savoring it, kissing me between each thrust.

But something inside me shifted.

Maybe it was the wine, or the heat of the night, or just the way his body moved inside mine -- deeper, more deliberate -- but I felt it. That edge I usually held back... began to slip.

I moaned louder than I meant to.

James paused, looked down at me with a grin. "Someone's being noisy tonight."

I blushed, but couldn't help it. "I can't..."

"You don't have to," he said softly, kissing me again.

And then I let go.

I clung to him, my voice escaping in small gasps and moans that grew louder with every thrust. My nails scratched at his back. My hips rose to meet him, again and again, desperate for more. I heard the headboard tap the wall. I knew I was louder than I should be -- we weren't alone in the house -- but I couldn't stop.

He drove deeper, harder, one hand gripping my thigh, the other tangled in my hair. I cried out again, sharp and high, and this time he laughed under his breath.

"They're gonna hear you," he whispered.

"I don't care," I gasped.

His pace quickened, and I could feel the heat rising in my stomach, spreading like fire through my limbs. My pussy clenched around him, desperate and close. I bit my lip to muffle the next moan, but it still came out -- raw and breathy and mine.

"James--" I barely got the word out before the climax took over.

My back arched, thighs trembling, a cry torn from my throat before I could hold it back. He followed a few thrusts later, groaning low against my neck, his dick pulsing as he filled me with cum.

We collapsed together, breath tangled, hearts racing.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Just the sound of our breathing. Of the ocean through the window. Of silence finally settling around us again.

Then James kissed my cheek and whispered, "Remind me to thank Cami for this trip."

I laughed, burying my face in his chest. "I think the whole house heard me."

He grinned. "Let them."

And just like that, we drifted off -- wrapped in each other, messy and warm, and more alive than we'd felt in weeks.

Still tangled in the sheets, our bodies warm and slick with the remnants of what we'd just shared, I lay with my head resting on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. It always slowed like this after. Like his body had poured everything into me and was now gently returning to calm.

My fingers traced slow, absent circles on his stomach, while his hand drifted lazily along my spine.

Neither of us said anything for a while. The kind of silence that didn't need filling -- thick with everything that had just happened. The night air drifted through the open window, cooling our skin, and somewhere in the distance I could still hear the ocean, steady and eternal.

Then James spoke, his voice low and thoughtful.

"That one felt different."

I smiled against his chest. "You always say that."

"No, I mean it this time." He turned slightly, just enough to look down at me. "Do you think... maybe this is the one?"

I lifted my head, meeting his eyes. There was something soft in them. Hopeful. A little afraid to hope too much.

I exhaled slowly. "Maybe."

It was the truth. We'd only just started trying -- really trying. No more counting days, no more pulling away, no more precautions. Just the two of us, letting nature take over. And still... something about tonight felt more real. Like this time, it mattered more.

I shifted onto my side, pressing my body close to his. "It's strange," I said quietly. "Knowing that now... every time we make love, it could mean something else."

He nodded. "I keep thinking about that. Not in a pressure way, just... it changes how it feels."

"Yeah." I paused. "It feels heavier. And softer. At the same time."

"I love you," he said simply.

I leaned in and kissed his shoulder, my lips brushing over his skin. "I love you too."

He reached down, gently laying his hand over my belly -- just resting it there. Not possessive. Not symbolic. Just quiet.

We stayed like that, with his hand on me, my fingers laced through his, and our breaths gradually syncing again. I closed my eyes, not to sleep, but to memorize the feeling.

Because maybe this was the one.

And maybe... it wasn't.

But either way, we were doing it together.

The first light of morning crept into the room slowly, like it was trying not to wake us. I stirred beneath the thin sheet, the air still warm but fresh in a different way -- that quiet, salty freshness that only mornings near the ocean seem to have.

James was still asleep beside me, his face turned toward the window, his lips slightly parted. He looked younger in sleep. Softer. The tension that sometimes lingered on his forehead during the day had completely vanished.

I lay there for a moment just watching him, my fingers lightly tracing the line of his shoulder. The sheet had slipped down, exposing the curve of his back, and I felt the smallest spark of heat in my chest remembering everything from the night before. The way he'd touched me. The way I'd sounded. The way neither of us had held anything back.

I turned slowly, sitting up on the edge of the bed. My thighs ached in that sweet, quiet way that only came after being made love to deeply. I stood and crossed the room to the small mirror near the window. My reflection surprised me -- cheeks still a little flushed, hair wild, lips full and soft.

I pulled on a long T-shirt, the same one I wore the night before, and tiptoed barefoot out of the room. The hallway was dim, the sounds of the house still asleep. I made my way to the kitchen, careful with each step on the cool tiles, and filled a glass with water.

Outside, the sea was already moving -- gentle, shimmering. The sky painted in pale pinks and soft gold. I opened the back door and stepped out onto the wooden deck, the old planks warm beneath my feet. The wind smelled of salt and sun and something new.

I sat on the edge of a lounge chair and tucked my legs under me, glass in hand, breathing deeply.

I didn't feel different. But I did feel... full. In a quiet, invisible way.

James found me a few minutes later, still shirtless, eyes squinting from the light. He came up behind me and kissed the top of my head before sitting beside me with a sleepy smile.

"Coffee?" he asked, his voice rough with morning.

"Not yet."

He stretched, one hand running through his hair. "You okay?"

I nodded. "Just... wanted to feel the morning. Alone, for a second."

He didn't say anything. Just placed his hand over mine and looked out toward the water.

We stayed like that for a while. No rush. No words needed. Just the ocean, the morning, and the quiet between us -- still carrying the echo of everything we shared the night before.

Eventually, the house would wake. Someone would turn on music. Cami would hum while making eggs. Rob would complain about the coffee. And the day would begin.

But for now, it was just us. Still wrapped in the afterglow of something beautiful.

The smell of coffee and something toasty pulled us both inside.

By the time James and I returned to the kitchen, the house was already alive. Cami was barefoot and singing softly to herself as she flipped pancakes on the stove. Rob, hair a mess and eyes still half-closed, was pouring orange juice into a glass with exaggerated concentration. Sophie was sitting at the kitchen island in an oversized hoodie, scrolling on her phone with one hand and stabbing a piece of fruit with the other.

"Morning, sleepyheads," Cami called, not looking away from the pan. "You two were out cold."

James gave me a quick glance as if to say if only they knew.

"Good morning," I said, walking over to kiss her cheek. "It smells amazing in here."

"That's because I've decided we're having real breakfast today," she said. "None of this 'granola bar and regret' nonsense."

"Thank God," Rob muttered.

"Did you make coffee?" James asked.

"Third pot," Rob replied, sliding the mug toward him like a bartender in an old western. "You're late."

Leo wandered in a moment later, hair still wet from a shower, wearing swim trunks and a sleeveless T-shirt. He gave everyone a sleepy smile and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl without a word.

Luke followed behind, already dressed and alert, with a towel slung over his shoulder and a calm expression. "Morning," he said, nodding toward us.

"Hey, boys," Cami called. "No shoes in the kitchen. Sophie's rule."

"I never said that," Sophie replied without looking up.

"Well, I'm trying to make you sound refined," Cami said.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Nice try."

I sat on one of the stools and poured myself a cup of coffee, watching the whole scene unfold. It had that easy, lived-in energy that only happens when people truly know each other. The kind of comfortable messiness you miss when it's gone.

