On paper, the island wasn’t ours. But with every gust of wind and breath we took, it claimed us completely.

Remote, untouched—no clocks, no signal. Just the ache of skin meeting skin and the hunger that followed.

It didn’t offer refuge so much as revelation, stripping us down layer by layer until only want remained.

Barefoot, she stepped off the boat, sundress fluttering as if stitched from longing itself. Straps slid over sun-warmed shoulders, and the breeze flirted with the hem, lifting it just enough to set everything inside me on fire.

She didn’t glance back—there was no need.

That sway of her hips, so deliberate, spoke louder than words: you can look, you can ache—but not yet.

And damn, she knew the damage it did. Each step etched itself into memory.

Nestled between palms and sea grass, the bungalow waited. She stopped at the door and finally turned. Eyes found mine—familiar, smoldering, and echoing every late-night text that ended with I need you.

She slipped inside.

And I followed.

We’d counted down to this moment—months of waiting for silence, freedom, and the raw presence of one another. No noise. No filters. No holding back.

I remembered the night we first whispered this fantasy—her voice trembling with want and fear. We were strangers to the island then, but not to each other. And now, every step she took pulled that dream into the heat of the present, setting something primal in motion.

Inside, the air was thick with heat. Curtains sighed, and the room smelled of clean, post-ocean skin—clean, earthy, dangerously inviting.

She didn’t bother unpacking. Two glasses of wine poured, and then stillness—waiting for me to bridge the gap.

I stepped in close, arms circling her waist, my face pressing into the curve of her neck. She tilted, that breathy release slipping free like it had been building all day.

“You’re quiet,” came her whisper.

“I’m here,” I answered, fingers tracing along her hips. “And you’re already wrecking me.”

A subtle smile tugged at her lips as she pressed back, feeling the change in me. My hands drifted beneath her dress—slow, almost reverent—until they met bare heat.

No underwear.

Turning slowly, she raised her gaze. Eyes gleamed with intent.

“Told you,” she murmured, brushing her mouth against mine. “I’ve been ready since the boat.”

Our lips met—deep, claiming. Her hips aligned with mine.

Wine forgotten. Everything else faded.

We collided with the kind of pull only hunger understands. Step by step, I guided her until the table caught her back—lips never leaving mine. Breathing anywhere else felt impossible.

Her fingertips danced across my skin as my shirt came off, nails skimming with intention, pulling a shiver from deep inside.

I lifted her onto the edge. Thighs eased apart like memory, like instinct. The hem of her dress climbed, unveiling flushed skin and the heat radiating from within—ripe, ready, irresistible.

“You’re driving me crazy,” I breathed.

“That’s the idea.”

She leaned back, arms behind her, pushing her chest forward. Her big breasts strained beneath the fabric, nipples firm, desperate for contact.

I gave them exactly that.

My hands molded around them—full, heavy, warm. I squeezed, savoring the weight I’d dreamed of.

The straps slipped with ease. Fabric crumpled at her waist, revealing every generous curve.

My mouth closed over one nipple, tongue circling, while her nails skimmed my neck, teasing and electric.

“Can’t get enough of my tits, can you?” she purred, voice dripping with challenge.

“No. They’re perfect—and they’re mine.”

Her hand moved between us, freeing me with a slow, practiced ease. Fingers wrapped around my length, stroking deliberately.

“Already leaking,” she whispered, eyes gleaming.

“You’ve been torturing me since we stepped off the dock.”

A bite to her lower lip, then a smirk. “So quit acting like you can wait.”

I crushed my mouth to hers, her legs curling around my thigh as my cock slid against her slick warmth. So close, aching to push in—but I held back.y

Needed her begging.

I guided her outside, to the blanket waiting under the fading sun—sky burning—sea murmured. Everything primed for this.

She stepped barefoot onto the blanket, hair caught in the wind. Sunset painted her skin, hips rolling in rhythm with the tide—like the island planned our desire.

Her white gold ankle bracelet caught the firelight—delicate, adorned with tiny charms. A gift from me, of devotion, not decoration. She wore it like a promise—one that shimmered with surrender at every step.

She glanced over her shoulder, smile wicked as I devoured her with my gaze.

