SPICECHICA🇵🇷

The world around you was a symphony of crashing waves and salt-kissed breezes, the kind of day where the air was so clear you could almost taste the sky. The sand was warm under your feet, trickling between your toes, and you turned to Ernst, grinning.

His face was a mixture of awe and joy, like he’d just rediscovered some precious treasure, and, in a way, he had. His blue eyes sparkled with a kind of light that went beyond the sun—a light that seemed to reach back into memories of palm trees and crashing surf. Here, under the vast open sky, the island was reborn, and for him, it was like coming home.

“Oh, it’s all so much the same,” he murmured, his English accent dipping with a softness, his voice like velvet brushed against your skin. He was already undoing the buttons of his shirt, every movement slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving the ocean. His blond hair brushed his neck in the lightest breeze, framing his face in that sunlit softness that nearly took your breath away.

“It’s like being back there,” he whispered, almost to himself, his hand tightening on the edge of his shirt as if he could somehow grip the past. “I mean… almost. It’s strange, isn't it? Coming back to this after all that. But good, too.”

“Yeah, definitely good,” you replied, adjusting your dark red swimsuit and tugging at the corner of the towel you’d laid down. Your sunglasses shielded your eyes, but he must’ve caught the edge of your smile because he broke out into a soft, boyish grin, his cheeks flushing slightly. You couldn't help but notice his gaze linger on your swimsuit, that warm, appreciative look that he probably thought you wouldn’t see.

He cleared his throat. “You've… brought quite the setup.” His tone was light, a playful lilt. “Honestly, I… should’ve known you’d come prepared.”

“Always. And that means snacks, too.” You opened the bag with a flourish, pulling out an array of treats, carefully selected for your beach day. Chips, fresh fruit, a thermos of iced tea. His eyes widened, delighted as he laughed, that pure, innocent sound that was so uniquely him.

“Really, all this?” He crouched down, watching you unpack as if you were performing some magic trick. “When I was… back on the island, I’d have given an arm and a leg for a mere apple, let alone this.” He bit his lip, blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of shyness. “Not that I minded that much. There was… a certain simplicity to it all.”

“Simple can be nice, but it doesn’t mean we have to live off coconuts today,” you teased, nudging him gently as you stood up, dusting the sand off your hands. “Besides, I brought these for you to relax, not to send you on a Robinson Crusoe reenactment.”

He laughed, head tilting back, sun catching in his hair. “Ah, but what’s a beach without a little adventure?” He stretched, hands behind his head, watching you with that same bright, unguarded gaze. “A swim, perhaps? Unless the mighty ocean’s too grand for you?” His tone was gentle, but there was a hint of mischief there, a challenge laced in his words.

“Oh, I can handle a swim.” You felt a spark of excitement bloom, the thrill of the cool water, and, maybe, the thought of plunging into the waves beside him.

With that, he tossed his shirt onto the sand, standing there with an air of innocence, his body slightly angled as if he didn’t quite know where to put his hands. A quick glance, and your eyes met. He caught you looking, and his cheeks flushed an endearing shade of pink.

He cleared his throat. “Right, let’s—let’s get to it, shall we?” His voice wavered, but he extended his hand anyway, a flicker of nerves in his eyes, yet never breaking from your gaze.

The two of you walked side by side to the shoreline, and as the water lapped at your ankles, you felt him shiver beside you. His eyes were wide, bright, alive with the thrill of it.

“You know, I used to dive just like this—” he took a breath, his eyes looking at the horizon with a reverence, the waves reflected in his gaze—“for hours. I'd search for shells or… follow fish. They seemed to like me.”

You laughed, raising an eyebrow. “What, the fish liked you?”

“They did,” he said with mock seriousness, bending to scoop a handful of wet sand and letting it run through his fingers. “All the little fish, swimming by… they were like friends. Strange, perhaps, but I was quite… content. It made the loneliness less.” He glanced up at you, and there was a depth to his gaze now, an unspoken layer just under the surface, like a current in the deep.

The two of you waded further, the waves rolling against you, cool and refreshing. He gasped slightly, smiling as he let the water hit his shoulders. “Ah, there it is!” His eyes lit up as he turned to you. “Reminds me of all those wild storms on the island, you know. The waves would crash against the shore just like this—loud, unrestrained, like a roar. Thrilling. And I’d stand there and think, I’m part of this now.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, a shared memory that wasn’t quite yours but that he’d somehow made yours in his retelling. And maybe that was his gift—taking the rough, the impossible, and turning it into something that shone.

