You stop just where the waves kiss the shore, feet half-buried in hot sand, watching him tilt his head up to face the sun like he’s letting it bless him. He could be a painting, a sin, or a warning label.

And maybe it’s the heat, or the stillness. Or the fact that you’ve been fucking each other for months now without ever bothering to figure out why it keeps feeling more like something.

One look at him and you already feel heat blooming between your legs.

“Don’t fuck around with me right now, Shua.”

He turns his head, eyes dark and amused. The corners of his mouth lift like he’s heard you say that a hundred times and never once listened. “You came out here to stare at me again?” he asks, clearly letting it play loose.

You squint at him through the sunlight. “I came out here to stay dry.”

“Mm. Not what I remember you saying last night.”

And before you can respond, or can even blink, he strides forward in the water and grabs your wrist.

“Joshua—” you yelp, twisting back, but it’s already too late.

He tugs you in with effortless ease as if the tide itself is working for him. You stumble forward, legs splashing into the shallows, then thighs, then hips. He pulls you closer until your front bumps his wet and warm and solid chest. The water laps around the two of you, and your t-shirt is soaked through, clinging to your body like a second skin. You meet his gaze with a glare, refusing to look away.

“I swear to God—”

But you find him already looking at you with that simmering gaze. His hand slides around your waist with his fingers grazing the small of your back, and your breath catches before you can pretend otherwise.

“Don’t you wanna cool off?” he murmurs, leaning in, voice curling against your ear.

“I said I didn’t wanna get wet.”

Joshua laughs, “you always say that,” he says, brushing his nose along your jaw. “And then you let me fuck you in every corner of every place we go.”

His fingers trail up the back of your shirt, curling around the hem, and even through the cling of the wet fabric, his touch sinks in like skin to skin. He tugs your hair back just enough to tilt your head, exposing the line of your neck, and then his mouth finds you.

Lips drag along your jaw, down to your throat, moving like time doesn’t apply to him. You reach for his arm as your fingers wrap around the curve of his bicep where that familiar cross tattoo sits etched into his skin. Your tongue flicks over the ink before you kiss it, and he groans low against your neck, his grip on your bare waist tightening like praise.

Your hands then press flat to his chest. “You really know how to test someone.”

He kisses your throat. “And how to make them forgive me.”

Your laugh escapes you breathless and bright just as he reaches down to grasp the hem of your t-shirt. He tugs it upward, the soaked fabric clinging to your skin as if reluctant to let go, until he pulls it over your head in one swift motion and tosses it somewhere behind you. His gaze darkens the moment it lands on the black lace beneath—thin, wet, and molded to your body.

“Fuck,” he expresses, staring like he’s memorizing it. “You wore this for me.”

You smirk. “Would you be mad if I said yes?”

“No,” he lets you know, his fingers trailing down your sides with as much reverence as tension, then sweeping back up to unhook your bra in a single flick. It slips into the water without a sound, and he doesn’t even look away once. “Tell me no,” he says, voice catching, as if to give you the chance.

But you don’t; instead, you lean in and press your mouth to his, and just like that — everything tips.

He turns you until your back presses firmly against his chest, the cool water rising waist-high around you both. His hands slip beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging the soaked fabric down your thighs just like he’s done a thousand times before. You step free, and the delicate cloth disappears behind you without a sound.

His voice is ragged, whispering hot and low against your collarbone, “hold onto me.”

You obey instinctively as one of your arms wraps around his neck while the other tightens on his forearm. Slowly, his hand slides between your parted legs underwater, fingers ghosting along your inner thigh before plunging inside your cunt. Two fingers curl deep, tracing patterns that make you moan, breath catching in a quivering gasp. The water muffles your sounds, but he hears every tremulous whimper pressed against his skin.

“You always this wet for me, baby?” His grin is wicked as his tongue flicks over your burning shoulder, teeth grazing in a teasing bite. “And I’m not even inside you yet.”

Then, with a deliberate slide, his swim trunks fall away, and you reach for him beneath the water, curling your hand around his cock; pulsing and hard, slick from the sea now, though you can still feel the ghost of your spit from earlier, when your mouth had him before the ocean did. Both of you pant as your bodies slip and grind together, heat building despite the ocean’s chill.

