Angels Landing (Katie's POV) Ch. 07

This story is told from Katie's point of view. For the other side of this experience--told through Jacky's eyes--check out "Angel's Landing (Jacky's POV)" by Jackhawk. We're writing from opposite ends of the same story, so be sure to follow both for the full experience.

****Please leave feedback I am a VERY new writer and would love to hear****

CH 07 KATIE MEETS THE TWINS

They're twins and they're hot as Fuck, and I'm laid out bare under the sun like temptation itself.

One of them drops to his knee near the edge of the pool, pulling open a panel beneath the deck tiles. The other heads to the far side, fiddling with something in the wall. I can hear the soft clinking of tools and the occasional muttered phrase in I am not sure what language, they look Brazilian.

I stretch, my spine arching, breasts lifting as I reach for the water bottle beside me, very much on purpose. One of them notices, I don't look at him directly, but I see his hands pause.

"You boys here to fix something?" I ask, lazily.

The closer one turns, startled just enough to amuse me. He's got the kind of face that would look good doing bad things, strong jaw, full lips, lashes too pretty for a man like him.

"Uh, sì... Signor Jacky had trouble with the pool lights, maybe the jets too," he replies in accented English.

The other twin glances over now too, and for a moment they hesitate, one standing, one still crouched. I tap the cover of my book.

The crouched one stands, dusts off his hands, and steps closer. "We can work quietly," he offers. "Won't disturb your sun."

"Good," I murmur. "Though I might need help with something in a bit... if you're both handy with your fingers."

The bolder twin chokes softly. The other smirks but stays cool.

I slip my sunglasses down my nose and look them over. "What are your names?"

"Maritzio," the quiet one says.

"Mario," the other.

I nod like I'm filing it away for later. "I like that. You look like trouble, both of you."

Maritzio's mouth opens, then closes. He looks like he wants to say something back but thinks better of it. I love that.

Let Jacky play. I can play too.

They get back to working and I try to get back to reading. Letting the sun soak into me, my skin warm and bare, the pages of my book fluttering slightly with the breeze.

Then I feel it, that prickling awareness. Not just eyes, hungry eyes.

I tilt my sunglasses just slightly and catch them. One twin is crouched again, tools still in hand. The other's frozen by the wall, staring just a second too long before his gaze snaps away.

And that's when I decide, let's give them a better view.

I reach for the lotion bottle beside me, take my time unscrewing the cap, and tip it until a cool white ribbon drizzles onto the top of my foot. I begin there, my toes, each one carefully coated, rubbed, admired. I work slowly, drawing my fingers up the arch of my foot, then around my ankle. My skin gleams in the sunlight, soft and slick.

Up my calf, over my shin, behind my knee. I massage with long, slow strokes, fingers squeezing just a little too firmly to be casual. My thighs get more attention, spreading the lotion across each one in smooth, deliberate circles, inner thigh to hip, lingering longer than necessary.

I don't look at them, I don't have to. I can feel the tension in the air, thick and pulsing, as their tools clink uselessly against the tiles.

Next, my arms, I drag my fingertips from wrist to shoulder, then across my chest to my collarbone. My nails scratch lightly, leaving goosebumps behind. My neck tips back, lips parting just a bit, a soft sigh slipping out like I forgot they were even watching.

And then comes the real show.

I tilt the bottle again, letting a thick white ribbon fall, starting at the top of one breast, running down the slope, across my sternum, over my stomach, dipping into the curve of my hip before sliding down to the bare vee between my thighs. I shift my legs slightly, enough to let them have a peek. Then back up, the line crossing over to the other breast.

It's not rushed, it's art.

And when I finally move to rub it in, I do it like I'm worshipping my own body. My palms glide over every curve, cupping, pressing, spreading the shine. My breath hitches when I pass over my nipples, just slightly pebbled now. I pause at my stomach, fingers brushing lower, dangerously close, just enough to tease.

Then I sit up slowly, turning my back to them, hair falling over one shoulder, the curve of my ass catching the sun as I reach for the bottle one last time.

I glance over my shoulder, pretending like I'm just now noticing them.

