“Oh god…” I moan, turning into a white hot mess.
He pumps into me again and again. No fucking mercy.
Fuck.
I claw at the sand, my nails breaking the surface, desperate for something to hold onto as my body surrenders completely to the sensation. Tears run up to my eyes and trail down my temples. I’m livid.
His breathing grows more erratic, his groans vibrating through me as his body tenses.
“Gypsy,” he growls, his voice rough, a warning and a plea all at once. His hands slide up my body, gripping my shoulders and putting my arms above my head. “You’re driving me fucking crazy…”
I can’t reply. I just can’t. The words are trapped in my throat.
Another moment passes, where I feel like alcohol-glazed, blazing fire, and then his body goes rigid. He buries himself deep inside me one last time, moans the most guttural moan I’ve ever heard, and pulls out.
Warm liquid lands on my chest and belly.
Zayan collapses beside me, his chest heaving, the aftershocks of it all still coursing through his body.
I can still feel the weight of him, too—the lingering pressure where his hands gripped me, the raw burn where our bodies met in a clash, the pain left from his fingers digging into my flesh. My mind is a fog, barely able to process anything other than that.
On the outside, though, we both breathe heavily, sweat tickling our skin.
“See what you’ve done?” I pant out, the first one to break the silence. “Thanks to you, we both have sand up our asses.”
“Fucking worth it.”
I push myself up, throwing him a sarcastic glare, though I can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips.
He chuckles, low and hearty, sitting up with one knee bent and the other stretched out, his chest rising and falling as he watches me with that lazy grin. He looks entirely too pleased with himself.
“What? You gonna disagree?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ugh, it’ll take forever to get rid of it, so...”
He raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “Oh, I’m sure I can help with that,” he says.
“Doubt it,” I quip.
“Really?” His grin widens, wicked and knowing. “The sea’s right here, Gypsy. I could help you wash it off… maybe go for round two while we’re at it.”
I whip my head around, narrowing my eyes as I sit up, still brushing the sand off my legs. “Hell, no.”
He laughs, that rich, deep laugh that grates at my nerves. “Come on, Gypsy. It’s not like we’re gonna see each other anytime soon.”
“I told you, I don’t have much time,” I say, standing up, brushing off more sand from my chest, watching it trickle down in a trail. I do need to wash up, but there’s no way he’s helping me with anything. “Not now.”
“You didn’t seem to mind time when I was buried deep inside you,” he teases. He jumps to his feet in one fluid motion and extends his arm toward me. “At least let me give you a hand.”
I ignore him.
Sex is one thing. It’s wild, free—something you dive into without hesitation, like the sea itself. But this? This thing he’s offering now—thisaftercare—it’s different. I got what I wanted. I’m satisfied. There’s no need to keep this going.
“Save your affection for someone who needs it, Zayan,” I say, standing taller, chin tipping upward. “I can handle cleaning myself up.”
Without waiting for his response, I turn on my heel and head toward the waves. Each step sinks into the sand until the water laps at my ankles, cool and steady, as it always is. I let it wash over me, rinsing away the touch of his hands, the heat ofour earlier entanglement, and the foolishness of letting him too close.
But of course, Zayan isn’t one to let things go. He’s trailing behind me, quiet but persistent, like a damn seagull eyeing a catch. Hovering. Watching.