“Come on, let's see what we can find.” He reached out, pulling you further into the water, and in that moment, he wasn’t the Ernst Robinson who’d survived the island, or the shy man with the quiet voice. He was someone wild, free, standing beside you with all the wonder of a child and all the strength of someone who’d come through the storm.

You laughed, feeling the salt spray and the warmth of the sun, and as you swam, dived, chased after him through the water, something deep inside you stirred. Here in this moment, this was your adventure, your own story in the making, and for once, it felt perfect—wild, free, and exactly where you were meant to be.

———

Time slipped by in the water, each wave bringing a new kind of magic. You and Ernst combed the shoreline, finding shells in every shape and color the ocean could dream up: iridescent green turbo shells that caught the sunlight like little rainbows, the ridged, beautiful spirals of miter shells, delicate rose murex with their soft pink hue, even a spiny angaria that looked more like something from a fairytale than the sea.

And then, just when you thought the tide had given up its most precious offerings, Ernst spotted it—a mother-of-pearl shell, glistening faintly with that elusive, ethereal sheen. He picked it up carefully, turning it over in his hand, blue eyes wide with wonder.

“Look at that,” he breathed, tracing a finger over its smooth, shimmering surface. “It’s… well, beautiful doesn’t quite capture it, does it?” He held it up to the sun, watching the light refract through its layers of color, his expression one of absolute awe. For a moment, he seemed worlds away, lost in the shell's simple beauty. And it was hard not to watch him with the same kind of awe.

Carefully, he tucked it into a small plastic net bag slung over his shoulder. “I’ll keep it safe with these others,” he murmured, glancing back at you with a bashful smile, one that you could tell was as shy as it was pleased.

After a while, he pulled you back into the water, laughing as the waves splashed around you, your bodies both buoyant and light as the salty sea lifted you with each crest. You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling almost giddy as you splashed and swam around each other, ducking under the surface and catching glimpses of him beneath the water—soft blond hair fanning out, a quick glimmer of blue eyes beneath half-closed lashes.

The laughter came easily, and without quite realizing it, you reached out, fingers curling around his arm as he surfaced beside you, grinning. And before he could catch his breath, you pulled him in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that tasted like salt and sun and maybe a little bit of the sky.

His breath caught, eyes widening as he looked at you, flustered but not pulling away. He was still, for a heartbeat, and then you felt him relax, his arms gently slipping around your waist, shy but steady, like he was grounding himself in you. The moment lingered, warm and soft, before you broke apart, his cheeks flushed with that familiar shade of pink as he ducked his gaze, chuckling softly.

Back on shore, you laid out on the towels under the tent, the warmth of the sun still on your skin, feeling lighter than the ocean breeze. He looked perfectly at ease there beside you, his hair still wet, droplets trickling down his neck, and you grinned as you reached into the snack bag for the juicy watermelon you’d packed.

“Here,” you offered, holding a slice up to him. “Fresh, chilled—perfect beach food.”

His eyes lit up. “Ah, watermelon. I love it,” he said with a chuckle, leaning forward eagerly. You couldn’t resist pressing the slice to his lips, holding it there as he took a bite, his blue eyes looking up at you through soft lashes. Juice trickled down his chin, and you couldn’t help but let your fingers trace the path, his lips brushing against the tips of your fingers.

A quick intake of breath, a glance up to see his cheeks darkening, and for a second, everything felt charged, the warmth of his mouth on your fingertips lingering longer than you’d intended. But before he could fully register it, you took a sip of iced tea, breaking the moment as casually as you could manage, though the flush on his cheeks told you he hadn’t missed a thing.

As he finished his watermelon, you leaned back and asked, “So, Ernst, what was the most special shell you ever found on the island?”

He smiled, his eyes turning distant with a fondness that seemed almost sacred. “There was this shell,” he began, his voice soft, thoughtful. “A queen conch. I remember finding it during one of the worst storms. The sky was as dark as night, rain lashing down. But there it was, half-buried in the sand like a gift from the ocean itself.” He paused, tracing the air with his hand as if he could still see it. “It was perfect—soft pink and white, smooth and whole. I… took it as a sign. Like, as long as there was something beautiful there, I’d be alright.”

The way he spoke about it felt like a reverie, like he was back on that beach, clutching that queen conch as the storm raged around him. The light in his eyes was steady, a spark that held the resilience and quiet hope he’d carried through his days stranded.