"You know..." I say, voice honeyed and lazy, "I could use some help with my back."

One of them drops something, I hear it clattering to the tile.

Mario is the first to move.

"I'll do it, Miss Katie" he says too quickly, setting his tools down like they might burn him. His walk across the deck is full of tension, desire trying to hide inside obedience.

He kneels beside me, bottle in hand. I tilt my chin and smile.

"No need to be gentle," I murmur, "I won't break"

His fingers touch my lower back a second later, warm, reverent. And trembling just a little.

His hands glide up my back, fingers spreading the lotion with more care than I expected. He starts at the base of my spine and works upward, slow and steady. The way his fingertips move, pressing, circling, gliding.

I sigh softly, letting my head tilt forward, exposing more of my neck. "You've done this before," I murmur.

Mario swallows hard. "Not like this."

His thumbs slide along either side of my spine, smoothing the lotion into my lower back, then outward, across my sides. He stops just under my shoulder blades, hesitating, like he's unsure if he's allowed to go further.

I shift just slightly, arching my back. "You can keep going."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

His palms move up, strong and warm, dragging over the curve of my shoulders, then down again. When he reaches the dip just above my ass, his breath catches. I can hear it--ragged and shallow. The tension in him is thick now. I can feel it radiating off his body like heat.

"You feel..." he starts, then stops, like he can't find the words.

I smile, still not turning around. "What do I feel like, Mario?"

He exhales, shaky. "Like silk. Like... fuck."

There's a pause. I can feel him looking at me, trying to decide if he's crossed a line or if I'll pull away. I don't move.

Then he glances back over his shoulder.

"Maritzio," he calls, voice low. Urgent. "Come here, you have to feel how good she feels."

His brother hesitates for only a second before crossing the deck toward us. I glance at him over my shoulder, letting my eyes drag up and down his body, his chest still bare, muscles taut, his eyes locked on where Mario's hands are touching me.

Mario pulls his hands back, just slightly, as Maritzio approaches.

"I think I need some help," Mario says, barely hiding the edge in his voice. "Man... she feels..."

Maritzio crouches beside me, his gaze flicking to mine. "May I?"

I nod once, slow and deliberate. "Please."

His fingers touch my skin next, cooler at first, then warming quickly as he spreads the lotion Mario missed. His hands are firmer, more confident, but just as reverent. They work side by side now, the two of them, like twin flames dragging heat along my spine, down my waist, across the curve of my ribs.

I close my eyes and melt into it, every inch of me tingling with awareness. Not just of their hands, but of their breath. Their closeness. Their restraint fraying at the edges.

They've stopped pretending they're just here to work and I've stopped pretending I don't know exactly what I'm doing.

Their hands move lower. First just the edges of my waist, skimming where my ribs taper into the curve of my hips. But then Mario lets out a slow exhale, and his hand dips, sliding over the swell of my ass, fingers spreading the lotion in long, deliberate strokes.

Maritzio follows a second later, his touch firmer, more confident now. They move in unison, palms gliding, fingertips tracing, one on each side of me like they're mapping every inch of skin they weren't supposed to have.

The contrast between them is electric. Mario's hands linger, almost trembling, like he's trying to memorize me by feel. Maritzio's grip tightens just slightly as he kneads the soft flesh of my backside, dragging his thumbs along the crease where thigh meets cheek.

I don't stop them.

If anything, I tilt my hips, just a fraction, offering more. I hear a soft groan, I'm not sure which one it came from, but it's there, low and unguarded.

They shift behind me without speaking, as if they've done this before, not with me, but together with countless other girls. Mario's hands slide lower, smoothing lotion along the backs of my thighs, down to my knees. Maritzio mirrors him, their touches syncing, warm and slick, their breaths coming faster now.

When Mario's hands slide back up, they grip, bolder this time. He squeezes the tops of my thighs, spreading them slightly as he works his way inward. Maritzio doesn't hesitate. his fingers trace the inside of one thigh, achingly close to where I'm burning now, but still just shy of crossing that line.