Kneeling, she slowly peeled the linen from her body in one fluid motion.

No layers. No hiding.

Only her—bare, golden, luminous. Full breasts rose with each breath, nipples hardened by wind or want. Her stance was bold. Eyes dared me forward.

“Your turn,” she said.

I didn’t rush—just peeled away my clothes under her gaze.

That quiet smirk bloomed again. She adored when I gave her the view. Settling comfortably between my legs, she let her fingertips trace lazy lines along my skin, her breath hovering—warm, charged.

“Enjoying the show?”

“It’s more than that,” I murmured. “I crave this.”

Her lips brushed the base, then drifted to my thigh. A slow lick up my shaft dragged a groan from my chest.

Fingers wrapped around me, her thumb pressing just beneath the tip with pinpoint precision—expert and effortless.

I nodded, breath caught.

Then her mouth opened, and everything slowed. She took me in, all, tongue spiraling, lips sealing with reverence. A low hum vibrated around me.

My hands twitched with restraint. I wanted to bury myself in her throat—but held back.

A quiet sound slipped from her, pleasure laced in every note as she tasted and teased. One hand cupped my balls, the other gripped my thigh, grounding herself as her rhythm built.

“Look at you,” I said. “So eager—begging to be taken.”

Her eyes flicked up, still working me, moaning louder.

I gripped her hair, slow and steady. She yielded easily, her throat welcoming. Not performance—devotion.

I sank deeper. She answered with a moan that wrapped around every nerve.

 “You take me perfectly,” I whispered—not just turned on, but completely undone.

She took every all—no shame, only intent—not as performance. Only devotion.

My hips moved—slow, steady, soaking in her heat. She braced, breath catching through her nose.

“Touch yourself,” I said. “I want to see how much you need this.”

Without pause, one hand drifted between her legs, fingers moving with practiced rhythm. Her mouth clutched tighter around me with every pass.

I let go—deeper, harder—sliding into the stretch of her throat. She didn’t pull back. She welcomed it, offering every tremor, every hollow, every breath as proof of surrender.

Her glassy eyes lifted. I slowed—just to feel her more completely.

“You’re mine,” I breathed. “Every heartbeat. Every inch.”

She whimpered again, fingers circling below, mouth still wrapped around me, unrelenting.

I held her in place, letting the moment build—not from force, but from full-bodied presence.

We stayed that way—not frantic, but fused. This wasn’t roughness. It was reverence.

She drew back for a breath, then took me in again—deeper, faster, with a hunger that left no doubt.

I let her lead, and she did—each motion deliberate, one hand still lost between her thighs, chasing that edge.

I reached down, cupped her heavy breasts, squeezed, pinched her nipples until a gasp escaped. Her body tightened instantly, heat radiating through every inch.

“You’re about to come... while I’m buried in your throat?”

She tried to nod, lips still stretched wide, eyes wild.

Then I told her what she already knew—what her body had become for me. “You’re my perfect cocksucker.”

That was all it took.

Her moan was primal—long, frantic. She trembled violently, shattered, breath hitching. I drove in harder, deeper, pushed through every wave of her release.

There was no need to praise her—her entire body had already declared everything.

I held there, deep, feeling her come pulse around me—tight, rhythmic, all-consuming.

When her body finally relaxed, I pulled back. My cock shone with her devotion, and her mouth stayed open, lips swollen, eyes clouded with bliss.

Slowly, she sat up, wiped her chin, and looked at me like the world had vanished—and only I remained.

“Taste me,” she said. “Feel what you’ve done… claim it.”

I kissed her deep—salt, surrender—everything she’d given.

Reclining back, one arm tucked behind her head, the other already slipping between parted thighs. Fingers slid through soaked heat, guiding me with a glance.

“Come here,” came the whisper.

I moved between her legs, drawn by the scent alone—thick, sweet, impossible to resist.

My mouth met her thigh, lips finding the sun-warmed salt of her skin. She opened wider, heels sinking into sand, hips rising in welcome.

My tongue brushed her clit, light as breath. The gasp she gave could have cracked the sky.

“You know what that does,” she whispered.

“I do,” I said, then did it again.