Gently, you reached out and covered his hand with yours. “I get it,” you said softly. “It was like a promise, in a way.”

“Yes,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over yours. “It was exactly that.” He glanced up at you, that familiar warmth in his gaze. “Though I’d say today… this,” he gestured around you, “is more beautiful by far.”

———

The two of you settled back on the towels, shells drying on one side, snacks on the other, iced tea nearly drained as you stretched out in the warmth of the tent. Ernst was beside you, running a careful finger over each shell as though they were precious artifacts. But you were distracted—his salt-damp hair had dried in soft, wavy tufts that gave him an almost windswept, golden look. Against his sun-kissed skin and those impossibly blue eyes, he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a daydream.

He caught you staring, and his brows knit just slightly as he gave a shy, bashful chuckle. “What?” He paused, glancing down like he’d missed something on himself. “Do I… have sand on my face?”

“Not quite,” you murmured, grinning as you leaned a little closer. “More like… supermodel on vacation vibes. You’d be the envy of every magazine cover, you know that?”

He laughed, shaking his head as his cheeks flushed. “Stop, honestly,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as his smile softened, shy and barely meeting your eyes. But you didn’t stop. Instead, you leaned in, catching his lips in a soft, tender kiss, his surprise melting almost immediately as he returned it, his hand tentatively brushing your cheek.

The kiss deepened, and you felt his breathing change, quicken as your hand moved up his shoulder, fingers tracing his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin under your touch. His lips softened under yours, parting, and when you brushed your tongue gently along his lower lip, he gave a little gasp that sent a spark through you. You pressed in closer, feeling the sand under your legs, but it was barely a thought as you moved, adjusting until you straddled his lap, your hands threading into his sun-kissed hair.

His breath hitched, his hands hovering awkwardly, as if not entirely sure where to settle, but his eyes were on you, glazed with something bright, a little dazed. You guided his hands to your waist, encouraging his touch, his grip tightening shyly, and he let out a small, breathy sound that only fueled you further.

“Are you—are you quite certain?” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and wavering as he felt your hands slipping over his shoulders, exploring the warm line of his neck and collarbone.

“More than certain,” you replied, catching his lips in another kiss, deeper this time, tilting his head back just slightly as you leaned in. You felt him tense, the shiver running through him as your lips grazed his jawline, moving down to his neck, where his pulse beat fast against your mouth. His hand slid up your back, and he made a sound, half-surprise, half-pleasure, his fingers grazing your shoulder blades as if he couldn’t quite handle all the sensations.

Your fingers slipped under the collar of his shirt, sliding over the warm skin at his collarbone, feeling him tremble under your touch. He was practically melting beneath you, his hands cautious but tightening on your waist as you moved against him, his face a mixture of awe and vulnerability, his breaths hitching in uneven little gasps that made your pulse quicken in return.

When your mouth found the soft curve of his neck, he let out a shaky exhale, his fingers twitching against your back. “You’re… so—” His words caught, his cheeks flushed deeper, and he closed his eyes as your lips nipped gently along his throat. You couldn’t resist a soft, teasing bite, and he whimpered softly, the sound barely escaping his lips before he caught himself, his fingers pressing into your sides as he tried to steady himself.

You felt his lips find your shoulder, pressing hesitant, warm kisses against your skin, and your fingers traced his jaw, guiding him back up to face you. The kiss was hungry now, deeper, and you felt his control slip as he leaned into you fully, his hands exploring the curve of your waist, his breathing ragged. You could feel the heat between you, the sense that you were both teetering on the edge, and when his lips parted against yours, it was all you could do to keep from losing yourself completely in him.

With a shaky inhale, you pressed your forehead to his, the two of you panting softly, the sand still a soft grit against your knees and legs, grounding you in this raw, real moment. He gazed up at you, his face flushed, eyes dazed, lips slightly parted.

“You’re… unpredictable,” he murmured, voice hushed, and you could feel the awe in his words, the genuine, vulnerable wonder. His thumb brushed your cheek as he held your gaze, longingly.

Inside the tent, with the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore, the world outside felt distant, swallowed by the rhythmic pulse of the sea. The air between you and Ernst was electric, charged with the shared understanding of what came next, the unspoken thrill of it being just the two of you here, hidden from the world.