They're both kneeling behind me now, hands roaming over every curve like I'm something sacred, something meant to be worshipped.

"You feel..." Mario breathes again, voice thick.

"Perfect," Maritzio finishes.

I open my eyes slowly, still facing away, a satisfied smirk tugging at my lips. I don't need to see them to know exactly what's on their faces.

I'm lost in the rhythm of their hands when they shift, wordless and instinctual.

Mario's hands slide up my thighs again, but this time he doesn't stop at the edge. He grips firmly and begins to lift, just slightly, coaxing my hips upward as Maritzio slides one strong arm beneath my chest, the other bracing at my waist.

I let them move me.

There's no fear, no hesitation, just heat and breath and the sense of being handled by two men who need to feel every inch of me.

They raise me to my knees, my back still to them, ass high and glistening, skin humming with anticipation. My hands press to the lounger cushion in front of me, grounding me as I feel Maritzio shift turning me and sliding in the lounger and setting me in front of him, his bare chest brushing the curve of my spine.

In front of me, Mario's hands spread me, palms firmly on the inside of my thighs, easing them wider open exposing me.

A soft gasp slips from my lips, and I feel Maritzio exhale behind me like he's trying not to lose control.

"Fuck Mario I think she likes it," he murmurs, so low it's almost a growl.

Then his hands are on me again, one splayed across my lower back, the other trailing down, sliding between my thighs, not rough, not rushed. Just claiming what they've been aching to touch.

Mario leans in close, his fingers brushing along my inner thighs, following the path of the lotion but now so much more. Their hands work in tandem again, one caressing, one gripping, their bodies close, the heat between us thick and undeniable.

I tilt my hips again, giving them more, inviting more.

They don't need words.

Maritzio presses his mouth to my neck, the heat of his breath sending a fresh shiver through me. His lips trace a line across my shoulders, while Mario's hands travel upward, cupping my breasts from beneath, slick and bold.

I'm held, lifted, spread, touched by two men utterly focused on one thing, me.

And God, does it feel good to be the center of their storm.

Maritzio shifts behind me again, pulling me tighter into his lap, his legs bracketing mine, his hands gliding up my waist like he's claiming territory.

His mouth finds my neck again, lips grazing the sensitive spot just beneath my ear.

"Stay open for him," he murmurs, voice low and thick with hunger. "Let him taste you."

I shiver.

Mario lowers himself between my thighs, no hesitation now, his breath hot against my slick skin. He spreads me wider, thumbs dragging along the crease of my hips, his tongue flicking out to taste me.

I suck in a breath.

He groans.

"Fuck, Maritzio... she's so wet."

"She's a good girl, huh," his brother replies, teeth scraping gently against my earlobe. "She's fucking perfect."

Mario dives in.

His mouth is hungry, but focused, like he's been thinking about this since the moment he saw me naked under the sun.

His tongue moves in slow, reverent strokes, then faster, exploring, worshipping. He drinks me in like he'll never get another chance.

Behind me, Maritzio holds me still. One hand grips my thigh, the other slides up to cup a breast, fingers teasing my nipple with just enough pressure to make me gasp.

I can feel his length firm against my spine.

"You hear that?" he whispers. "That sound is my brother losing his fucking mind over your pussy."

I whimper, head falling back against his shoulder.

"You like this?" he asks, voice curling around me like smoke. "Being offered up like this? Open and dripping and spoiled between two brothers?"

His words roll through me like fire.

Mario moans into me, the vibration sending sparks across every nerve. His fingers slide in to join his mouth, curling just right, stroking deep and slow while his tongue focuses on my clit, tight circles, wet and relentless.

I'm trembling now, thighs twitching, hips rolling into his face.

Maritzio growls against my throat. "That's it, Miss Katie, let him feast. Show him how sweet you are."

My breath catches, sharp and desperate. My fingers curl into the cushion in front of me, muscles tensing as the heat builds, higher, harder, spiraling.

Mario groans again. "She's close."

"Good," Maritzio breathes. "Make her cum, I think she deserves it."

And I do. God, I do.

The pressure snaps.