Slow strokes followed, tongue broad and patient, gliding from entrance to peak. Her body arched. Fingers tangled in my hair.

She rocked gently, lost in sensation. Her flavor filled my mouth—pure, unfiltered want.

I circled her clit, dipped low to pull on her folds, responding to every twitch, every sharp breath.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

I didn’t.

Instead of easing up, I slid in a finger—then a second—curling them just right while my mouth stayed locked on her clit. She trembled, thighs tightening, gasps sharpening into breathless cries.

The edge loomed close—but I stopped.

“What…?”

Words failed her as I trailed kisses lower, moving past her slick center, descending with intent. Her legs twitched as I gently parted her, exposing soft curves and hidden places.

“Baby…”

Her voice shook—nervous and electric—with no hesitation.

I licked—softly, deliberately—across that tight, untouched ring as her body jolted.

“Oh fuck… you’re licking my ass…”

My mouth did the talking. Another kiss—slower, deeper—she melted beneath me.

Long, lingering licks gave way to shorter, teasing flicks. Her breathing turned ragged.

One hand slid down, fingers circling as I worshipped her most hidden place.

“Will you take all of me?” I asked.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I’m yours. You can do anything.” Her voice broke like waves—rising, crashing, surrendering.

I kissed her inner thigh once more, then rose slowly to meet her gaze. Her eyes blinked open—dazed, glowing, cheeks flushed, still craving more.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice thick with aftershock. “Use me.”

That raw honesty pulled me in for a deep kiss, her taste still on my tongue. She shifted beneath me, then rose—fluid and instinctive—only to kneel again, back arching, palms pressing into the blanket.

A glance over her shoulder, eyes heavy with lust: “Like this?”

I moved in behind her, guiding her hips into position. Her ass lifted with purpose, swaying—a silent dare.

I grazed her soaked entrance. Her breath hitched, body tensed with anticipation.

“Why do you love making me beg?” she murmured, rocking back, tempting.

I leaned in closer, dragging the tip along her heat, barely pushing in—enough to make her tremble.

“You want it? Then say it.”

“Fuck me, baby… I need you inside me.”

I eased in slowly, relishing the stretch, the way she wrapped around me—hot, tight, perfect.

We groaned in unison as I filled her completely.

My hands gripped her hips as I began to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that claimed every inch. Her back arched, and her voice rose with each push, fingers digging into the blanket.

“Feel that?” I asked, pressing in deeper.

“Yes… fuck, yes… more,” she gasped, voice splintering under the weight of it.

I leaned in, grip firm, driving into her soaked heat with force that made her tremble.

“You’re dripping… wrapped so tight around me. You’re mine.”

Reaching forward, I took hold of those full breasts—my weakness—palming and kneading them, teasing nipples until her breath broke into cries.

“I’m close…” she whimpered, legs beginning to quake.

I pulled out suddenly. Her gasp at the loss was instant, but before words formed, I circled around and guided her mouth to me. Her face glowed with heat, lips parted in silent plea.

“Taste what you do to me.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her mouth wrapped around me, tongue swirling, savoring herself on my skin.

Eyes stayed locked to mine—no shame, no question—only devotion, dripping from her lips.

“You love tasting yourself, don’t you?”

Her reply came as a deep, hungry hum vibrating around me, mouth working faster, more intent.

It felt too good to hold back—I thrust deep, her head tilting with each pulse, surrendering completely.

Reluctantly, I pulled away—not because I wanted distance, but because I needed more. My hands found her hips as I returned to my place behind her.

This time, no teasing. I drove in with everything—need, heat, and no restraint.

She arched, gasping, a sharp cry slipping free.

“Please,” came her whisper, trembling. “Take me in the ass.”

The way she said it—soft, reverent—struck something wild inside me.

These were the moments we relived when we were apart. The way I’d strip her, bind her, remind her exactly who she belonged to.

She knew what those words did to me. Whispering “ravish my ass” flipped a switch I could never control.

My hips snapped harder, deeper, lost to rhythm, to hunger, to her.

That’s why she said it—to unchain my want and watch it take over.

And then she gave me more. “I want it all—in my ass. Now.”

No shame. No fear. Only truth laid bare between us—a need she saved just for me.