James took a seat next to Rob and started talking about some show they both pretended to hate but secretly followed. Cami kept flipping pancakes with practiced rhythm, humming to a song that wasn't playing. Sophie laughed quietly at something on her phone. And Leo and Luke, now seated with plates, were already debating something about soccer.

I caught Cami's eye from across the kitchen. She raised an eyebrow at me -- just a flick -- then glanced at James and smiled knowingly.

My cheeks warmed slightly.

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

When the pancakes were finally ready, we all gathered around the big kitchen table, squeezing in wherever there was space. The plates were mismatched, the syrup bottle was sticky, and someone had forgotten forks, but none of it mattered.

Sophie actually joined the conversation, teasing Rob for burning the bacon. Luke offered to help clean up, which earned him points with everyone. And Leo, sweet and quiet as ever, made sure I had juice before serving himself.

James squeezed my thigh under the table, just once, and when I looked over at him, he gave me that sleepy, content smile I'd always loved. The one that said this is enough.

The house was full of noise and laughter, the smell of syrup and salt in the air, and for a brief moment, I let it all wash over me -- this strange little bubble of warmth and closeness.

After breakfast, everyone drifted off in different directions -- Cami started clearing the table despite our protests, Rob went to check the grill outside for "later," and the boys disappeared, likely to claim the best spot on the beach. James and I headed back to our room to get changed.

The sun was already stronger, streaming through the bedroom window in thick, golden ribbons. The sheets were still rumpled from the night before. I stepped around the edge of the bed and opened the drawer where I'd folded my swimsuits.

I hesitated a second, fingers brushing over the fabric.

James glanced up from his bag. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "Just... trying to decide which one won't embarrass me in front of Sophie."

He chuckled. "She wore a string bikini yesterday, didn't she?"

"Yes, but she's sixteen and invincible."

I pulled out the one-piece I'd packed on instinct -- a deep emerald green, with a low scoop in the back and high-cut legs. The material was thick and smooth, just enough structure to feel secure, with a soft sheen when it caught the light. The neckline dipped slightly in the front, enough to show a hint of cleavage without being obvious. It was modest. But not innocent.

I liked it because it made me feel like a woman. Not a girl pretending to be sexy. Just... myself.

I slipped into it in the bathroom while James changed in the room. When I stepped out, he had his back to me, tying the drawstring on his navy-blue swim trunks.

He turned as he heard the door.

His eyes swept over me, pausing -- just briefly -- at my chest, my waist, my hips. Then he smiled. The slow kind of smile that started in his eyes.

"Well, damn."

I raised a brow. "Too much?"

"Not even close." He stepped closer, hands slipping around my waist. "You look incredible."

I laughed softly, resting my hands on his chest. "It's supposed to be subtle."

"It's not." He leaned in, kissing just below my ear. "It's better."

I pulled away, cheeks warm, and grabbed a lightweight sarong from the bed, tying it around my waist. "Behave," I said, teasing. "We're going to the beach, not locking the door again."

"I didn't say a word."

He pulled on a linen shirt over his trunks and reached for the sunscreen. "Want me to do your back?"

"Always."

I turned, and he rubbed the lotion into my shoulders, slow and familiar, his fingers smoothing over the line where my suit dipped low across my back. His hands were warm, and I leaned into the touch slightly, closing my eyes just for a moment.

"You're glowing," he murmured.

I looked back over my shoulder. "You said that yesterday."

"I'll say it every day."

I smiled. "Come on. Before the boys claim every towel."

We grabbed a pair of sunglasses, a beach tote with water bottles and snacks, and our towels. I slipped into my sandals and took one last look in the mirror before we stepped out into the hallway.

The house was buzzing again -- someone had turned on music in the living room, and the sound of the ocean had grown louder through the open patio doors.

James laced his fingers with mine as we headed toward the back deck and the path that led down to the beach.

The sand was warm beneath my feet, soft and pale, the kind that slips between your toes and clings to your skin in the nicest way. We followed the narrow wooden path that led from the house to the edge of the beach, towels slung over our shoulders, sunglasses already slipping down our noses from the heat.

The ocean stretched wide and sparkling before us, blue and endless, with small waves breaking in soft foamy bursts near the shore. It wasn't crowded -- just a few other families scattered far off in either direction -- which made the space feel even more like ours.

Leo and Luke had already claimed their spots, towels spread, half-buried cooler between them. Leo stood waist-deep in the water, tossing a neon-green ball up in the air and catching it lazily. Luke sat nearby in the sand, leaning back on his elbows, sunglasses on, legs stretched out, soaking in the sun like a cat.

Sophie lay under an umbrella a few feet away, a book in one hand, earbuds in, trying hard to pretend none of us existed. Classic Sophie.

Cami was already in the water, sunhat floating beside her like a little raft, calling out to Rob to "quit dragging his feet." Rob stood ankle-deep in the surf, shirt halfway off, with that mock-reluctant face he always made when Cami was being bossy and he secretly loved it.

James laid our towels beside the others and dropped the tote down. "Want to go in?"

"Absolutely," I said, already tying my hair up.

We walked straight into the waves, letting the cold bite at our skin, laughing and shrieking like kids. James dove under first, and I followed right behind, the salty water rushing over my shoulders and waking up every cell in my body.

"It's freezing," I gasped.

"It's perfect," he grinned.

He reached out and splashed me in the face, and I squealed, ducking away and kicking water back at him. Before long we were caught in one of those wordless games -- chasing each other, dunking and dodging, floating and laughing. The water lifted us and let us go, over and over again.

Eventually we swam back toward the shore, out of breath and smiling. I could feel the sun already beginning to dry the water on my skin, leaving trails of salt behind. James brushed his wet hair back and looked over at me, eyes warm and relaxed.

"You look like you belong here," he said.

I gave him a playful nudge. "I sweat like I belong here."

He laughed, and we walked back to our towels. Cami was lounging in a beach chair with her sunglasses on, sipping something out of a reusable cup and flipping through a magazine. Rob had finally made it into the water and was splashing around near Leo.

I stretched out on my towel, lying on my stomach with my arms folded under my chin. My sarong was now tied loosely around my waist, and my skin tingled from the sun and salt. James sat beside me, his hand resting lazily on the small of my back, his thumb brushing softly against my damp skin.

The boys came over a few minutes later -- Leo carrying the cooler, Luke with a handful of snacks. Sophie wandered over too, just long enough to grab a bottle of water and roll her eyes at something Rob shouted from the waves.

We all settled into that easy rhythm of beach time -- sharing food, passing sunscreen, laughing at nothing. The breeze carried little pieces of music from someone's speaker further down the shore, and the warmth of the sun made everything feel slow and suspended.

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing it all in: the scent of sunscreen and sea, the hum of voices, the comfort of James's hand resting on me like a quiet anchor.

There was no rush. No tension. Just sun, sea, and the people I loved.

And I wouldn't have traded that morning for anything.

The sun was just beginning to lower, no longer harsh but golden, washing everything in a warm glow. The salty breeze moved gently through the terrace, and the smell coming from the grill made my stomach growl.

Cami stood by the outdoor table, arranging dishes with the same chaotic precision she applied to everything she touched -- a bowl of grilled vegetables here, a stack of tortillas there, avocado slices fanned out like flower petals. Rob manned the grill with exaggerated pride, flipping marinated chicken thighs and caramelized onions like a seasoned chef, even though we all knew it was mostly Cami's doing.

"I hope everyone's starving," Cami announced, brushing her hair back with one hand and placing a huge bowl of mango salsa at the center of the table.

"We are," Leo said, stretching his arms behind his head. "We've been in the water for hours."

