The afternoon sun cast long, honeyed shadows across the villa’s deck, where the lap of turquoise water against the infinity pool was the only sound. Lila lay on a lounger, a paperback open but forgotten on her stomach, her skin slick with coconut-scented oil. She was nineteen, a coil of restless energy and hunger she didn’t fully understand, and the vacation was supposed to be a reprieve from it. Instead, it was amplifying everything.
Across the deck, Marcus adjusted the strap of his linen shirt, his back to her as he poured himself a glass of white wine. Her stepmother, Angela, had gone into the nearby town for supplies, leaving them alone for the afternoon. The silence between them was charged, a wire pulled taut. Marcus was forty-four, with graying temples and a quiet strength that had always unsettled her. He was her father’s friend, her stepmother’s second husband, and entirely off-limits. That only made the ache sharper.
“You’re burning,” he said without turning around. His voice was low, a smooth baritone that seemed to resonate in her chest.
Lila shifted, the soft fabric of her bikini sliding against her damp skin. “I’m fine. The oil has SPF.”
He finally turned, his dark eyes scanning her from the tips of her pink-painted toes to the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck. “You’ll still fry. Come sit in the shade for a while.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command wrapped in velvet. She hated how her body responded to it, how her thighs pressed together as she rose, the book sliding to the tile. She moved to the shaded cabana, her bare feet silent on the warm stone, and settled onto the cushioned bench. He followed, lowering himself to the edge of the bed-like seating, his broad shoulders blocking the light.
“Drink?” He held out a glass of water, ice clinking.
She took it, her fingers brushing his. A static jolt shot up her arm. She inhaled sharply, and his eyes flickered to her mouth. The air thickened.
“Marcus…” She started, not knowing what she wanted to say.
“Don’t,” he murmured, but his gaze was relentless. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel this.”
Her heart hammered. “Angela—”
“Is not here.” He leaned in, close enough that she could smell him—sun-warmed skin, salt, a hint of musk. His hand came up, and he brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder, his thumb grazing the delicate skin of her collarbone. She shivered, a moan caught in her throat.
“I’ve watched you all week,” he said, his voice rough. “Every time you stretch, every time you lick your lips, every time you slide into the water. You’re a torture I didn’t ask for.”
Lila’s breath caught. She was trembling, her bikini top suddenly feeling like a cage. “Then stop watching.”
“I can’t.” His hand moved, trailing down her arm, leaving a wake of fire. “And neither can you.”
He was right. She’d dreamed of this—his hands, his mouth. At night, alone in her room, she’d touched herself to the image of him, guilt and desire tangling until she came in a gasping, silent release. Now he was here, real, and the fantasy paled.
Slowly, deliberately, he took the glass from her hand and set it aside. Then he cupped her face, his palm rough against her cheek. “Tell me to stop,” he said, his forehead almost touching hers. “And I will.”
She couldn’t speak. Instead, she closed the distance, her lips brushing his. It was gentle at first, a question. He answered with a low groan, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was deep, demanding. His tongue slid against hers, and she melted into him, her hands fisting in his linen shirt. He tasted of wine and heat, and she wanted to drown in it.
He pulled back, breathing ragged. “Not here. Inside.”
He took her hand and led her through the glass doors, into the cool dimness of the villa. The bedroom was large, the curtains drawn, the bed wide and white. He stopped at the foot of it, turning her to face him. His fingers found the tie of her bikini top, and he pulled it loose. The fabric fell away, and his gaze raked over her breasts, full and peaked from the chill air.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, and then his mouth was on her, hot and wet, teeth grazing her nipple. She cried out, arching into him, her fingers tangling in his hair. He laved her, sucking hard, then softer, until she was a writhing mess.
His hands worked the ties at her hips, and her bikini bottoms slid down her thighs, pooling at her feet. She stood naked before him, vulnerable and aching. He stepped back, stripping off his own clothes with an urgency that made her wet. His body was lean and muscled, tanned from the sun, his cock already hard, the tip glistening.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Yes,” she whispered. “God, yes.”
He laid her on the bed, positioning her like a feast. He began at her mouth, kissing her deeply, then moved down, his lips trailing over her throat, her sternum, the hollow of her belly. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he paused, looking up at her. Her eyes were wide, her chest heaving.
“I’ve imagined this,” he said, and then his tongue parted her folds.
She screamed. Not loud, but a strangled cry as he licked into her, his tongue flat and broad, then pointed, circling her clit. Her hands fisted the white sheets, her hips bucking against his mouth. He held her down, his fingers gripping her thighs, spreading her wider. He sucked her clit into his mouth, and the world shattered. She came hard, waves of pleasure rolling through her, her vision white.
He didn’t stop. He lapped at her through the orgasm, drawing it out until she was limp, trembling. Then he climbed up her body, his cock pressing against her slick entrance.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
She did. He slid into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely. Her eyes rolled back, but she forced them open, meeting his. He moved slowly at first, a deep, grinding rhythm that reached a place she didn’t know existed. Each thrust was deliberate, a claim.
“You feel… incredible,” he groaned, burying his face in her neck.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Faster,” she begged.
He obeyed. His pace quickened, his hips slapping against hers, her breasts bouncing with the force. She was close again, a second wave building. He reached between them, his thumb finding her clit, pressing hard. That was all it took. She shattered again, her inner walls clenching him, and he followed with a guttural shout, his release hot and deep inside her.
They lay tangled, breathless, the sheen of sweat cooling on their skin. He nuzzled her hair, his hand stroking her hip. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, the distant crash of waves.
And then the front door opened.
Angela’s voice floated through the villa. “I’m back! Did you two behave?”
Marcus stiffened, but Lila smiled. She pressed a finger to his lips, her eyes wicked. “We’ll have to be more careful,” she whispered.
The door to the bedroom was ajar. Angela’s footsteps approached.
