She’d played the part in both dominant and vanilla relationships over the years, but nothing had ever really hit that deep place in her. That place where control becomes comfort. Where the right touch, in the wrong place, from someone who understands what you crave before you even say it... lingers.

The trail wound up and behind the edge of the beach, where the sand gave way to dry scrub and stone. Birds in the trees. The ocean still visible, but quieter now. She kept walking, that loose wrap barely clinging to her, letting the breeze lift it just enough for me to glimpse the curve of her thighs. The cut of her bikini. The sway of her hips with every step.

“Show me,” I murmured. She didn’t waste time. She slid onto her knees between the seats, her hands tugging my sweats down, gasping softly as my cock sprang free. She looked up at me, eyes dark, lips glistening with spit, she licked them before wrapping them around me.

She gasped, grabbing my wrist, but not to stop me—to hold me there. I curled two fingers inside her, feeling her walls clamp down, her breath coming fast. I whispered against her ear, “You’re dripping for me already.”

Her thigh pressed against mine, the heat of her body instant. The bus lurched forward, and her dress rode up even higher. My eyes flicked down—just for a second.