My moan breaks open into the air as pleasure crashes through me, wave after wave, my body trembling under their hands, their mouths, their worship.

Mario finally pulls back, his lips slick with me, his breath ragged. His eyes are dark, wild with need.

"My turn," he says, voice hoarse. "Let me feel your mouth, Miss Katie. Please."

He stands and removes his shorts then sits down on the lounger, one leg on each side of it, his cock thick and flushed, jutting up from his lap. His hands rest on his thighs, fingers digging in like he's trying to stay in control.

I don't make him wait.

I crawl toward him on all fours, still trembling, still soaked between my thighs. Maritzio's hands skim over my hips as I move, helping guide me, almost reverent again, but I know what's coming.

I lean down, lips parting as I take Mario into my mouth, slow and deliberate. He lets out a guttural sound, hips twitching beneath me.

"Fuck," he hisses. "You're so fucking good."

I swirl my tongue around the tip, then sink lower, letting him fill my mouth, stretching my jaw. My hands brace on his thighs as I begin to move, head bobbing in a rhythm that has him groaning and gripping the sides of the lounger.

Behind me, Maritzio groans too, but for a different reason.

I feel his breath first, warm against my wet folds. Then his tongue, long, slow licks that make my thighs shake again. He's cleaning me, savoring me, like he can't stand to waste a single drop.

He moans into me, and I moan around Mario, the sound sending a ripple of pleasure through him.

Then Maritzio stops.

A beat goes by and then I feel it, Maritzio's hands tightening on my hips. The press of his cock, thick and hard, not teasing this time. He pushes in with one deep, steady thrust, and I gasp around Mario, the vibration making him curse.

Maritzio growls behind me, lost in the heat. "Fucking perfect," he grits, hips slamming against mine, filling me, stretching me.

Mario's hand tangles in my hair, guiding my pace as I take more of him, throat tightening around the head of his cock. He holds my head in place pressing me down taking away my ability to draw in air as Maritzio continues pushing in me.

I'm taken now--filled at both ends, completely possessed, but never powerless.

Because every moan, every thrust, every desperate breath they take is for me, I fucking love it.

Mario finally guides me up leaving me gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting his tip to my mouth. I watch it break and slide down his shaft as he brings my head back to him pressing in again.

Maritzio pounds into me from behind, one hand sliding up to grip my waist, the other slapping my ass before smoothing over the sting. His rhythm is hard, relentless, but perfect, angled to hit every nerve inside me. I cry out around Mario's length, and he twitches on my tongue.

"God, Katie..." Mario groans. "Your mouth... you're fucking unreal."

My fingers dig into his thighs as I work him, wet and hungry, moaning every time Maritzio drives deep from behind.

The sound of skin on skin fills the air--slick, fast, desperate. Their moans, my moans, the heat of it all spiraling higher.

"Keep her like that," Maritzio growls. "She's fucking mine right now."

"She's ours," Mario breathes, his voice wrecked. "Fucking angel."

Held between them, filled, used, and treasured--all at once.

Maritzio's hands slide up my stomach, strong and steady, then wrap around beneath my breasts as he pulls me upright against his chest, still buried deep inside me. His breath is hot against my ear.

"Now I want to see your face," he growls. "I want to feel you break while I watch you."

He shifts his weight, adjusting his knees, and then--strong as he is--he lifts me slightly and turns, guiding me to straddle him as he lowers himself onto the lounger. His body sinks into the cushion, cock still seated inside me, thick and pulsing.

He looks up at me now, eyes heavy with want, hands on my hips as I hover above him.

"Ride me," he says, voice like gravel and honey. "But don't come yet. I'm not done with you."

And then, just as I start to move, Mario steps forward again.

I feel his fingers slide between my cheeks, spreading me open.

My breath catches.

"You're so fucking ready," he murmurs. "You want more, don't you, Miss Katie?"

I moan in response, hips pressing back into his hand, aching for it.

Maritzio's hands slide up my back, holding me steady. "Do it, Mario," he says, low and urgent. "She can take it."

And I can. God, I want to.

Mario moves in behind me, positioning himself carefully, guiding his cock to my entrance.