Luke nodded. "I'm ready to eat anything."

"Dangerous words in this house," Rob said. "You might get served an entire grilled pineapple if you're not careful."

"I'll take it," Luke replied, dead serious.

We all laughed.

James helped bring drinks to the table -- a big pitcher of agua de limón, cold beers, and a bottle of wine Cami insisted had been "waiting for this exact sunset."

I sat between James and Cami, with Sophie across from me, half-listening to her brother and Luke talk about some wave that had almost knocked them over earlier.

The table filled quickly: grilled chicken, black beans with crumbled cheese, roasted corn still in the husk, lime wedges, rice with cilantro, and a spicy sauce that made my eyes water just looking at it. Everything smelled like smoke and citrus and summer.

"Okay, people," Cami said, lifting her glass, "today has been perfect so far, and I fully expect this food to push it into legendary territory."

We clinked glasses -- all of us -- and began serving ourselves in that casual, everyone-reaching-over-everyone way that only happens when there's real comfort.

I built my tacos slowly, picking through the toppings, adding the mango salsa last. James leaned over and whispered, "Yours look better than mine," which made me smile. He always said that. And his were always nearly identical to mine.

Sophie, surprisingly, joined the conversation more than usual -- joking with Rob, teasing Leo, and even helping Luke figure out how to properly fold a tortilla so nothing fell out. Cami watched her with a quiet little smile, and I could tell she was soaking in the moment.

James touched my knee under the table and gave it a small squeeze. "You okay?" he asked.

I looked around the table -- at the way the light caught Cami's hair, the way Rob's laugh echoed through the terrace, the way Leo kept sneaking more hot sauce than he could handle, the way Luke listened more than he spoke but still seemed completely present.

"I'm more than okay," I said.

We ate slowly, talking between bites, trading stories about past vacations, awkward travel moments, favorite childhood snacks. Someone brought up a game they used to play in high school -- "truth or dare but without the dares" -- which made everyone groan and laugh.

"No games during digestion," Rob warned. "It's sacred."

"Seconded," Luke added, lifting his glass.

The light shifted as we lingered, long after the food was gone. Plates cleared, glasses refilled. The kind of meal that doesn't have a strict ending -- it just fades naturally into the next part of the day.

I sat back in my chair, the warmth of the wood beneath me, my body tired in the best way, and let the breeze wash over my skin.

There was something about eating like this -- outside, together, without looking at the time -- that reminded me of how rare it was to simply be.

And how good it felt when we let ourselves do just that.

The sky was already streaked in lavender and peach by the time we finally cleared the table. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a warm afterglow that clung to everything -- the wooden deck, our sun-kissed skin, the empty glasses scattered around.

Someone turned on the speaker again -- a soft playlist of funk, indie, and slow Latin grooves -- and the music drifted lazily through the open doors and windows. It felt like the house itself had exhaled. No more sunscreen. No more sand. Just soft clothes, bare feet, full bellies, and the soft hum of tipsy happiness.

Cami brought out another bottle of wine, holding it above her head like a trophy. "We're not done yet."

"Weren't you the one who said 'no drinking games' after lunch?" Rob asked, already popping open two more beers.

"I'm a woman of evolving standards," she said, winking.

James and I had showered and changed -- I wore a light knit dress that clung in the breeze, soft and comfortable, with my hair still damp from the salt. He was in linen pants and a T-shirt, his skin warm and lightly tanned. He looked relaxed in a way I hadn't seen in weeks.

The rest of the group had reassembled on the deck. Leo was sprawled on a lounge chair, his legs stretched out and a beer balanced between his hands. Luke sat on the steps, sipping tequila from a small glass like it was water. Sophie had taken over the couch, curled into one corner with her phone nearby but not fully engaged. She looked like she didn't want to miss anything, even if she pretended she wasn't interested.

I sat between James and Cami on a long outdoor bench, my legs tucked under me. The breeze smelled like limes and smoke and the lingering sweetness of grilled fruit. My head was light from the wine -- not dizzy, just soft around the edges.

Conversation flowed easily. Someone told a ridiculous story about a failed hike in the mountains. Someone else confessed to getting kicked out of a museum on a school trip. Cami told a story I'd heard a dozen times but still laughed at, and Sophie -- surprisingly -- added her own commentary, dry and perfectly timed.

Every so often, James would reach for my hand or rub lazy circles on my leg. Not in a sexual way. Just his quiet way of grounding me, as if saying I'm here. I responded in kind -- a touch on his shoulder, a smile, my fingers resting over his heart.

The alcohol made everyone glow a little. Leo laughed louder than usual. Luke's quiet demeanor loosened just enough for us to hear more than two sentences from him in a row. Even Rob, who usually nursed a beer all night, leaned back in his chair and announced he was "officially buzzed and emotionally available."

It felt good to be around people who didn't need to impress each other. We were all a little messy from the day -- skin warm from the sun, hair slightly wild, voices huskier than usual from laughing too much.

Someone started playing a guessing game -- movie quotes, I think -- but it didn't matter who won. The point was the rhythm of voices, the teasing, the way we kept slipping into each other's laughter like waves overlapping on the shore.

As the night deepened, the stars emerged above us, clear and infinite. The sound of the ocean became louder now that everything else had quieted. There was no talk of tomorrow, no responsibilities hanging overhead -- just glasses half-full and the easy weight of being surrounded by people you could trust.

I leaned against James, resting my head on his shoulder. His arm came around me automatically.

"You good?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," I whispered.

And I was. Tipsy. Sun-tired. Wrapped in sea air and candlelight and the kind of closeness that makes the world feel smaller, sweeter.

It wasn't a wild night.

It was better.

The night blurred into that slow, golden kind of time where everything feels just a little softer -- words, bodies, laughter. The second bottle of wine had long been emptied, and now there were cocktails in hand, new drinks being invented by Rob and Leo at the bar table they'd unofficially claimed.

The conversation shifted between teasing memories, absurd hypotheticals, and deep half-drunk confessions that would only make sense at this hour.

James sat behind me on the cushioned bench, legs open, his arms wrapped loosely around my waist. I leaned back into him, his warmth steady against my spine, the steady rise and fall of his chest calming and familiar. Every now and then, his fingers traced along my thigh, aimless, comforting. I could feel the quiet hum of his body, like we were already synced and moving slowly toward the same unspoken place.

But inside me, the desire was rising. Not wild. Not rushed. Just... certain.

I felt good. The wine. The sea air. The softness of my skin under this dress. The glow from the day still lingering in every part of me. And beyond the heat of wanting him again, there was something deeper: that little voice reminding me this could be the one. That every night counted now. Every chance mattered.

I looked over at Cami, who was curled up next to Rob with her legs draped across his lap, laughing at something Luke had said. Sophie was long gone, probably upstairs, and the boys were starting to slouch into the kind of post-party quiet where everything slows down but no one wants to say goodnight first.

So I did.

I shifted in James's lap, leaned in, and kissed his cheek -- slow and deliberate. He turned his head toward me, eyes half-lidded, waiting for more.

I whispered just close enough for only him to hear:

"Let's go to bed."

He raised an eyebrow, half teasing, half intrigued. "Tired already?"

I leaned in closer. "Not even a little."

He caught my look -- that barely-there smirk I saved for him -- and stood without question.

"We're heading in," he said casually to the group.

"Lightweights," Cami teased.

"Smart ones," I replied with a smile, grabbing his hand and lacing our fingers together.