You reached for the zipper, tugging it up slowly as Ernst’s gaze flickered to yours, his pupils blown wide with a mix of excitement and shyness. A smile tugged at your lips, and you moved closer, fingertips brushing along the hem of his shirt, watching as his breath hitched, his face a shade of pink you’d come to love. With your help, he slid the shirt over his head, and you felt the warmth of his skin under your hands, his chest rising and falling with each rapid breath.

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he gazed down at you, almost disbelieving. “This… this is a bit mad, isn’t it?” he whispered, his fingers moving tentatively, tracing over your shoulder and down your arm, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

“Just a little bit,” you replied, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “But it’s our little adventure, right?”

You felt him relax, his hand steadying as he gently brushed away the sand that clung to your skin, a soft, careful motion that felt almost reverent. He let his hands linger on you, sliding along the curve of your waist, his touch tender and slow, as if he was savoring every second. When he finally met your gaze, his blue eyes were filled with a quiet intensity that made your heart race.

Carefully, he undressed you both, his hands stilling every so often as his gaze traveled over you, his cheeks flushed but his eyes filled with open admiration. And then, finally, with nothing left between you, he pulled you close, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as soft as it was eager, his hands sliding down your back, fingers grazing your spine.

The feel of him above you, his body warm and solid against yours, was grounding and electric all at once. He took a shaky breath, his mouth parting as he moved against you, his lips trailing along your collarbone, up to your neck, with an unrestrained fervor that sent shivers down your spine. His hands found yours, fingers interlacing as he pressed himself closer, a soft, needy sound escaping his lips, muffled only by your shoulder.

When he finally entered you, his breath caught, his face hovering inches above yours as he let out a sound that was half a gasp, half a groan, his cheeks flushed and eyes glazed with pleasure. His fingers tightened on yours, his body tense with the intensity of it, the sound that escaped him louder than he probably meant it to be, echoing in the small space of the tent.

You reached up, gently covering his mouth, stifling his voice as he tried to catch his breath, his blue eyes widening with that familiar bashfulness mixed with pleasure. But he didn’t stop, his movements becoming a little more urgent, each one sending another muffled, desperate sound against your hand as he moved with you, his rhythm matching the crash of the waves outside.

The warmth of him, his skin against yours, the needy, breathy sounds he couldn’t quite keep in—all of it built to a crescendo, his hand slipping up to cup your cheek as he gave in fully, pulling you close as he rode the edge of that shared, blissful heat. And when he finally let go, the sound of his release came soft but fierce against your ear, his body shivering against yours, his face buried in the curve of your neck as he clung to you, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

Afterward, the two of you lay together, tangled up in each other, the sound of the ocean filling the quiet as he held you close, his breathing slow and content. With a soft chuckle, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice low as he whispered,

The ground was cold.

Cold in a way that crept through the soles of his boots, sinking into his bones. Richard stood beside the open grave, the headlights of his car spilling out onto the crooked, weathered stones around him. The shovel in his hands was heavy, heavier than it should have been, heavier because this wasn’t right. None of it was right. His breath fogged the air, mingling with the smoke from the cigarette hanging between his lips, trembling fingers barely holding it steady.

He was digging up your grave.

The cigarette burned low, ash falling onto the disturbed earth, mixing with it. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down. His hands were blistered, palms raw, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was you, still down there, still waiting. He hadn’t been able to save you then—he wouldn’t fail now. Not this time.

The crash. It played behind his eyelids like a sick film reel. The screech of metal on metal, the glass shattering, your scream—God, your scream—cutting through him sharper than anything. He'd lost you in the chaos. He'd lost you, but he wasn’t letting go. Not now. Not ever.

His breath hitched, the cigarette falling from his lips as he threw the shovel aside, sinking to his knees beside the edge of the grave, hands gripping the edge of the dirt. "C’mon… c’mon, love… I’m here… I’m here…" His voice cracked, his throat thick with the tears he refused to shed. You were everything. Everything. He couldn’t breathe without you, couldn’t think, couldn’t—

God.

A cold wind whispered through the trees, the branches creaking like mournful voices, and he looked down at the dark, yawning pit before him.

The nightmare shifted.

He woke with a jolt, gasping as if he'd been drowning. The sheets tangled around him, damp with sweat, the morning sun cutting through the thin curtains, far too bright for the suffocating weight in his chest. He blinked, disoriented, the remnants of the dream clinging to him like a bruise. Sunday. His body felt sluggish, mind foggy, and for a moment—just a moment—he thought he was still at the graveyard, still burying…

"Jesus…" he muttered, running a hand through his long, tousled hair, the strands falling back into his eyes, sticking to his damp forehead. He pushed them away impatiently, sitting up in bed. His heart was still hammering, too fast, too loud.