He goes slow at first, just the tip pushing, testing, easing me open.

I cry out, half pleasure, half sweet burn as he presses in deeper, stretching me inch by inch until I'm filled in both places, every nerve in my body igniting.

I'm sandwiched between them now.

Maritzio buried deep inside my pussy, Mario sliding all the way into my ass.

My body is shaking, breathless and overwhelmed, but never more alive.

They move in unison, Maritzio thrusts up into me as Mario drives forward from behind, their rhythms perfectly matched. One pushes in as the other pulls out, their cocks grinding against each other through the thin wall inside me, making me cry out with every stroke.

My hands brace on Maritzio's chest, nails digging into his skin as I ride them both, completely filled, completely theirs.

"You feel so fucking good like this," Mario groans behind me, his fingers gripping my hips like he's trying to anchor himself.

"She's made for it," Maritzio hisses, eyes locked on mine. "Every inch of her. Fucking perfect."

Their hands are everywhere, gripping my thighs, cupping my breasts, sliding over my stomach, my hips. They worship me with every thrust, every breath, every curse they moan into my skin.

I tilt my head back, gasping, my body stretched between the two of them like a bowstring drawn tight.

The sound of their bodies pounding into mine, the way I tremble, the cries I can't hold back, it all blends into something carnal and beautiful and wild.

Maritzio thrusts up harder, his jaw clenched. "Come for us, Katie. Let us feel you break."

Mario's breath is ragged now, his pace pounding, desperate. "Fuck, Katie..."

My orgasm tears through me, explosive and unstoppable. I clamp down around them both, muscles seizing, back arching, a scream escaping my lips that doesn't sound like anything human.

They keep going, their thrusts growing wilder, more erratic, chasing their own pleasure as I fall apart between them.

Now that they've had a taste of my orgasm, now that they've felt what it's like to be inside me, they're starving.

Maritzio grips my waist hard, slamming me down onto his cock with rough, bruising thrusts, the slap of skin on skin echoing across the sunlit rooftop. His head is thrown back, his chest slick with sweat, but his eyes are locked on mine--wild, hungry, possessive.

"You didn't think we were done, did you?" he growls, voice like gravel scraping over heat. "Not when this perfect little ass is still begging for it."

I open my mouth to moan, but it turns into a gasp as he drives into me again and again, harder and rougher, picking up pace.

They move fast now, urgent, their rhythm brutal and perfect. Maritzio's cock stretches me deep while Mario's slams into my ass from behind.

"Fucking tight," Mario snarls, fingers digging into my hips like he's trying to brand me. "You were made to be fucked like this."

"Such a good little slut," Maritzio hisses up at me, his hand wrapping around my throat, thumb pressing lightly just beneath my jaw. "Letting us break you wide open in the sun."

Their words hit as hard as their thrusts, filthy and hot, laced with need and reverence.

"You love this, don't you?" Mario pants behind me, his pace savage now. "Two cocks stuffing your greedy little holes. You're dripping all over us."

"She's milking me," Maritzio groans. "Fuck, her pussy's so wet, so fucking tight."

I can't speak. My mouth is open, gasping, moaning, whimpering through every thrust as they pound into me from both sides. I'm a mess, my body jerking with every movement, hair wild around my face, drool on my lips, sweat on my skin.

And I've never felt more wanted.

"You like being used?" Mario growls, grabbing a handful of my hair, yanking my head back so I can't look away from Maritzio's face. "You want us to ruin you?"

"She already is," Maritzio spits. "Look at her. Fucking loving our cocks."

My climax builds like a thunderstorm, deep, dark, unstoppable. My whole body shakes, my moans turning high and broken as they fuck me harder, faster, deeper.

They're not holding back anymore.

Maritzio grips my waist with both hands and slams me down over and over again. "You want it? Then take it. Take every fucking inch."

Mario is feral behind me, one hand smacking my ass, the other wrapped around my ribs as he jackhammers into me. "I want to come inside this ass. Fill it so full it drips down your thighs."

The words hit something in me, something primal and I explode.