We said our goodnights, soft and casual, and slipped through the warm wooden doorway of the terrace. The hallway was dim, only one sconce lit at the far end, and the house felt wrapped in that beachside hush -- windows open, salt air curling through every room.

In our bedroom, the breeze carried the sound of waves just beyond the walls. James dropped his shirt onto the chair and turned to unbutton his pants, moving with that tired but content rhythm of someone who thought he was about to fall into bed and sleep instantly.

"Go ahead," I said, brushing my fingers over his arm. "I'll join you in a minute."

He smiled, kissed my forehead, and climbed into bed, already halfway under the sheet.

I waited until he'd turned his face toward the pillow.

Then I slipped off my dress.

Underneath, I wore a pale lilac lingerie set -- delicate lace, soft satin, sheer in all the right places. Modest, yes. But designed to tease. A high-waisted panty that hugged my hips, and a bralette that held just enough to suggest what was underneath. I'd packed it thinking maybe, and now... I knew.

I ran my fingers through my hair, letting it fall over one shoulder, then walked slowly toward the bed.

James turned at the sound of my footsteps -- just in time to see me standing at the foot of the bed, illuminated by the soft yellow light from the hallway.

His eyes widened.

"Wow," he breathed, voice low.

I said nothing.

I just smiled.

And climbed onto the bed.

The room was dim, warm with ocean air, and James was propped up against the headboard now, the sheet only half covering his lap, his eyes locked on me like I was something sacred.

I stood at the edge of the bed, letting the moment stretch.

The lingerie clung to me in just the right way -- soft lilac lace over my boob, the bralette semi-sheer with delicate floral stitching that barely covered my nipples. The band under the bust hugged me gently, accentuating the curve of my waist. The matching panties were high-waisted, cut high at the hips, the front opaque satin, but the back a sheer lace panel that left my ass framed and exposed. Feminine. Teasing. Intentional.

His dick was already tenting the sheet.

"You like it?" I asked, voice low, breathy.

He nodded slowly, speechless, eyes dragging up and down my body.

I let one finger slide down the strap of the bralette, then pulled it back up slowly, deliberately.

"Good," I whispered, "because I wore it for you."

I stepped onto the bed -- not to lie down, but to stand, just in front of him. My legs on either side of his knees, my feet sinking slightly into the mattress. His eyes were level with my pussy now, just inches away, and I could see his jaw flex as he tried not to grab me.

"Stay there," I said softly.

He obeyed.

I began to move -- slowly at first, just a subtle sway of my hips. My hands slid over my own body, up my thighs, along my ribs, until they cupped my boob and squeezed gently. I let out a quiet breath, my back arching just slightly as I dragged my fingertips down the center of my stomach, stopping just above the waistband of the panties.

James let out a low groan.

My hips rolled forward, the lace brushing against his knees as I moved closer, grinding the air just above his lap, never touching. His hands gripped the sheets. I bent slightly, giving him a view down my neckline, my breasts shifting inside the lace as I leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth -- and then pulled away before he could chase my lips.

"You want me to take it off?" I asked.

"Yes," he exhaled.

I shook my head slowly. "Not yet."

I turned around, facing away from him now, and began to move again -- slower, deeper. My ass pushed back and rolled with every shift of my hips, the sheer lace hugging the curve just enough to show the shape underneath.

I bent forward slightly, bracing my hands on my knees, and gave him the full view.

He cursed softly behind me. I could hear the sheets moving. When I glanced over my shoulder, his dick was already freed, thick and flushed in his hand.

I smiled. My voice was lower now, breathier. "You're not allowed to touch yourself."

"Pauline..."

I turned around again and crawled into his lap, straddling him with my breasts just inches from his chest, my pussy hovering just above the base of his dick -- so close, but not yet touching.

"Let me drive you crazy first," I whispered.

And that's exactly what I intended to do.

I kept my hips hovering just above him, feeling the heat of his dick brushing against the inside of my thigh, pulsing, desperate. James stared at me with that look -- the one I'd only ever seen when he was right on the edge of losing control. His hands rested on my hips, but they trembled slightly, like he was holding back everything.

I leaned in, kissed his lips -- soft at first, then deeper. He kissed me back hungrily, trying to pull me closer, but I pulled away.

"Lie back," I whispered.

He hesitated, eyes searching mine, then obeyed.

I slid down his body slowly, kissing along his chest, his stomach, tasting the salt on his skin, the tension building in every muscle under my lips. His dick twitched between us, hard and ready, resting against his lower abdomen.

I reached it with my mouth hovering just above, my fingers curling gently around the base. I looked up at him -- his eyes dark, jaw tight, hands gripping the sheets.

Then I licked him.

Just the tip, slowly, letting my tongue circle the head, collecting the bead of pre-cum there like honey. James gasped, his body arching slightly toward my mouth.

I wrapped my lips around him fully and took him in, inch by inch, until the tip pressed gently against the back of my throat. My lips slid down the length of his dick, wet and warm, my cheeks hollowing as I pulled back with a soft pop.

"F--fuck, baby..." he groaned.

I smiled, letting my tongue glide along the underside before I took him again -- deeper this time, my hand stroking in rhythm with my mouth. I set a slow, teasing pace. I wanted him to feel every part of it -- the suction, the warmth, the drag of my tongue, the way my lips sealed around him.

I moaned softly around his dick, and the vibration made him curse again. His thighs tensed beneath me, and I knew he was close to begging.

I looked up at him while I sucked him deep, my eyes half-lidded, my fingers massaging the base as I let him slide to the back of my throat. His hand reached for my hair, gripping lightly, and I allowed it -- loving how helpless he looked, how completely undone.

I pulled back, my lips glistening, my breath warm on his skin.

"Do you want to finish like this?" I asked softly.

He shook his head, desperate. "No. I want you."

I grinned.

"Good."

I kissed the base of his dick one last time, slow and possessive, then crawled back up his body, letting the tip brush against my pussy as I settled over him.

And just like that...

I was ready to take him inside me -- again.

I straddled James again, slowly, deliberately, letting the heat of his dick press against my entrance as I positioned myself over him -- my thighs on either side of his hips, my hands resting lightly on his chest. The breeze from the open window cooled the sweat on my skin, but inside, I burned.

His eyes were on me -- wide, full of need, watching every movement as I lowered myself onto him.

The stretch was perfect. Deep. Slow. I sank down, inch by inch, until he filled me completely. My pussy clenched around him as I exhaled with a long, shivering moan.

"Fffuck," he gasped, gripping my thighs.

I started to move, slowly at first -- grinding in small circles, rolling my hips forward so he brushed every spot inside me. The angle was intense, and I tilted my head back, riding the edge between control and losing it.

The bed creaked softly under us, my breath quickening with every pass, my boobs bouncing with each motion. James groaned beneath me, his voice strained, needy.

I turned slightly to adjust my rhythm -- and that's when I saw it.

The bedroom door wasn't fully closed.

Barely cracked.

And behind it, standing still in the dim hallway, was Luke.

Frozen.

Staring.

His eyes locked on my body. His hand slowly stroking the longest, thickest dick I'd ever seen -- flushed, dripping at the tip, almost too big for his grip. His chest rose and fell heavily, but he didn't move.

I gasped -- a soft, sharp breath that caught in my throat.

James opened his eyes. "You okay?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

I kept my eyes on the door, on Luke, who stood there shamelessly, watching every motion of my body riding James. The fear faded quickly -- replaced by something darker. Something electric. I should've stopped. I knew that.

But instead, I moved harder.

Deeper.

My moan came out louder this time, raw and broken. I rolled my hips forward again, and James groaned beneath me, unaware of the eyes at the door.