The way I paused only deepened her desire. Her body waited—round, flushed, trembling with readiness.

I kissed along her back, up to her shoulders. Every inch of her quivered beneath my lips.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” I whispered.

“Then don’t hold back,” she breathed. “Take it. Deep. Hard. It’s yours—fuck my ass.”

Her wetness clung to me, guiding my path. I moved with care, circling, finding the tight ring that pulsed with anticipation.

The pressure built—I pushed in, maybe a touch harder than planned, caught in the rush.

Her breath hitched, shaky but steady. “Go slow… but don’t stop.”

I eased deeper, feeling the resistance give way, her body tensing, then softening—welcoming.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” she moaned, voice soaked in want. “Give me everything.”

My grip tightened as I sank all the way in. Once I bottomed out, we paused—her body wrapped tight around me, my restraint unraveling with each heartbeat.

“So fucking tight,” I growled.

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “Use every part of me.”

I moved with intention—deep, slow strokes that filled her again and again, each one drawing soft gasps as she clenched around me, greedy and trembling.

Her face pressed into the blanket, one hand finding her soaked center, fingers working in rhythm with mine.

“You’re perfect like this,” I breathed. “My ass-trained goddess.”

“Only yours,” she whispered back.

My pace quickened. Her body rocked beneath me, the sound of skin meeting skin sparking every nerve.

I reached forward, cupping her generous breasts, squeezing until she cried out. Beneath my thrusts, her pussy wept.

When my palm met the curve of her ass, she let out a guttural moan, head rolling back in instinctive surrender.

Compelled, I took hold of her hair, tugging gently. She arched into it, breath catching—the ache for control written across every shiver of her body.

I pulled out, and her gasp followed—sharp, desperate from the sudden loss.

Before a word left her mouth, I lined up at her soaked center and thrust deep.

Her cry rang out, echoing across the sea.

“Fuck!”

“That’s it,” I growled. “You take it like a perfect little whore—made for this.”

“I love when you fuck both… I want everything,” she moaned.

I didn’t hold back. I shifted between her soaked heat and tight grip, driving into each with primal force.

Her ass clenched around me like fire, her pussy welcomed me like silk—every switch met with wild, trembling response.

She dripped down her thighs, her body shaking, pleading for more with every breathless whimper.

“More—harder—don’t stop—please—baby…”

I clutched her hips, ramming into her slick folds with raw, relentless hunger. This wasn’t careful. It was claiming. Marking. Owning.

And then it hit. Her release surged—body locking, voice breaking—as she came hard and loud.

She collapsed forward, trembling from head to toe, undone completely.

Her breath came in waves, body trembling in the aftermath.

I stayed near, fingertips gliding across her slick back. Her skin pulsed beneath my touch—warm from heat, slick from everything we’d created together.

The sun dropped lower, spilling molten light into the sea. Golden rays danced on her body, turning her skin radiant—still trembling from aftershocks.

She lay there, lips parted, eyes barely open but burning with something more.

When she looked up at me, that gaze was stripped bare—nothing hidden.

“I want it,” she whispered. The words were soft, but the subtle rise of her brow delivered the rest.

Something inside me went taut—not hesitation, but pure understanding. I knew what she meant.

This was more than lust. We’d dreamed of this, whispered it into our nights apart. It was a promise—desire as devotion.

“You sure?”

Her answer didn’t waver. “Claim me. Mark me. Right here.”

She knelt, back straight, breasts rising. Her gaze locked to mine—soft, but burning with trust and hunger.

Slowly, deliberately, her hand drifted down, fingers circling her clit in languid, knowing motions. Each movement sent a message, body speaking fluently to mine.

The other hand traced along her own curves—lush and deserving of worship. Every sigh, every pass of her fingertips was a performance meant only for me.

“Do it while I touch myself,” she said. “I want to feel it—on my lips, my skin… everywhere.”

I stood before her, pulse hammering, the weight of the moment pressing low. Her gaze held mine—open, devastating.

When release came, the first drop found her lips. Then more, trailing down her chin, spilling over those perfect breasts.

Not the gush of pleasure, but the warm flood from my bladder—a stream of pure possession.