My scream rips through the air as my orgasm hits, hard and unrelenting. I convulse between them, thighs shaking, muscles clenching, my vision white-hot and blinding.

I'm barely coming down when they both lose it.

Mario groans, deep and brutal, slamming into me one final time as his release floods my ass. His whole body trembles with it.

Maritzio pulls me down and holds me there, groaning loud, cock pulsing deep inside my soaked pussy as he spills into me painting my cervix, thick and hot.

I collapse between them, shaking and filled, their hands still gripping my skin like they don't want to let go.

I collapse between them, breath ragged, body trembling, slick with sweat and cum. Maritzio's chest rises and falls beneath me, his hands still gripping my hips like he doesn't want to let go.

Mario's fingers trail down my spine, light and lazy, smearing the mess they've left inside me with a kind of reverence.

No one speaks for a long moment. Just the sound of our breathing, the soft rustle of the wind, and the low buzz of the city far below.

I smile to myself. God, I feel good. Not just from the orgasm, but from the rush of it, two gorgeous men, both wrecked by me. Me, naked, flushed, satisfied. Like the sun itself bent down to kiss me for being such a bad girl.

I roll off Maritzio and onto the lounger, legs still splayed, not caring how utterly exposed I am. My body's still humming with aftershocks, heat pooled between my thighs, the mix of all of our cum dripping from me onto the towel.

Mario chuckles low. "You're a fucking dream, Miss Katie."

"Mmm," I murmur, letting my hand trail across my stomach. Dipping my finger and swirling it in the mess then suck it all off my finger.

"You boys weren't too bad yourselves."

Maritzio chuckles, standing and stretching, the light catching the sheen of sweat across his chest. He grabs one of the neatly folded towels and starts wiping himself off casually, as if this is just another day.

Mario flops back onto the lounger beside me, breath still heavy, skin still glistening. Maritzio's already on his feet, casually tugging on his shorts, not in a rush. There's a glow to them, cocky and satisfied, like they just wrapped a job well done.

"He wasn't kidding," Mario says, as he reaches for a towel. "Told us you'd be a dream to shoot with."

I blink.

"Shoot with?" I echo, propping myself up on my elbow.

Maritzio grins at his brother, like he knows he shouldn't say more, but it's already too late.

"Jacky. Said you'd be perfect for this kind of scene. He's been planning it."

There's a beat of silence, the air shifts. They don't even notice, Mario's already on his feet, shaking out his curls. "Man, we owe him for this. Said it was our chance to work with someone real. Said it'd bring out your best."

Bring out my best. Like this was all preplanned and scripted.

My throat tightens as my gaze flicks up, slowly, deliberately, toward the discreet corner of the penthouse roofline.

The tiny camera is there. Black, matte, easily missed if you don't know to look.

Of course he was watching. Of course he planned it, and of course... everything here is filmed, they have told me that many times.

I swallow the tight knot building in my chest and force a smile.

Maritzio tosses a towel onto my lap. "Don't worry. You looked incredible. He's gonna love it."

I blink. My body still aches with pleasure. My skin is flushed and glowing. But inside... I feel it. That cold little twist of reality.

Mario doesn't even notice my silence as he zips up his bag. "Man, this might be my favorite shoot yet."

Maritzio grins, giving my thigh one last appreciative squeeze. "Jacky was right. She's fucking perfect."

I shift in the lounger, sticky and sore, the mess of what we just did clinging to my thighs, the towel beneath me soaked.

If I'm going to keep thriving here, I better start playing smarter.

The twins finish dressing. They don't linger--they're not here for pillow talk. Just a job well done. Another scene in the can.

Mario leans down to kiss my cheek before he leaves. "You're incredible," he says softly.

Maritzio just smirks, brushing his fingers along my jaw. "Mario's not gonna be able to keep his mind off you tonight. We can't wait for next time Katie"

I don't reply. I just give them both a little wave. Once they're gone, I get up slowly. My thighs stick to the lounger; my body aches in the best possible way. I'm a mess, slick, flushed, and marked.

I wipe myself off with a towel, moving slow, deliberate. Then I reach for my phone.