"Pauline..." he breathed, voice hoarse. "You feel... so fucking good."

I moaned again, high and trembling, my hands bracing on his chest as I started to ride him faster. My pussy was soaked, gripping his dick with every thrust, and each time I came down, the sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the room.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Luke stroke himself in rhythm with us, his eyes hungry, fixated on my boobs, my ass, the way I was grinding down, owning every movement.

I felt seen.

I felt powerful.

"James..." I whispered, louder now, my voice shaking.

He grabbed my hips, thrusting up into me as I came down, and I couldn't hold it anymore -- the moan that ripped from my throat was raw, sharp, needy.

"Ahh--f-fuck! Yes! James, right there!"

My boobs bounced with each thrust, the straps of my lingerie sliding down my arms. My head fell back as I rode him harder, faster, the pressure building in my core like fire tightening inside me.

Luke didn't leave.

He watched as I began to unravel, as I lost control, crying out with every roll of my hips.

The sounds filled the room -- wet, messy, my moans blending with James's grunts, the creak of the mattress, the slap of skin. I felt every inch of him inside me, every twitch, every pulse. I felt watched. And I didn't stop.

I couldn't stop.

"Don't stop, baby..." James begged. "Don't stop--fuck--you're gonna make me--"

I leaned forward, my chest pressing to his, my mouth against his ear.

"Fill me," I whispered. "I want it... all of it."

He cursed and slammed up into me, his grip bruising, his dick pulsing deep inside my pussy as he spilled hot cum into me. The moment sent me over the edge.

I came hard -- my body shaking, my thighs locking around him, my voice cracking in a high, broken cry:

"Ahh--yes, James--fucking yes! I'm--ahhh!"

The door creaked softly.

When I looked again, Luke was gone.

But the memory of his eyes on me, his dick in his hand, the hunger on his face -- stayed.

And so did the heat it left inside me.

The room was still humming with heat, our bodies tangled in the sweat-damp sheets, my legs still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. James lay beneath me, breath shallow, his eyes half-lidded with that hazy satisfaction that only came when he gave me everything.

I rolled off of him slowly, careful not to break the silence that had settled between us. His arm instinctively reached for me, wrapping around my waist as he pulled me close, his breath warm against my shoulder.

"You okay?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

I nodded. "Yeah... I'm perfect."

He kissed the back of my neck, then exhaled slowly -- and just like that, his body went heavy, his breath slowing into that rhythm I knew by heart.

He was out.

I stared at the ceiling for a long moment, my pulse still drumming in my ears. The room was dark, lit only by a thin ribbon of moonlight stretching through the window. My pussy still throbbed faintly, wet and sensitive from the intensity of what had just happened. And deeper inside... something twisted. Not shame. Not fear.

Hunger.

I could still see him.

Luke.

The door cracked open. His eyes on me. His dick in his hand. Thick, dark, glistening.

My breath hitched.

I closed my eyes, but the image didn't go away. I didn't want it to.

I slowly slid out from under James's arm, careful not to wake him, his hand falling limply onto the mattress.

"Just gonna get some water," I whispered -- not for him, but for myself. For the weight of the silence.

He didn't stir.

I pulled his shirt from the edge of the bed and slipped it on, the fabric brushing against my skin, still damp between my thighs. My legs were sore, my knees shaky, but I stood anyway.

The floor was cool beneath my bare feet. The hallway was darker now, empty, quiet except for the distant pulse of the ocean through the open windows.

But I paused at the door.

Just for a second.

I didn't mean to.

But I looked.

The hallway was empty.

No one there.

Still, I felt it -- that electric residue in the air. That secret I now carried. That part of me that had let him watch. That had wanted it.

I bit my lip, then stepped into the hallway, heading for the kitchen -- heartbeat louder than my footsteps, skin still burning in places James hadn't even touched.

The kitchen was bathed in blue shadows, only lit by the faint glow of the moon through the wide window above the sink. Everything was still. The countertop was cold under my fingertips as I leaned against it, my body buzzing with aftershocks I hadn't yet escaped.

I opened the fridge and took a bottle of water, cracking it open, then drank slowly -- long, deep gulps, trying to cool the fire inside me.

But nothing helped.

I set the bottle down and leaned forward, both hands on the edge of the counter, the cotton of James's shirt lifting slightly at the back, exposing the underside of my ass. I could feel the breeze slip in and kiss the skin there -- tingling, teasing.

I closed my eyes and exhaled.

Luke.

The door. His eyes. His hand.

The thickness of his dick.

The way he watched me, silently, as if he had the right.

And the way I'd let him.

No. Worse.

The way it turned me on.

I squeezed my thighs together, but my pussy was already wet again. Still swollen from being filled, from riding James... and now aching for something more.

I bit my lip.

And that's when I heard it.

Not footsteps.

Just breath.

Right behind me.

Before I could turn, I felt the warmth of a body at my back -- not touching, just there. I froze, heart thudding.

Then I felt his fingers.

Not on me.

On the hem of the shirt.

Lifting.

Slowly.

I gasped, but didn't move.

His hand brushed the back of my thigh -- soft, deliberate -- then slid higher, tracing the curve of my ass beneath the fabric. My breathing turned shallow. My hands stayed on the counter.

Still, I didn't stop him.

I knew it was Luke.

I knew.

He didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

His touch said everything.

His fingers parted me gently from behind, sliding between my cheeks, down the crease of my ass until they found the slick heat of my pussy. I shuddered.

I was soaked.

And he felt it.

He pressed one finger into me -- slow, thick, testing -- and I let out a small, broken sound, halfway between a gasp and a moan. My hips pushed back instinctively, offering more.

His breath came closer, hot on the back of my neck. I could hear the soft sound of him stroking his dick behind me, the rhythm matching the teasing glide of his finger inside me.

I bit my lip, eyes still shut, trembling against the counter.

This was wrong.

So wrong.

And I didn't stop.

His finger slipped out of me slowly, wet with my arousal. I whimpered at the loss, my hips still tilted back, silently begging for more.

Then I felt his hand slide up my spine -- not gentle this time.

Firm.

Possessive.

He gripped the back of my neck, just hard enough to make me freeze.

His voice came close to my ear, low and deep -- darker than I'd ever imagined it.

"You didn't close the door," he whispered.

A chill ran down my spine.

"You wanted me to see you," he said, his lips barely brushing my ear. "Didn't you?"

I couldn't speak.

But I didn't deny it.

His grip on my neck tightened slightly, keeping me still. I could feel the thick heat of his dick now pressing between my cheeks, sliding along the slick fold of my pussy, teasing without entering.

I gasped, trembling under his hold.

"I saw you bounce on him," he continued, his breath ragged. "Riding him like you were starving for it."

My knees wobbled.

"But you weren't done, were you?" he murmured. "You're still soaked. Still open."

"Luke..." I breathed -- not to stop him.

Just to say his name. To taste the weight of it in my mouth.

He didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed my wrists and guided them forward, placing my hands flat on the countertop, forcing my back to arch. The shirt rose completely, bunching at my waist. My ass now fully exposed to him -- vulnerable, dripping, ready.

"Keep them there," he said.

I obeyed.

He slid his dick between my thighs again, dragging the tip through my wetness, slow and deliberate. I gasped, a soft, helpless sound.

"You like being watched?" he asked. "You like being caught?"

I let out a choked moan, my head falling forward, hair spilling around my face.

"You're fucking soaked," he growled, the head of his dick pressing hard against my entrance. "You're already begging without a word."

