her clit, his fingers dipping inside her.
Just when she is beginning to think he is too tentative with her, he steps up the pace, sliding in and out of her ass, her pussy, filling her, stretching her. Lovely, painful. She is dizzy with sensation, in a state of overload. But all she can do is thrust back against him, pleasure infusing her, emptying her mind. She is nothing more than these sensations, this body being fucked in every possible way. And she is loose and free in a way she has never been before.
This is what she’s needed, what she’s been searching for, she thinks fleetingly, even though she didn’t know it until this moment.
Pleasure builds, deepens, rolls over her body in long waves. Excruciating. Sharper, heavier, until she is completely weighed down by it. She collapses on the bed, but he is still fucking her, relentless, his hand working her mercilessly. She is coming again, shards of pure pleasure stabbing into her. She is sobbing, crying out, shaking so hard her teeth are clattering together. Coming so hard she can’t think of anything at all but the exquisite sensations moving through her body, a body which no longer belongs to her, but to him.
He tenses, growls, pumps into her ass. And it hurts, his pumping cock—and to know that it’s over, this experience.
He lies on top of her. He is shivering as hard as she is. He wipes the tears from her cheek, doesn’t say a word. They lie together for a long time, and at some point, they sleep.
Dawn comes as it always does on the Veracruz beach, with an edge of chill to the otherwise warm and sultry air. But he is warm beside her, the sound of his breath a quiet sigh.
She lies on her back, remembers why she needed to leave Corpus Christi. Remembers her broken heart, which is no longer broken.
Her stranger has healed her, somehow. He is like some magical creature, except that the physical reality of him is all too real—his sleeping form next to her, the lovely ache in her body.
As she watches him, his eyes open. They are that same elemental brown. He is so much of the earth, and of the water. She reaches out, runs her fingertips over the waves tattooed behind the tiger on his shoulder. Yes, he is of the water, too. Their time together is made up of the elements and suddenly she needs to be back in the water with him. She feels desperate, a little sad.
“Come with me,” she whispers.
He nods, sits up, runs a hand over his stubbled jaw. Smiles at her. And she knows everything is all right again.
She takes his hand and leads him, naked, out onto the beach and down to where the surf crashes on the sand. The sun is just coming over the horizon, an arc of fire in the deep, silvery sky.
They move together into the water, and it is soothing, womblike. The waves surge, wash away, caressing her skin, her naked sex. He pulls her deeper, until the water is waist-high. He holds her there, moves his hand between her thighs, pushes his fingers inside her. She spreads for him, reaches down to torment his cock. She runs her fingers over the cool metal of the ring piercing the head of his cock, tugs on it.
He moans, buries his face in her hair, pushes his cock into her hand. And they float in the water as they did that first time. Only yesterday, and yet it seems a million miles away.
He works her with his hand, fingers deep inside her, his thumb pressing on her clitoris. His hips thrust into her fisted hand, her fingers tight around his beautiful cock. They move together, breathe together, long, gasping pants as they build toward climax.
Pleasure, swift and sure, thrums through her body, taking her higher and higher. And the warm ocean all around them, rocks them, the wild scent of it in her nostrils.
As her body begins that first lovely clench, he murmurs, “I’m coming.”
“Yes,” she answers.
And their bodies buck and writhe with desire unleashed, as wild as the sea. His come floods her hand, hot and thick as honey, while she comes apart. Loose and shivering, her climax moves through her like the waves, rolling, thunderous. As powerful as the tides moving on the earth.
She wraps her legs around his waist. He kisses her cheek, her forehead. And they stay there while the sun comes up, burning golden, then pink, then finally a white glow in the deep blue sky. They are quiet as the world around them awakens, the seabirds sweeping in over the waves. All she can hear is the ocean and the sound of his breath in her ear.
He pulls back finally, watches her face quietly for a moment. Then he says, “I’m leaving today, heading down to Cozumel to do some diving.”
“I hear it’s very beautiful there.”
“It is.” He pauses. “Come with me.”
She smiles, shakes her head. “I can’t. I need to go home. Need to get back to…my life. Deal with some things.” She only realizes as she says it that it’s true.
He nods. “Do you even want to know my name?”
“No. I’m sorry but…”
“It’s all right.”
“You’re not angry?”
“What about this time with you is there to be angry about?” He reaches out, runs a finger down her cheek. “You’re like something out of a dream. Maybe it’s meant to be this way. Dream time.”
“Yes.”
That’s it exactly. He understands.
A wave crests, splashes against them. She blinks the water from her eyes, looks up at him. He leans in and licks the salty water from her lower lip, smiling. His eyes have a languid cast to them, but they are still dark, bottomless. And still seem to see right through her, into her soul. She shivers again, but this time it is not physical pleasure but something deeper.
He knows her; she is sure of it. And it is both comforting and terrifying at the same time. It is why they are here together, as though a force that is far beyond them both has determined that this moment should be.
She won’t question it further. Whatever else may happen doesn’t matter. She is satisfied with knowing this much.
YESTERDAY AND LONG AGO, IN A KINGDOM FAR FROM here but right next door, there lived a handsome young man and his equally beautiful young wife. She had hair the color of sunshine, eyes like a summer sky and skin like rich cream. Her name was Ilina, and the young man loved her more than anything else in the world.
Ilina, for her part, loved her handsome young husband. Pitor was strong, with muscled arms and legs that had no trouble chopping wood or building fences. His hair, the color of the forest’s deepest shadows, hung to his shoulders in ripples like silk, and his eyes shone like the night sky littered with stars.
If Ilina had one small wish, it was that Pitor could be as satisfied with their humble cottage and plot of land as she was, but though her husband worked long and hard, he hated the labor that brought them their food and the roof above their heads. No matter how Ilina tried to soften the small rooms with her handwoven tapestries or delicately embroidered pillows, night after night Pitor looked around their home with dissatisfaction on his face.
“I love you,” she told him. “No matter if we eat on gold and silver or on wooden trenchers, Pitor, I love