I raise the camera, the angle is everything.

I snap the photo, my hair tousled, skin still glowing, a smear of cum on my inner thigh, that knowing smirk on my lips.

I add the picture to a text 'Thank you for the twins.'

Pressing send, I wait just long enough to watch the little "Delivered" icon appear. Then I toss the phone onto the cushion and rise to my feet, still fully bare, stretching as the breeze runs across my skin.

But I need a minute. Just a moment to breathe, to think. To remind myself of who I am.

I pad into the penthouse and head straight to the bathroom, rinsing off quickly in the marble shower, my hands gliding across my body with the lavender soap and hot water. The steam swirls around me, and I let it.

I towel off, skin still dewy and warm, and slip into something light, a sundress, short and white, loose in the breeze but tight across the chest, braless and no panties.

I want to feel the air. I slide on a pair of sandals, grab my key fob and phone, and make my way down the elevator to the garage. My lavender car gleams in the soft lighting, like it's been waiting for me.

I climb in, windows down, the wind blowing through my hair as I glide through the city.

It doesn't take long to reach the beach.

I park near the edge of the sand, where the pavement gives way to sun-bleached boards. The late afternoon light paints the sky gold. I kick off my sandals and walk barefoot toward the water.

The breeze smells like salt and sunscreen and summer memories. My dress flutters around my thighs as I walk slowly, aimlessly, just letting my thoughts settle.

And before I even realize it, I'm standing in front of that bench. The one where it all began.

I sit down, the bench is warm beneath me, familiar and real.

I stare out at the water, waves crashing softly in rhythm and I smile.

The beach is quiet, the air warm against my face. The sound of the ocean fills the silence around me, I'm not being watched, not being touched.

I glance down the sand out of habit, my eyes searching for it, the ragged old tent, the little hideout that was once all I had.

But it's not there, gone, like it never existed. Like she never existed.

The beach is smooth and clean now, like someone came through and wiped away every trace of me even though it has only been a day.

And just when that ache starts to bloom in my chest, quiet and low, a ghost of a bruise I forgot I had--

"Damn," a voice behind me says, easy and low. "You clean up real nice."

I turn and my breath catches.

It's him, the surfer.

The one who offered me half a sandwich and took me in the lifeguard tower, who smelled like saltwater and coconut sunscreen and kindness. His board is under one arm, skin golden from the sun, hair streaked naturally from months in the surf.

He grins, eyes dragging over me, not in a gross way, but like he's still a little surprised. "Took me a second to realize it was you. Thought I was hallucinating. But then I saw those eyes."

I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips. "You remember my eyes?"

"Hard to forget," he shrugs. "Last time I saw you, you were trying to act like you weren't starving."

My cheeks flush, but I don't look away. I let him see me, really see me. Now, whole, beautiful, dangerous, and still somehow, that girl.

"Yeah, well," I say softly, "a lot's changed."

He steps closer, studying me with open curiosity. "No shit. You look... I don't even know. Like you stepped out of a magazine. That your car?" He nods toward the lavender machine parked along the sand.

I nod, twisting my fingers around the hem of my dress. "Guess I finally got where I was going."

He smiles, slow and warm. "Good. You deserved more than that tent."

I glance back out at the ocean, suddenly quiet. The wind catches the edge of my dress, flipping it against my thighs.

"It's weird," I murmur. "I thought coming back here would feel... safe. Or maybe familiar. But it's like she's gone. Like I'm gone."

"You're not gone," he says gently, setting the board in the sand. "You just changed skins. Doesn't mean that girl isn't still in there somewhere."

I swallow. "Maybe."

We sit in silence for a beat. His presence is steady, grounding. He knew me before the glamor, before Jacky, before everything.

"You okay?" he asks after a moment.

I think about everything that has happened since yesterday morning.

"Yeah," I say, nodding slowly. "I am."

He bumps my shoulder with his. "Good. But just so you know... if you ever want a break from whatever castle you're living in now, I still surf this beach every morning."

I smile. "Thanks."

The sun begins to dip lower in the sky, and I realize I don't want to leave just yet.