He didn't enter me.

Not yet.

Instead, he slapped my ass -- not hard, but sharp enough to make me gasp -- the sound loud and obscene in the quiet kitchen.

"You think I'm gonna be gentle with you?" he said, voice darker now.

I moaned again, louder, my pussy clenching with nothing inside me.

"You came down here," he said, stroking himself right against my heat. "Wearing nothing but his shirt... hoping I would follow you."

"I didn't--" I whispered.

He slapped my ass again, firmer this time.

"No lies."

I whimpered.

"You knew I was watching. You got louder for me. You came harder because of me."

I nodded -- not because I wanted to admit it.

Because it was true.

His hand came down to my hip, fingers digging into the flesh, guiding me back just enough for the blunt head of his dick to nudge at my entrance. I gasped, my whole body going tense, waiting for him to take me.

But he didn't.

Not yet.

He leaned over my back, his chest against me, and whispered:

"When I'm done with you... you won't want him anymore."

And then...

He pushed just the tip inside.

Thick. Heavy. Stretching me open inch by inch.

And my mouth fell open in a silent cry.

He stayed right there, the thick head of his dick just barely inside me, spreading me open, not moving.

I whimpered, pressing back, desperate to take more -- but he pulled out slowly, deliberately, letting the heat and pressure disappear just as quickly as it had entered.

"Not here," he muttered. "Come with me."

His hand wrapped around my wrist, and I let him guide me through the quiet hallway, the house still asleep, the air heavy with salt and sin. My bare feet padded against the cool tile as he led me into the dim, open space of the living room, where the moonlight spilled in through the tall windows and washed everything in silver.

The couch sat in shadow.

Luke stopped, turned to face me, and without a word, placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

"Down."

I dropped to my knees.

My heart pounded. My pussy was still pulsing, swollen from being denied, and I could feel a trickle of James's cum still between my legs -- and yet my mouth was watering for this.

For him.

His dick hung heavy and hard in front of my face, glistening with my wetness. It was even thicker up close. My lips parted, breath shaky.

Luke stroked himself once, slowly, then tapped the head against my mouth.

"Open," he said.

I obeyed.

He slid in slowly -- past my lips, over my tongue, deeper than I expected -- filling my mouth with heat and pressure. I closed my eyes and moaned softly around him, letting the vibration travel through his length.

He held my hair tight at the base of my neck, not forcing, just guiding, controlling the rhythm.

"That's it," he growled. "Nice and deep."

I pulled back, tongue dragging along the underside of his dick, then took him again, slower, deeper, adjusting to his size. My lips sealed around him, cheeks hollowing, spit already gliding down my chin.

He hissed above me. "Fuck... your mouth's perfect."

His hand tightened in my hair, and I let him guide the motion -- steady thrusts into my mouth, his breathing quickening with each pass. My eyes watered, but I didn't stop. I wanted it.

I needed it.

I looked up at him as I sucked him deeper, saliva dripping from the corners of my lips, his tip brushing the back of my throat.

"You like choking on it?" he growled.

I moaned again, louder this time -- and he felt it.

"God, you're filthy," he muttered. "You were made for this."

I reached down, squeezing my thighs together as I let him fuck my mouth. The sloppy, wet sounds filled the room, obscene and primal, his dick moving in and out of my lips with slick, desperate rhythm.

I felt him throb, twitching on my tongue.

But he pulled out just before losing control.

"Enough," he growled, breathing hard. "Get on the couch. On your back."

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, spit glistening on my chin, my lips swollen and raw.

And I did exactly what he said.

I crawled to the edge of the couch on my knees, still tasting him on my lips, my breathing shallow, my body warm and wet in places I couldn't ignore anymore. Luke stood over me, towering, his dick glistening with my spit and pre-cum.

My thighs were trembling.

My mouth still ached from how deep he had pushed himself before, and yet -- as I looked up at him -- my lips parted again on instinct.

I wanted more.

No.

I needed more.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and guided my mouth back to his shaft, pushing the swollen head against my tongue.

I opened willingly, tilting my head back to take him deeper.

"Good girl," he muttered, sliding in fast this time, not giving me the chance to pace myself.

My eyes watered instantly, throat stretching as he pushed past the limit I thought I had. I gagged softly -- not in pain, but in shock. And still... I didn't pull away.

He began to thrust.

Not slow now.

Firm. Rhythmic. Intentional.

His hand gripped the back of my head as he used my mouth, his dick sliding wet and heavy over my tongue, my jaw stretched wide, my spit dripping down onto my chest. The sounds were filthy -- wet slurps, thick gasps, the soft slap of his hips against my face.

And I took it.

I let him.

Eyes closed, lips tight around him, nose brushing his pelvis with every deep thrust. My hands gripped his thighs to stay grounded. I moaned around him -- low, raw, hungry.

My mind was spiraling.

What are you doing?

This isn't right.

This isn't you.

But I didn't stop.

Because it wasn't forced. Not even close.

This was mine.

Every time I choked around him and gasped for air, every time his hand pulled my head down harder -- I let him. I gave myself to this moment, to the taste of his skin, the feel of his weight, the burn in my throat.

Tears slid from the corners of my eyes.

Not from pain.

From how much I wanted it.

Luke's breathing turned ragged. He cursed under his breath, hips jerking forward.

"You're taking me so fucking deep," he growled. "You're filthy... and perfect like this."

He pulled out abruptly, a long trail of spit connecting my lips to the tip of his dick. I gasped, jaw sore, mouth glistening, eyes wide and dazed.

He grabbed my chin, tilting my face up toward his.

"You want me to fuck that pretty little pussy now?" he asked.

And in that moment...

I didn't even think.

I nodded.

I was still on my knees, lips swollen, spit on my chin and chest, breath shaky and uneven. My pussy throbbed so hard I could feel it against the inside of my thighs. Every nerve in my body was dialed in to him -- his breath, his voice, the way he moved me like he already knew exactly how I'd react.

Luke's fingers were still on my chin, his dick twitching near my cheek. I could feel his eyes on my face, studying me -- how wrecked I looked, how ready I was for whatever he'd decide next.

He leaned in slightly.

"Turn around," he said, voice low, quiet but firm. "I want to look at your ass."

I hesitated for half a second -- not out of resistance, but because of how exposed that command made me feel. And still, I obeyed.

I turned and crawled onto the couch on all fours, presenting myself shamelessly -- James's shirt barely covering my back, hem pushed up high, and beneath it, my ass was already glistening, parted, dripping. I felt air touch the slick skin there, and I couldn't stop the soft moan that slipped from my throat.

I looked over my shoulder.

Luke was standing there, dick in hand, stroking slowly.

"Arch more," he said. "I want to see your hole open."

I gasped at the filth of it.

But I did it.

I dropped my chest to the cushions, spread my knees wider, and pushed my ass back toward him, tilting my hips until I felt my pussy bloom open with the movement -- pulsing, clenching on nothing, completely exposed.

He let out a groan. "Fuck..."

I looked back again.

He wasn't touching me yet. Just watching.

Staring between my legs like I was art -- obscene, wet, ready to be taken.

"I could come just from looking at you like this," he muttered.

"Then do it," I whispered, breathless.

He grabbed my hips and pulled me back -- not to enter me, just to open me further. I felt his thumbs spread the cheeks of my ass wide, exposing my anus and pussy completely. The breeze hit me again, and I moaned at the rawness of it.

He knelt behind me and leaned in close. I felt his breath hot against my skin -- and then the tip of his tongue.