He lines himself up and slowly slides his cock inside you, pressing in deep. The stretch pulls a raw, desperate gasp from your lips—messy and beautiful all at once. You feel everything: the smooth resistance of the water, the tight fullness of him sliding inside, the ragged sound of his breath shuddering near your ear.

By and large, he fucks you like no one’s watching, rolling his hips with a relentless rhythm, rocking you forward with every thrust. You cling to his forearm as your back arches and your neck tilts back, the ocean swirling around your trembling bodies.

“You feel that?” he breathes. “You feel me, don’t you?”

You nod, whimpers coming out your mouth, desperate and undone. His pace quickens, and the water slaps rhythmically around your hips as he thrusts into your cunt again and again, cock dragging along your slick, swollen walls. The tension inside you coils tight, pressure building in your abdomen with every deep stroke, every grind of his hips against your ass.

Oh fuck, you think you might come just from the sound of his voice; strained, burning, loving the way you surrender to him. “You feel so fucking tight,” he praises. “You always take me so good, baby.”

You clench around him as your cunt pulses wildly, your legs shaking uncontrollably in the water. “Shua—fuck—please—”

“Let go for me,” he voice against your ear, commanding. “I want to feel you come all over my cock. Let the whole ocean know.”

Taking his signal, your orgasm crashes into you with no warning. Your pussy clenches tight around his dick, spasming as you cry out his name, your body quivers in ecstasy in his arms. It tears through you wave after wave, making you gasp, choke, pant; your cunt throbbing around him as you come hard, juices mixing with seawater, your thighs trembling.

He groans, curses, and fucks into you even harder, like he wants to feel every last squeeze. “Fuck—you feel that? You’re still fucking coming.”

You whimper being overstimulated, but it doesn’t stop. He adjusts his grip on your hips and starts thrusting again, pushing deeper now, making you break one more time.

Your second orgasm builds faster, and more desperate than before. He thrusts straight into your g-spot, fingers digging into your hips to hold you still as your cunt tightens violently around him once more. You bend your head down and scream into his shoulder, body convulsing, your pussy gushing wet and pulsing, completely at his mercy.

“Good girl,” he groans. “Give me one more.”

You don’t know how—but your body obeys. The third orgasm tears through you like fire, so sharp you see stars behind your eyes, hips jerking, cunt spasming around his cock as you sob into his neck. And then, you find him coming too.

His moan is guttural as he slams into you one last time, cock twitching, pulsing, spurting hot cum inside you. He stays buried there, panting against your skin as his release spills into your cunt, mixing with everything you’ve already given him.

You both float there still locked in the afterglow, your bodies slick and tangled together, spent from everything you just gave and took. Your pussy flutters weakly around the softening length still buried inside you, as if reluctant to let go, while the tide rocks around your hips back and forth as though trying to soothe the fire still burning low between your thighs.

You’re wrecked; shaking, warm, and thoroughly satisfied. Drunk on the sound of his breathing against your ear, on the weight of his hands around your waist, and on the way the world feels calm now with cool breeze in the background. And for what it’s worth, you’d let him fuck you in the ocean a hundred times over, because this, in and of itself, is everything.

His lips brush your temple as he exhales a breath. “If we stay in here any longer, I’m going to start again.”

You let out the chuckle he loves so dearly. “We should probably get out before I forget how to walk.”

He hums, pressing one last kiss behind your ear before he shifts, lifting you easily into his arms.

Water slides off both of you in glimmering trails as he carries you from the sea. His bare feet thudding gently against warm wooden boards, leaving behind a trail of wet footprints that vanish under the sun. Neither of you say a word, but then again, arguably, nothing needs to be said.

The towel accidentally slips off your body the moment he sets you down on the edge of the villa’s balcony. It pools forgotten at your feet, and it's safe to say, because of this action, you don’t make it inside.