And then he saw you.

There. In the kitchen, moving with the ease he knew so well. The faint clatter of cups and the kettle coming to a boil—so normal, so real. His eyes locked on you, something inside him uncoiling, a tension he didn’t even realize he’d been holding onto. You looked… alive. You were alive.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, a shiver passing through him that had nothing to do with the cold sweat sticking to his skin. He was still shaking when you noticed him standing there, watching you.

“Richard?”

Your voice was soft, curious, and you tilted your head, catching his eyes. His vision blurred. He couldn’t hold it back, the dam breaking, tears sliding silently down his cheeks. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, staring at you like you might disappear the moment he blinked.

You crossed the room quickly, concern furrowing your brow. “What’s wrong?” You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek, thumb wiping away a tear.

"I… I had this… this dream, love." His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. His accent, rougher when he was this raw, broke the words. "You… you were gone. Dead. I—” His breath caught, and he couldn’t finish. His hands gripped your arms as if anchoring himself to you, grounding himself in the reality of your warmth, your pulse beneath his fingers. "I couldn't save you. I couldn’t…"

"Shh… I'm right here," you whispered, pressing your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his, steady and sure. "I'm not going anywhere."

He clung to you then, pulling you into his chest, his arms tight around your waist, the smell of coffee filling the air. His lips found the side of your neck, brushing the skin there, and he exhaled a shaky breath. "I can't… lose you. Not again."

"You won’t," you promised, your voice steady, soothing, fingers tracing circles on his back. He felt your warmth seep into him, melting the ice that had gripped him in his sleep. "I'm not going anywhere. Not anytime soon, alright?"

You turned back to the counter, intent on finishing the coffee, but Richard didn’t let go. His arms stayed wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder, the soft strands of his hair brushing against your cheek as he nuzzled closer. "I’ll just… stay here a bit, yeah?" His voice was soft, muffled against your skin. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to lose this moment.

You laughed gently, a soft sound that made something warm bloom in his chest. "Richard, love, I need to make this coffee."

"Don't care. Not letting go. Not now… not after that." His lips pressed to the side of your neck again, lingering, almost desperate in their softness. His hands slid under your shirt, fingers splayed across your stomach, holding you as if you might slip away. "You have no idea how bloody real it felt."

You smiled, though he couldn’t see it, the warmth of it in your voice. "You're not gonna wake up again and find me gone. I promise."

He squeezed you tighter, his hair tickling your neck, his voice dropping into something low, husky. "You’d better not. Don’t think I could survive it, love. Don’t think I could survive without you."

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, heavy, but you didn’t pull away. You turned in his arms instead, placing a hand on his cheek, forcing him to meet your eyes. "You won’t have to. Ever." You kissed him then, softly, tenderly, reassuring him with more than words.

But even as you did, the echo of the dream lingered in his mind, a shadow he couldn’t quite shake.

And in the quiet that followed, he clung to you just a little tighter.

———

The room felt peaceful, the sound of the news a low murmur in the background, blending with the soft snip of the scissors in your hand. Missy purred beneath your fingers, her fur scattered on the couch as you trimmed away the tufts that had grown a bit too wild. The sunlight filtered in through the curtains, casting a warm glow over everything, the day unfolding with a kind of quiet intimacy.

Richard sat beside you, silent for once, his presence a steady, grounding thing beside you. You felt the couch dip slightly as he leaned in closer, the familiar weight of his body pressing into yours. You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow as his lips brushed the side of your neck—soft at first, featherlight. The kisses were casual, almost lazy, but you could feel the intensity behind them. His lips lingered longer than usual, his breath warm against your skin.

"You alright there?" you teased lightly, keeping your hands steady as you worked through Missy's fur. "If I didn’t know better, I'd think you were starved for attention."

His only answer was another kiss, lips trailing down to your shoulder, his hand slipping over your thigh as he pressed closer. You could feel the weight of his body leaning into you, curling around you like a vine, seeking something more than just comfort. His chin-length hair brushed against your cheek, and you couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped you.

"Alright, alright, enough with the kisses, Romeo," you chuckled, trying to tug him away by the hair. But the moment your fingers curled around those dark strands and gave them a gentle pull, he let out a sound—a low, quiet groan that caught both of you off guard. His breath hitched, and he stilled for a moment, frozen against your neck, his lips hovering there.