A soft lick.

Right across my anus.

I gasped, body jolting.

He did it again, slower this time, and I heard him groan against me.

"You're fucking perfect," he said, voice almost reverent.

Then he moved lower.

His tongue pressed into my pussy now, licking up the slick mess I was already dripping, tasting me like he had all night.

I buried my face in the couch cushion and moaned, loud, guttural, my hips jerking toward his face.

And still, he didn't fuck me.

He took his time, tongue teasing my entrance, spreading me open, letting my body tremble with every touch. His hands held my hips down, controlling the movement, not letting me grind.

"I want you to feel desperate," he murmured.

I already was.

And he knew it.

His tongue left me soaked and trembling. I collapsed briefly onto my elbows, thighs quivering, breath broken and uneven. My pussy clenched the air in vain, pulsing for something to fill it -- anything. I was begging inside, silent and raw.

But Luke wasn't done controlling me.

He grabbed my waist again and lifted me slightly, guiding my hips until I was kneeling upright on the couch, my back pressed to his chest. I could feel his dick sliding against my ass, hot and heavy but still not inside me. He was fully hard, throbbing -- and using my body to rub himself in the wetness he'd created.

"You want me inside you, don't you?" he whispered into my ear.

I nodded, unable to speak.

He wrapped one strong arm across my chest, his palm covering one of my boobs over the thin fabric of James's shirt. With his other hand, he grabbed my jaw and tilted my head to the side, making me face the wide window -- where the glass reflected our bodies in the pale moonlight.

"Look at yourself," he ordered.

I did.

And what I saw made my pussy clench again.

My body -- glistening with sweat, legs spread wide, flushed skin, nipples pushing against the shirt -- held in his arms like a toy. His body towering behind me. His dick thick and slick, pressing up between the cheeks of my ass, not entering, just teasing, rubbing the length slowly through my slit again and again.

He stared at our reflection with dark eyes.

"You look like a little whore," he muttered into my neck.

I whimpered -- humiliated, lit up by the word.

He licked the side of my throat, slow and filthy. "And you love it."

My knees weakened.

He pushed me forward again, this time onto my back along the length of the couch, my thighs forced open as he kneeled between them. He grabbed my ankles and lifted both legs into the air, folding me at the hips, completely exposed.

My pussy throbbed. My anus twitched.

I had never felt so open. So used.

So willing.

Luke stared down at me like he owned me now. My body shook under his gaze, my breath caught in my throat, my breasts rising and falling with every desperate breath.

He lowered his head and spit -- a thick drop landing directly on my entrance, sliding down to mix with everything else that made me ache.

"You're going to remember this forever," he said, stroking himself again. "The night you let me break you."

And I didn't move.

I just stared up at him.

Already broken.

He folded me open like I was his -- legs pushed high, thighs trembling, my pussy dripping and glistening under the moonlight.

His grip on my ankles was firm, steady. His eyes burned into mine as he positioned himself -- the thick, swollen head of his dick pressing against my entrance, already coated with spit and my arousal. I could feel it throb before he even entered.

I held my breath.

And then... he pushed in.

Slow, but unrelenting.

The stretch hit me all at once -- too much, too thick -- and I gasped, my back arching from the cushion beneath me. My hands gripped the sides of the couch as he filled me, inch by inch, forcing my pussy to open around him.

"Oh... my God," I breathed.

Luke let out a low, satisfied groan. "Tight little thing."

He wasn't gentle.

He didn't give me time to adjust.

He bottomed out with a deep thrust that knocked the air from my lungs, his hips flush against my ass, his weight heavy between my legs. My body spasmed around him, clenching uncontrollably at the invasion.

And then he started to move.

Slow at first -- long, dragging strokes that made me feel every inch of him.

But the rhythm didn't stay slow for long.

He gripped my thighs and began to fuck me harder -- fast, deep thrusts that made the couch creak beneath us, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the living room. My moans turned into cries, loud, desperate, my boobs bouncing with each movement.

"Ahh--ahh--fuck! Luke... it's--so deep!"

"You like that?" he growled. "You like being used like this?"

I nodded wildly, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "Yes--yes, I love it!"

He adjusted my legs, lifting them higher, folding me tighter -- and with that new angle, he hit something deep inside me that made my toes curl, my voice break into a scream.

"Right there--oh God, don't stop--don't stop!"

His hand wrapped around my throat -- not tight, just enough to make me feel it -- to let me know he owned this now. My head swam, my pussy clenched so hard I could barely take the thrusts anymore.

"You're gonna come on this cock," he growled. "I want to feel you milk me."

"Luke--Luke I'm--ahhh--I'm gonna--!"

My body exploded.

My climax hit like a wave tearing through me -- my thighs shaking, my cries turning into raw, gasping sobs of pleasure. My pussy clenched violently around his dick, pulling him deeper, my entire body tensing as I came for him, because of him.

And he didn't stop.

He grabbed my hips and slammed into me harder, faster, riding my orgasm, chasing his own.

"Gonna fill this pussy," he growled. "Stretch you wide and leave you dripping."

I moaned louder, my nails digging into the cushions, body limp and spent but desperate for more.

Then, with a deep groan, he buried himself fully one last time -- throbbing, pulsing, spilling hot cum deep inside me.

I felt it flood me. Thick. Heavy. Unavoidable.

And I loved it.

I lay there, folded open, used, filled -- my body shaking, my breath broken, my pussy still fluttering around him.

Neither of us moved for a moment.

Just the sound of the waves in the distance.

And the memory of everything we'd just done.

Luke stayed inside me for a moment longer, breathing hard, his body heavy over mine. I could feel his dick twitching with the last pulse of release, and the slow, warm drip of his cum already sliding from my pussy.

I was still shaking.

He pulled out without a word, and the emptiness he left behind felt obscene. I clenched instinctively, too late to hold it in. His release spilled between my thighs, thick and hot, pooling against my skin and the couch beneath me.

He stood and adjusted his clothes with quiet control. Calm. Steady. Like he hadn't just ruined me.

His eyes met mine once more.

And then, in a voice low and sharp, he said,

"Go clean yourself up."

He paused.

"Or don't," he added. "Let him feel the difference."

My heart kicked hard in my chest.

I didn't respond. Couldn't.

I just watched as he turned and walked out of the room like nothing had happened.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I stayed there, legs still spread, the curve of my ass sticky and wet, my body raw and sore and completely undone. His words echoed in my head.

Let him feel the difference.

I stood up slowly. My knees were weak. My pussy throbbed with every small movement, still leaking. I reached down reflexively, wiped between my thighs with shaking fingers -- and then stopped.

No.

I didn't want to erase it.

I pulled James's shirt down over my hips and padded silently back through the hallway. The house was still asleep. Dark. The ocean outside whispering as if nothing had changed.

The door to our bedroom was still slightly open.

I pushed it gently and stepped inside.

James was sound asleep. Curled onto his side, shirtless, the sheet low over his waist. Peaceful. Innocent.

My husband.

I stood there for a second, barely breathing.

Then I slid back into bed, carefully, slowly. The sheets were cool. His body warm beside me. I curled up behind him, resting my forehead against his bare back, my hands trembling as I exhaled softly.

He didn't stir.

I shut my eyes, my body still tingling with the ache of what I'd done, what I'd allowed, what I'd wanted.

And I didn't cry.

I didn't speak.

I just lay there in silence, too full of everything to feel just one thing.

And waited for sleep to come.

