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I followed her through the wrecked living room and out the open front door. She crossed the stone path barefoot and headed toward the dunes. The late sun reflected off the water in a blinding white glare. Wind from the ocean pressed the blue shirt against her thin frame and lifted the hem as she walked.

I kept enough distance between us to see whether she would stop. She didn’t want to die. She wanted me to believe she might. Every step toward the water dared me to run after her, pull her back, and prove that I couldn’t bear to lose her.

I already knew I would drag her out if she entered the ocean. Letting her die wasn’t an option. She belonged to me, but Maggie didn’t understand that.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw me following. When I didn’t rush toward her, she quickened her pace. The loose sand gave way beneath her bare feet, slowing her before she reached the shoreline. She stumbled onto her hands, scrambled upright, and continued toward the water.

She didn’t stop when the first rush of cold foam circled her ankles. She kept walking until the water reached her calves, then her thighs, then her waist. A wave struck her from the side and tore her feet from beneath her. She disappeared under the surface before emerging with a violent gasp. Her hair covered her face, and her arms battered the water with frantic, useless movements.

Maggie couldn’t swim. She had confessed it years ago while lying in bed beside me, laughing as though it were some charming flaw. Now she was willing to drown herself for proof that I cared enough to save her.

Another wave broke over her head. This time, she stayed under longer.

When she surfaced, seawater poured from her mouth as she coughed and fought for air. Her eyes found the beach, then searched until they landed on me.

I stayed where I was.

Relief crossed her face first. She had seen me following and assumed the performance had worked. But then she noticed I made no move to help her. The relief vanished and a look of terror washed over her face.

I wanted her to feel it. I wanted her to understand that her life depended on my decision, and I could choose to let her die.

The current dragged her backward. Her mouth opened to scream, but another wave swallowed the sound and pulled her beneath the surface.

Only then did I run.

The sand dragged at my shoes. I kicked them off at the edge and waded in until the cold hit my chest and the current started pulling at my suit. I swam the last stretch with short, hard strokes and caught her around the middle while she was still flailing. Her nails scraped my forearm. She choked on a mouthful of water and tried to climb me instead of letting me move us.

“Stop fighting me,” I said against her ear. “You wanted me in here. Now I’m here.”

I turned her onto her back and pulled her toward shore, kicking against the undertow, one arm locked under her ribs. She coughed and gagged the whole way. When my feet found the bottom again, I dragged her through the shallows and onto the wet sand at the waterline.

She landed on her back, chest heaving, the soaked shirt stuck to her skin, sand packed into her hair and the corners of her mouth. Salt water ran off her in thin streams. I stood over her dripping, suit ruined, breathing heavy.

“You tried to drown yourself because you wanted me to come get you,” I said. “I did. I’ll pull you out of worse than this if I need to. I decide when you can leave. And I will never let you leave Maggie, unless I kill you myself.”

I flipped her onto her stomach before she could sit up. One hand went to the back of her skull and shoved her face down toward the incoming water.

“Do you want to die right now?” I asked. “Because I’m the only one who decides that.”

The next wave smashed across her cheek and filled her mouth. She jerked hard and tried to lift her head. I held her there through a second crash, then eased just enough for her to turn her face sideways and spit foam into the sand.

“No,” she gasped. “I don’t wanna die.”

The answer went through me faster than the coke. Choosing when she got air made me hard so fast it hurt against the wet zipper. I tore the zipper down and shoved the soaked shirt up her back until it bunched under her arms. Sand grit coated her ass and the backs of her thighs. I spread her from behind with both thumbs and looked at how wet she already was under the salt and the panic.

“Who decides when you die?”

“Yo—you, Richie.”

I pushed into her in one stroke. Her pussy clenched tight around me the second I bottomed out, a hard involuntary grip that had nothing to do with wanting me and everything to do with fighting for breath. I stayed buried there and shoved her head down again as another wave rolled in. Cold water slammed her face. Her body locked around my cock while she choked. I waited, then pulled her up by the hair just far enough for her to drag in air. She let out a strangled moan as I pounded into her.

I started fucking her into the wet sand. Each thrust drove her hips forward and her face closer to the waterline. Foam rushed up around her mouth and nose, then pulled back and left her coughing. I timed it. Wave. Hold. Thrust. Release. Her fingers clawed trenches in the packed sand. The shirt rode higher. Sand packed into the crease of her hip where my hand held her still.

“This is what you wanted to die for,” I said. “Now I’m here. Now I decide if you get to breathe.”

A broken sound tore out of her when I found the angle that made her cunt clench harder around me. My cock dragged over that swollen spot inside her on every stroke. The next wave hit harder. I held her face under it and fucked her through it, slow and deep, every thick inch sliding in and out of her dripping hole while the cold salt water closed over her. Her pussy fluttered and squeezed in tight, panicked pulses, walls gripping and releasing around my shaft. I pulled her head up only when her shoulders started to shake for real. She sucked air in a raw, desperate gulp and spat seawater down her chin, strands of spit and salt water hanging from her lips.

I didn’t stop. I shifted the angle and drove in harder, one hand braced on the small of her back, the other still fisted in her soaked hair. Wet sand gave under my knees. Cold water rushed up my thighs and over her ass with every incoming swell, washing across the place where my cock stretched her open. She tried to push up onto her elbows. I put her right back down. The next wave slapped straight into her open mouth. She clamped around me so hard I had to grit my teeth and ride it out, her inner muscles fluttering and milking me while she choked and gagged on the water.