“Relax. That’s how it works.” His voice is threaded with smile. He presses the tattoo paper to my skin and pulls his bottom lip in, like he's tasting something sweet.
“No, it's not—” I start, but the protest dies when his mouth moves again, claiming the other side, and this time he's thorough—his tongue trails even higher.
He stops at my jaw, his breath flooding my ear for a beat and my knees threaten to give.
And then he's gone.
A whisper of cool air across the spot as he blows on my skin, and he straightens, impossibly tall, impossibly in control.
It takes me a breath to force out, "Stop acting like you own me," but my chest's heaving too hard for the words to sound defiant.
"Too late." His eyes don't waver. "You let me lick you. Now you're mine."
No smirk, no teasing wink—just the quiet certainty ofsomeone stating a truth he already believes.
I stare at him, my brain trying to catch up. I don't know him like this.
This is not even fun anymore. Everything in me is blooming against my defenses, and the devil inside? She's smiling, winning. She knew all along what she was doing with every yes, every touch. She always does.
But this is where I have to draw the line.
I take a step back. "Thanks for tonight. I'm going to sleep. I'm really tired." I pretend to yawn. "The high dipped."
His brows pinch and he studies me intensely, knowing I'm lying, but in the end he just nods. "Okay. Wait here."
He disappears into the crowd before I have a chance to say anything, and I just stand here in the aftershock.
Then a black bike glides into the glow, a silver lightning bolt down its frame like it was made for him, and Ben rolls back into view, eyes locked on me.
"I'm not letting you go alone. Get on."
Instinct takes over and I climb on behind him, hands wrapping around his waist without thinking.
The wheels catch the sand and we're moving through the lit-up night.
I press my ear to his chest, and listen to his heartbeat, inhaling when he does, and letting the song under his ribs soothe me as my lullaby.
But as all beautiful things do, it ends too soon, and we roll to a stop.
I slide off the bike and purposely avoid his eyes as I headstraight for my tent. "Thanks. Go back. Have fun. Good night."
"That's it?" His voice behind me stops me.
I turn—not as reluctantly as I should. "Yeah. What else?"
Ben swings off the bike, crosses to me and his arms open right in front for me. "Not even a hug? For bringing you home safe?"
I just shake my head, smiling like he's not turning me inside out.
He raises a brow. "Come on, Emma. You're acting like I'm dangerous."
Because you are.
"Ben, I have to go," I mutter. "It's either bedtime, or existential reckoning."
I turn away, ready to take another step from him when a moan rips through the night air—urgent, loud, and unmistakable.
Mara.