I woke up to sunlight warming the edge of the bed, streaking through the curtains and painting soft lines across the floor. The fan hummed quietly above us. James was still asleep beside me, his chest rising and falling steadily, one arm stretched over my waist where I must've curled into him during the night.

I felt the soreness between my legs immediately.

That deep, unmistakable ache that didn't belong to him.

I closed my eyes again and tried to breathe through it.

It was like waking up with someone else's body.

My thighs stuck slightly when I shifted. My pussy was tender. I imagined I could still feel Luke's hands on me -- his grip, his voice, his heat -- and I hated that it didn't feel like a nightmare.

Because part of me didn't want to forget.

And that was the part that made my stomach turn.

I sat up slowly, slipping out of bed before James stirred. I padded into the bathroom, locked the door behind me, and stared at myself in the mirror.

Hair a mess. Lips slightly swollen. Skin flushed.

I splashed cold water on my face. Washed between my legs. Brushed my teeth longer than I needed to.

Then I looked at my reflection again -- not to fix anything.

Just to see if I still looked like me.

When I stepped out, James was sitting up in bed, stretching.

"Morning," he said, smiling sleepily. "You disappeared."

"I couldn't sleep," I said softly. "Went to get some water."

He yawned and stood, wrapping his arms around me, his body warm, familiar. He kissed my cheek. "You okay?"

I hesitated just a second too long.

Then I nodded. "Yeah. Just tired."

He didn't question it. Just kissed me again, and moved toward the bathroom.

I sat on the bed, pulling my knees to my chest, listening to the water run.

You're fine.

Just... breathe.

I told myself that over and over again as we got dressed, as we headed out to the kitchen where the others were already moving around. Cami humming. Rob cracking eggs. Sophie scrolling. Leo pouring coffee.

And Luke.

He was standing at the sink.

Back to me.

I felt my pulse spike, my mouth go dry.

But he didn't turn around.

He didn't look at me.

He didn't say a word.

And somehow... that was worse.

I took a breath. Smiled at Cami. Accepted a cup of coffee from James. Kissed his shoulder.

Normal. Just be normal.

And for now, I was going to try.

The smell of coffee and toasted bread filled the kitchen, blending with the soft sound of music playing from someone's phone on the counter. The windows were open. The breeze carried in the sound of the ocean and the low murmur of waves against the sand.

Cami was barefoot, already flipping something on the stove, humming off-key. Rob poured juice into mismatched glasses. Leo and Sophie were sitting at the table, mid-argument about something on TV -- their voices light, teasing.

And then I saw him.

Luke.

Standing across the kitchen, in board shorts and a plain gray tee, holding a mug in both hands.

His face was relaxed.

His body loose.

He was talking to Rob about the grill, casually sipping coffee like he hadn't f*cked me open on the living room couch seven hours ago.

He didn't glance at me.

Not once.

My stomach flipped.

James placed a hand gently on my back, guiding me to sit down next to him at the table. I smiled too quickly. Forced. My fingers wrapped around the mug he handed me, grateful for something warm to hold.

"You look out of it," he said softly.

"Just tired," I murmured, sipping. "Didn't sleep well."

Across the table, Luke laughed at something Cami said.

A short, easy laugh.

My cheeks burned.

How can he pretend so easily?

My eyes dropped to the table. I barely touched my food -- just pushed the eggs around with my fork, nodded when someone asked me something, smiled when appropriate.

I could feel him in my body still.

The ache.

The fullness.

The mess I'd washed off.

And there he was, eating pancakes, grinning at Sophie's sarcasm, acting like nothing happened.

It made me dizzy.

Made me want to scream.

Or touch him again.

I hated that thought.

James reached under the table and squeezed my knee gently, smiling at me like nothing in the world was wrong.

And I smiled back.

Pretending.

Just like Luke.

The days passed in a blur of salt, sun, and careful smiles.

I played the part -- perfectly.

We all did, in our own way.

James and I went swimming every morning. I laughed at Rob's dad jokes. Helped Cami slice fruit in the kitchen. Sat with Sophie on the deck one afternoon just watching the waves. We even played board games one night, drinking wine, letting ourselves feel like nothing in the world existed outside this house.

And on the second night, James made love to me again.

Slow.

Gentle.

I let him touch me, kiss me, slide into me with warmth and love and intention.

I moaned his name.

I held him close.

I kissed his chest after.

And still, somewhere inside, I thought of him.

Of Luke.

I saw him every day. At the table. In the hallway. In the kitchen.

He never touched me again.

Never looked at me too long.

But he was always there.

And not once did we speak of it.

Not a glance. Not a whisper.

That silence was louder than anything else.

Now, the car was packed.

Sunscreen bottles zipped into bags. Towels folded. Sand shaken from shoes. The house slowly echoing with that weight that always comes at the end of something you didn't quite want to end.

We stood by the open gate, arms around each other, all saying goodbye. James laughed at something Rob said, slapping his shoulder. Cami hugged me tight and told me we had to do it again before summer ended.

Leo gave me a polite hug, quiet and sweet as always. Sophie didn't even pretend to care -- a quick wave and she was done.

And then...

Luke.

He stepped forward slowly. Not hesitant -- just... composed.

His arms opened casually, and I stepped into them, our bodies brushing.

His voice was low, near my ear. No one else could hear.

"You're good at pretending," he murmured.

I froze.

And then his arms released me.

He stepped back.

No smile. No wink. No trace.

Just silence.

And then we left.

Back into the world.

Back into what we were before.

Or what we were trying to be.

The nursery was warm and dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. I sat in the rocking chair, barefoot, wrapped in a robe, holding her close to my chest.

She had just finished feeding.

Her breath was steady now, tiny fingers curled into the fabric of my robe, her eyelids fluttering with sleep.

She was beautiful.

Tiny. Pink. Soft dark hair. Eyes that were still changing every day -- sometimes brown, sometimes something else I couldn't name yet.

I rocked her gently.

And stared.

James had painted the walls himself. Pale yellow. With little stars above the crib. He'd built the dresser, stayed up late watching tutorials just to get it right. He'd cried when she was born. Held my hand through everything.

He was a good man.

A good father.

And he loved her completely.

I looked down at her face again. Traced her nose with my fingertip. The shape of her mouth. Her jawline.

Some days... I saw James.

Other days, I wasn't sure.

And I didn't ask.

Not him.

Not myself.

There was no point now.

The past was behind glass, unreachable. Untouchable.

And yet, sometimes, when I was alone like this -- in the quiet, holding her, breathing her in -- I'd remember.

The hallway.

The couch.

The heat. The ache. The moment everything changed.

My chest tightened.

She shifted in my arms, and I kissed her forehead, grounding myself again in the now.

This was life.

Messy. Unpredictable. Unforgivable and still... beautiful.

I wasn't sure whose daughter she truly was.

But she was mine.

And I would love her with every breath I had.

Even if part of me never stopped wondering.

I placed her gently in the crib, her tiny body sinking into the soft blanket. She stirred once, sighed -- a sound that shattered me in the gentlest way -- then settled again.

I stood there for a moment, watching her breathe.

Just breathing with her.

Behind me, I heard James's steps in the hallway. He entered quietly, shirtless, barefoot, his hair still damp from the shower.

"She's asleep?" he whispered.

I nodded.

He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I turned my head and kissed his cheek. "Yeah. Just... watching her."

We stood like that for a while.

Two parents.

A daughter.

A quiet home.

A life continuing, not despite the past -- but in its shadow. And somehow, that was enough.

No confessions.

No closure.

Just a secret buried where no one could reach it.

And a love that, imperfect as it was, still held.