He’s already hard again before your heartbeat even slows, his cock twitching against your thigh as he kisses you wet, tongue curling against yours like he has all the time in the world, even as hunger claws at both of you. He lifts one leg over his shoulder, angling your hips until your bare back presses against the cool balcony railing, and then he pushes inside you in one deep, rough thrust, without teasing you first.

You let out a high, broken gasp, because he doesn’t ease in this time. He fucks into your cunt owning it himself, already open and sensitive from the orgasms he’s torn out of you. The stretch burns, but delicious and overwhelming, your cunt soaked from the ocean and everything he’s done to you, and now he’s fucking into it.

“That’s it,” he groans against your breast, his tongue dragging over your nipple, teasing it into a tight peak. “You feel that? Even the wind knows what I’m doing to you.”

There’s no lie in it, it's true. The breeze brushes across your sweat-slick skin, cooling your flushed body just enough to remind you how raw and exposed you are with him under the blue sky. His hands grip your hips, dragging you down onto his cock again and again, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the open air. You moan, as your fingers claws at his back, leaving sharp red trails down his spine.

He fucks you like he’s chasing the high, chasing your voice breaking apart under him, chasing the pussy he loves so much clamping down around him every time he hits just right. Or, maybe, chasing the fact that you’ve already come for him four fucking times—three underwater, once since he carried you inside—and you body still begging for more.

“You’re so good for me,” he praises. “Always so fucking good. Let me ruin you a little more, yeah? Give me another one. Come for me again.”

Yes, yes, yes, you whisper yes so many times it becomes the only word you know at this point. Your legs shake, thighs tensing around his waist as he grinds hitting that perfect spot over and over, and you break with a sob; your fifth orgasm ripping through you like lightning. Your pussy spasms around his cock, soaking him as you cry out, hips jerking, clit throbbing against the pressure of his body.

He holds you through it, fucking you through every twitch and clench, groaning at the way you squeeze him so tight he can barely move. And still, he doesn’t let up.

“You can give me one more,” he growls, biting at your throat. “Come on, baby. You’ve got one more in you.”

You don’t think you do—but he knows your body better than you do, and when he slips one hand between your legs and presses his thumb to your clit, it’s over. You fall apart again, pussy fluttering, your cunt milking his cock with frantic spasms as your sixth orgasm tears through your exhausted, trembling body.

He buries his face in your neck with a guttural moan, thrusts once, twice, and then he’s spilling inside you, cock pulsing as he fills your cunt with his hot cum, hips jerking as he rides it out. His breath is harsh against your skin, and your name leaves his lips like a wish.

And for what it’s worth, you’d let him fuck you breathless on every balcony in the world if he asked.

-

You don’t know how long you lie there afterward with your body sun-drenched and salt-sticky, skin warm and glowing, your legs tangled with his, his hand still resting on your thigh with no plans of moving it. The ocean murmurs somewhere behind you, waves rolling in a lazy rhythm, and the air smells like salt and coconut sunscreen and something a little like love, as it were.

Joshua’s forehead rests against yours, his breath ghosting across your cheek. His lashes flutter like he’s still halfway inside the moment, his lips parted just slightly from how hard you both came minutes ago—underwater, no less, because truth be told, you never really do anything halfway when it’s the two of you.

He kisses you like it’s instinct, like his mouth has always known where to find yours. His hand drifts through your hair, brushing out sand in strokes as he breathes out one of those real warm laughs, that he only lets slip when he forgets who he’s supposed to be and just lets himself be Joshua, not the idol, not the brand, not the polished favorite of millions; just your friend who still tastes like vanilla and sin.

“If this is just fun,” he initiates, “then why do I feel like kissing you forever?”

And to be fair, he’s not wrong. Because technically speaking, yeah, you’re just friends, and this thing between you is casual, cool, no strings, deadass chill... so to speak. But believe it or not, every time he touches you, it feels like the first time someone really touched you. And at the end of the day, even if it’s not love, it’s… something, isn’t it?

You just kiss him again a little deeper this time, like maybe it is love after all, and needless to say, he doesn’t pull away.

The breeze slips past your bodies, warm and salty, and the ocean, not that it matters, it keeps your secrets without judgment. Because it is what it is, and you might as well stay a little longer. Should you choose to, of course.