You paused, scissors halfway through a snip. "Richard?"

He didn’t answer, not with words. His grip on your thigh tightened just slightly, and you could feel the tension thrumming through him like a live wire. The way his body tensed, how his breath came in a little faster. And then you realized—it wasn’t just affection. It was something else. Something deeper, something raw.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Did you just…?"

He let out a soft, embarrassed huff, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his voice muffled. "I—don’t. Don’t say a word." His tone was low, strained, but the way he shifted against you betrayed him. He tried to hide it, but you could feel the heat rising off him, the way his body was reacting.

"Really?" You tugged his hair again, more deliberate this time, and that sound came again—low and rough, escaping his throat before he could bite it back. His hand gripped your waist now, tighter, his lips pressing into your skin like he was holding back something more.

His reaction sent a ripple of heat through you, and you couldn’t help the teasing tone that slipped into your voice. "You like that, huh?" You gave his hair another soft pull, watching the way his body tensed, how he pressed closer, how his breath hitched.

"Love," he murmured, his voice shaky, "please, don’t—"

But you didn’t stop. Not after that. You twisted in his arms, turning to face him, and the moment your eyes locked with his, you saw it—everything he’d been holding back. The fear, the need, the way that dream had shaken him to his core. All of it had been replaced by the sheer force of his want for you. His blue eyes, normally so guarded, were wide, almost pleading, and there was something so vulnerable about the way he looked at you, like he was afraid to want this but couldn’t stop himself.

You leaned in slowly, your lips brushing his, teasing at first. But when he let out a soft, almost broken sound—half-moan, half-sigh—it spurred you on, made you deepen the kiss, slow and sensual. His lips parted under yours, and the moment he kissed you back, it was like everything unraveled. The way he kissed you was hungry, desperate in the gentlest way, as if every touch, every movement was laced with the fear of losing you.

Your hands slid into his hair again, pulling lightly, and his response was immediate. His breath hitched, and the sound that left him was full of raw need, something so unfiltered it sent a pulse of heat straight through you. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, the scissors and Missy long forgotten.

"God, you're… really into this, aren't you?" you whispered against his lips, teasing him even as you tugged his hair again, this time a little harder. His response was visceral, his hips shifting beneath you, another low sound escaping him, something almost helpless. You could feel him growing harder against you, his body reacting to every little pull, every teasing touch.

"Not… not like I meant for that to happen," he muttered, his voice thick, his breath coming faster now. His hands slid up your back, pulling you even closer, as if he needed to feel you, all of you. "But… God, I can't stop. Not after… not after that dream."

"Poor baby," you cooed, but your teasing had softened. You could see how serious he was about this, how much he needed to feel you, to touch you, to remind himself that you were real, that you were here with him. You kissed him again, deeper this time, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him into you, and his hands slid down to your hips, guiding you against him.

The kiss was slow but charged with emotion, with all the things he couldn’t put into words. His lips were soft, but the way he kissed you—God, it was like he was pouring everything into it. The fear, the desire, the love. All of it came through in the way his hands roamed over your body, the way he held you like you might slip away, the way he kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him alive.

You broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, but your forehead rested against his, your lips brushing his as you whispered, "So… the hair thing. Should I keep going?"

His breath hitched again, his hands tightening on your hips, and his voice was a low, ragged whisper. "Don’t stop, love. Just… don't stop." His eyes were dark, filled with something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken.

You smiled against his lips, pulling his hair once more, slow and deliberate, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, his lips parting, another soft, helpless sound escaping him. And you knew then—you had him. Completely.

Whatever remnants of that nightmare had haunted him were long gone now. All he wanted, all he needed, was this. You.

Your breath was ragged, lips swollen from the kiss that had already left you both undone. The heat between you was undeniable, an unspoken urgency filling the space, making every second feel stretched thin and electric. Richard’s hands were on your hips, guiding you, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with need. The way he was looking at you—God, it was like you were the only thing that existed.

He leaned his forehead against yours, breathless, his voice low and rough in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. "Ride me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin. "Please, love… I need you. Right now."

The words alone almost undid you. Your fingers scrambled to tug your bottom clothes off, the urgency in the moment turning frantic as you struggled with the waistband of your pants. It was ridiculous, how the simple task of undressing suddenly felt like an impossible challenge. You let out a frustrated huff, and Richard’s low chuckle rumbled against your lips.