She gasped—soft, almost reverent—as her fingers moved faster, chasing pleasure with every beat.

“More…”

I gave her everything she asked for.

When I was done, she was streaked with it—across her cheeks, her chin, and the full curve of her chest.

Her fingers never stopped. She kept touching herself as I marked her with the golden stream, not in shame, but in devotion.

She didn’t look humiliated—she looked divine. A mess, yes, but one made sacred. Worshiped. Claimed.

As I stepped back, she responded without hesitation—graceful, instinctual.

Her lips parted again, and she took me back into her mouth—wet, eager, completely deliberate.

Her tongue circled the head, then guided me deeper with practiced ease, drawing a deep groan from my chest.

She worked her throat with rhythm, with purpose, her moans sending pulses through me as her other hand still played between her thighs.

“You needed this,” she whispered between breaths. “Just like your whore wife does.”

Her eyes lifted, wild and blazing—lips slick with spit, her skin carrying the scent and taste of submission.

And then she rose.

Slow. Intentional.

Not ashamed—only empowered. A woman fully aware of the power she gave, and the power she held.

She climbed onto me, thighs locking around my hips, her slick warmth gliding along my length. She hovered just long enough to tease—then lowered herself in one fluid, claiming motion.

A deep sound escaped both of us—part growl, part purr.

Her hips rolled with purpose, every movement deliberate, fueled by hunger and command.

Her breasts brushed against my chest, and each rock of her body sent our breath quicker, rougher.

One hand slid between her legs again, fingers brushing against the base of my shaft as she pushed herself down farther.

She flushed—pure fire, pure motion..

“You love watching me ride you, don’t you?”

“Always,” I said, breathless. “You’re unreal.”

“Say it.”

“You’re my wife. My whore. My fucking dream.”

She moved faster, thighs slapping, breasts bouncing freely.

I cupped them, kneaded them, drew one into my mouth as her moans climbed, her body shivering on the edge.

“I’m about to cum,” she gasped.

I seized her hips mid-motion, locking her in place. She froze, panting, trembling—those eyes locked on mine, pleading and blazing.

Without a word, she understood. Her body lifted from mine with quiet grace.

My cock slipped free—slick, throbbing, aching.

She slid down between my legs, no hesitation in her movement. Kneeling, mouth parted, eyes ablaze with purpose.

She welcomed me back inside—wet, warm. Like worship.

A groan tore from my chest as my fingers threaded into her hair, guiding as her lips locked around me.

I moved with intent, slow then deep—thrusting into her mouth while her chin met my skin. One hand braced on my thigh, nails biting in, the other still lost between her own legs, stroking her soaked folds.

“I’m close,” I warned.

Her eyes flicked up—and I swear, she smiled without moving her lips.

“Give it to me,” she whispered around my length. “I want every drop.”

That was all I needed.

I held her still and drove deep—once, twice—then release hit, molten and overwhelming.

She swallowed it all, never breaking, never flinching.

Her soft hum carried through me like lightning.

Even after I pulled out, she sucked slow and sweet—like I was endless.

She looked up, lips parted in a soft smile. “Now I’m ready to swim.”

We walked to the sea—naked, trembling from everything given and taken.

The sky turned violet, stars kindling like embers.

The tide kissed our ankles, wrapped us whole. Salt tingled skin, reminding us where we’d been touched.

She waded in deeper, moonlight catching the arc of her back, the curve of her breasts. She floated with arms wide, head tilted to the heavens.

I joined her. She turned, pressing against my chest, wrapping around me like coming home.

“You okay?” I asked.

A nod. “Better than okay.”

We drifted in the hush—no words, just breath and water.

“I’ve never felt more yours,” she whispered.

“You’ve always been mine. Tonight, you let me show you.”

Her eyes found mine. “I trust you. With everything.”

I brushed her cheek; she playfully tried to bite.

“And you give me everything—your fire, your fears, your surrender.”

We kissed—slow, endless—as the sea held us.

When we returned to the blanket, she curled into me.

Her fingers traced my chest like secret ink. No words—just knowing. She trembled with trust, the giving, the weightlessness of being fully seen.

The island didn’t speak. It exhaled. It remembered.