“Can you stay with him for a bit?” Callum asked his mother, who was talking with a friend near the fire. They had taken turns watching him, and he had spent the last hour or so dividing his attention between Alejandra and him. “I want to show Alejandra something.”
“Of course. Don’t worry. All of Aber is watching him,” she said, kissing his cheek. She had completely ignored what had happened with Vanessa. It had been swiped under the rug but he knew he had to find a time to talk to her about it, about Mick.
But that wasn’t the time. He wanted to enjoy Calan Mai, but mostly, he wanted to enjoy Alejandra. He turned to her and spun her into his arms, cutting off her conversation with Rhiannon, apparently about the superiority of smut over literary fiction.
“I’m kidnapping her,” he announced.
“Rude!” Rhiannon called out, grinning wide.
“Where are we going?” Alejandra asked, her green eyes catching firelight and shadows, full of mischief.
“Somewhere private. Just us.”
He led her to a curve in the coast he knew like muscle memory, a pocket of sand protected from tide and sightlines, a hideaway where he’d once come to think, or sneak kisses behind his mother’s back to the farthest corner of the beach . Now, he was here with the woman who made him want to rewrite every memory.
“One of the things Calan Mai celebrates is fertility and passion,” he said, turning her toward the wall that gave them privacy. He caged her in with his arms, heat curling in his belly. “And since you’ve got your IUD… maybe we could properly celebrate passion.”
Alejandra looked up at him and nodded. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“But we’ll have to be quiet,” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough, breath warm as it ghosted over her mouth. His body was already pressed against hers, heat bleeding through layers, a promise he wasn’t even trying to hide. “Like in Ericeira. We’re not covered now.”
“I like it better this way,” she whispered back, and fuck—that nearly undid him. Something in his chest tightened—sharp, possessive, completely out of his control. The thought of being seen with Alejandra like this, out in public where anyone could notice them, sent heat rushing through him. Not because people were watching, but because despite the noise and movement around them, it still felt like they existed inside their own private world. Like somehow, in the middle of everyone else, she was only his in that moment.
His hand slid up, until it wrapped around her throat, firm enough to feel her pulse jump wildly beneath his fingers. His thumb pressed just under her jaw, tilting her head back, exposing her neck to him like she was offering it.
His favorite place. Always.
He felt it—the exact second her breath hitched. The way her lashes fluttered, the way her lips parted just enough for him to steal the air from her.
He loved that reaction. Loved knowing he could pull it out of her so easily.
“You like that,” he murmured, voice lower now, almost a warning, his grip tightening just a fraction—enough to make her swallow, enough to make her lean into it instead of away. Her eyes darkened, pupils blown wide, locked on his. That was it. That was the look that wrecked him every time.
He didn’t give her space to answer, he kissed her hard, hungry, like he’d been holding back for too long. His mouth moved against hers with urgency, teeth grazing her lower lip before soothing it, claiming, taking, devouring.
Her hands climbed up his back instantly, fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer like she needed him just as much.
His other hand moved without hesitation, sliding down her waist, over the curve of her hip, finding the button of her jeans. He didn’t break the kiss as he worked it open, the small metallic sound loud in the quiet around them, the fabric loosening under his touch.
The cool air hit her skin as he pushed them lower, his fingers brushing over warm, bare flesh, and he felt her shiver against him.
“I’m taking you right here,” he growled against her lips, his hand still wrapped around her throat, anchoring her to him, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. “On this rock, facing the ocean—”
He dipped his head, his mouth brushing along her jaw, down to herneck, where his grip already held her steady. His lips lingered there, breath hot against her skin.
“—so you remember,” he continued, voice low, almost reverent now, “that it’s not the sea that owns you.”
His thumb traced lightly over her pulse again, feeling it race under his touch. He lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes again, something darker, deeper settling in his expression.
“I do.”
She chuckled, breathless. “Poetry.”
His grip on her throat tightened just enough to make her gasp, the sound soft but sharp. It went straight through him.
“Such a smart mouth,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, less controlled. He dipped his head, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck before he bit down, then soothed it with his tongue. He lingered there, sucking just enough to leave a mark. A replacement for the one that had already begun to fade. He wasn’t done with leaving his trace on her. Not even close.
Her hands moved between them, impatient now, undoing his jeans with a kind of urgency that made his breath hitch. When she pushed the fabric down, the cool Atlantic air hit his skin, but it barely registered.