"Strugglin' a bit, yeah?" His voice had that playful edge, teasing you even as his own breath was coming faster. His hands didn’t stop, roaming over your thighs, skimming your sides as if he couldn’t get enough of touching you. He was just as worked up, his need obvious in every press of his body against yours.

"Shut up," you muttered, pausing the heated moment to properly wriggle out of your pants, your underwear slipping down with them. It was a clumsy, impatient process that had you both laughing, the tension breaking for a brief second. You kicked them off, tossing them aside with a sigh of triumph, but then you caught sight of Missy sitting nearby, her big eyes trained on you, letting out a soft meow.

You groaned, glancing at her, then back at Richard, who raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Missy… really?"

"She wants a treat." You sighed, already rising off his lap, earning a groan of protest from him. "Just… one second."

"You’ve gotta be joking." He sat back, running a hand through his tousled hair, his long bob-length locks falling messily into his eyes as he watched you hurry across the room. "Leavin' me here… desperate, while you feed the bloody cat. It’s cruel, love."

You shot him a look, shaking your head as you grabbed a treat for Missy, tossing it to her quickly. "Alright, she's sorted," you muttered, making your way back to the couch. "You good now? Can I focus on you?"

"Oh, I dunno," he drawled, leaning back, one hand resting lazily behind his head, the other tracing lazy circles on his thigh, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Maybe I’ll just—"

You didn’t let him finish. Your hand found his hair again, fingers curling into the soft strands, and you gave it a firm tug. The reaction was immediate—his smirk vanished, replaced by that familiar, desperate sound that escaped him before he could hold it back. His head tilted back, his lips parting as he melted into your touch, his hands tightening on your hips again, pulling you closer.

"Still wanna complain?" you teased, your voice low, watching the way his body responded to you, how his breath quickened, his eyes half-closed in bliss.

"Fuck, no." His voice was strained, needy. "Jesus, keep doing that…"

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again, slow and deliberate, your fingers still tangled in his hair. He shuddered beneath you, his breath coming in shallow gasps as you palmed him gently through his jeans. His hips bucked slightly against your hand, and you could feel how hard he was already, how worked up he had gotten from nothing more than your touch and the heat between you.

"Good boy," you whispered against his lips, and you could feel him tremble at the words, his body so responsive, so eager for you. You unzipped his jeans with one hand, palming him again, slower this time, teasing, feeling the way he twitched beneath your touch, his breath hitching in his throat.

He let out a low, desperate groan, his hands gripping your thighs like he was holding on for dear life. "God, you’re… gonna kill me, love. You know that, yeah?"

You smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your lips brushing his as you whispered, "That’s the plan."

His shirt came off next, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as you took him in—his toned body, the way his muscles flexed beneath his skin, how his hair fell in messy strands around his face, framing his flushed cheeks. He was gorgeous, utterly beautiful, and as your hand stroked him, you could see the way his body relaxed into the pleasure, the tension melting away from him.

Your beautiful boy.

He let out another shaky breath as you worked him gently, his hands sliding up your thighs again, desperate to pull you closer. His lips found your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin, his breath hot, his body trembling beneath you.

"Fuck, I need you," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands were everywhere now, roaming over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, gripping your hips as if he couldn’t get enough of touching you. "Need you so bad…"

You pressed your forehead to his, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, "I know, love. I know."

And in that moment, the world outside faded away. There was only the heat between you, the way your bodies moved together, the way his breath hitched in his throat every time your hand touched him just right. You could see how blissful he had become, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lips parted in pleasure, completely undone by your touch.

Nothing else mattered.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tugging at his hair again, and he let out another soft, broken moan, his body arching into yours. "You love that, don’t you?" you teased, but there was something softer in your voice now, something that spoke of how much you adored him, how much you loved seeing him like this—vulnerable, open, and entirely yours.

He nodded, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, "God, yes." And when you kissed him again, it was slower this time, but no less intense. The raw emotion, the need, the love—all of it poured into that kiss, and as you felt his hands trembling on your body, you knew.

You both couldn’t help but laugh as you awkwardly peeled yourself off of him, the heat between you briefly broken by the fumbling necessity of getting his jeans off. He grumbled something under his breath, but there was a playful edge to it, his smirk betraying him as he kicked off his jeans and boxers, tossing them somewhere off the couch. You shook your head, stifling another laugh as he finally lay back, sprawled out beneath you, the glint in his eyes a mix of humor and hunger.

"Sorted now?" you teased, straddling him once again. The warmth of his skin beneath your thighs made your pulse race all over again. "Ready for me this time, yeah?"

His hands slid over your thighs, his touch slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. "Fuck, love… I’ve been ready since the minute I laid eyes on you." His voice was low, thick with desire, but there was something softer underneath it, something almost reverent. It made your heart skip a beat, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn’t just needing you; he was feeling you, deep in his bones.

You lined yourself up, your breath catching in your throat as you guided him inside, feeling the stretch, the fullness of him as he entered you. For a moment, you had to pause, your body adjusting to the sensation, the intensity of it all washing over you like a wave. Richard’s hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, but he stilled beneath you, waiting, his breath as ragged as yours.

"Shit," you muttered, closing your eyes for a second, your heart pounding in your chest. "You’re… really filling me up here."

His laugh was breathless, but there was a shaky edge to it. "Christ… you have no idea how good you feel." His voice was already coming apart, the words tumbling out in a rush, almost as if he couldn’t stop them. "God, you’re—so warm, so tight, fuck… perfect."

You chuckled softly, but there was a tenderness to it as you leaned forward, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded under your palms. "You’re really not gonna shut up, are you?"

"Not a chance," he breathed, his blue eyes dark with emotion, the intensity of it almost overwhelming. His hands slid up your sides, pulling you closer as if he needed the contact, needed to feel every inch of you against him. "Not after… that dream… Not after thinking I’d lost you. God, I need to… I need to say it, I need you to know how good you feel, love."

You smiled, your heart swelling at the honesty in his voice, but there was something so sweet about it too, almost funny in the way he couldn’t stop himself. Slowly, you began to move, rocking your hips against him, feeling the way he filled you, every inch of him buried deep inside you. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you, but you were in control now, setting the pace as you rode him.

His response was immediate. A raw, disorganized moan escaped his lips, low and visceral, the sound almost animalistic in the way it ripped out of him. His head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut, and he let out a string of disjointed, breathless words that barely made sense. "Fuck… you feel so good… so tight… God, I—can’t even think…"

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, even as you felt the heat building between you, your own body responding to the intensity of his pleasure. "You’re… really not helping me focus here, babe."

His hands slid to your hips, gripping you tighter, his moans coming louder now, more desperate, as you moved faster, sinking down onto him over and over. "I’m sorry… I can’t… God, you’re just—" He let out another broken sound, his body trembling beneath you. "I can’t help it, love, you feel—" His breath hitched, and another moan escaped him, rough and unfiltered, like he’d lost control completely.

The sound of him—the way he moaned, raw and guttural—sent a pulse of heat through you, making you shiver. There was something so primal in the way he was reacting, like he was unraveling beneath you, completely at your mercy. You could see it in his face, how the pleasure was hitting him in waves, his body trembling as he tried to keep himself together, but failing.

"God… you’re so beautiful," he gasped, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. "I can’t—fuck, I can’t get enough of you. You’re everything. Everythin' I need."

His words were all over the place, almost nonsensical in their urgency, but you understood what he meant, what he was feeling. The need, the desperation to hold on to you, to feel you in every way. And as you moved against him, you could feel it too—that same raw need to be close, to remind him that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere.

You leaned forward, your forehead pressing against his, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, "I’m not going anywhere, Richard. I’m right here. With you."

His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, the emotion in them was almost too much. "I know, love," he whispered, his voice thick with feeling. "But it’s like… I can’t stop. I can’t stop needing you. Every part of you." His hands slid back down to your hips, guiding you again as you rocked against him, his moans coming faster, more erratic, like he was losing control completely.

You kissed him then, slow and deep, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly. His response was immediate—a soft, helpless moan that vibrated through his chest as his body arched into yours. You could feel how close he was, how every movement, every sound was pushing him closer to the edge.

"Please," he gasped, his voice breaking. "I need you… so bad. I’m so close."

You smiled, kissing him again, your movements slowing just enough to draw out his pleasure, to make him feel every second of it. "I’ve got you," you whispered against his lips. "I’ve always got you."

And as you moved together, you could feel him trembling beneath you, his body on the brink of falling apart, his moans raw and disorganized, almost like they were being pulled out of him against his will. He was completely undone, and you were the one who had brought him there, the one who held him together in the midst of it all.