The fire was just a smear of light behind them now, flickering weakly against the pull of the tide.
The beach was almost empty — just sand and salt and the low roar of waves swallowing the night.
He spotted her slipping away — that worn-out hoodie, those hips swaying slow and lazy, the bare tease of a bikini bottom peeking beneath it.
His blood ran hot.
She wanted him to follow.
Wanted him to take what they'd been circling all night.
He didn't hesitate.
Silent, barefoot, he stalked her into the dunes — heart pounding, cock already straining painfully against his jeans.
She paused near the dunes, kicking off her sandals, hoodie slouching off one shoulder.
He closed the last few feet in a rough, hungry lunge — arms wrapping tight around her waist from behind.
She yelped — just a squeak of surprise — then melted back into him, laughing low, grinding her ass into the hard length of him through his jeans.
"Took you long enough," she slurred, voice thick and breathless.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the salt and sweat and sun off her skin, shoving the hoodie up over her ribs, feeling her body quake against his.
She wasn't wearing a bra.
The first handful of her tits made him groan, rough and desperate, squeezing until she gasped and arched into him.
Sand stuck to her back as he shoved her down, straddling her, yanking his jeans open with frantic, clumsy hands.
She wriggled out of her bikini bottoms, bare now, legs splaying wide for him without hesitation, needy and reckless.
He didn't think.
He didn't ask.
He just freed himself — cock hard and leaking — and shoved the fat, swollen head between her soaked folds.
No condom.
No barrier.
Just the hot, slippery slide of bare cock against bare pussy.
The sound it made — the wet, obscene suck of him dragging through her slickness — punched a helpless groan out of both their throats.
He lined up, grabbed her hips hard enough to bruise, and slammed into her with one brutal, world-ending thrust.
She screamed — a ragged, gasping sound that tore itself out of her lungs — as he bottomed out, thick and deep, stretching her around him.
The heat of her wrapped him so tight he could barely breathe.
Hot.
Wet.
Velvety walls fluttering around his cock like she was trying to pull him deeper, milk him dry.
He pulled back — just an inch — and drove in again, harder.
She sobbed under him, fingers clawing into the sand, nails dragging desperate trenches.
The smell of it — sweat, salt, sex — filled the air.
Their bodies slapped together wetly, the lewd sounds of skin against skin carrying over the roar of the ocean.
He fucked her like he owned her — vicious, relentless, hips snapping with raw need, cock dragging against every swollen, desperate inch inside her.
She was close already — he could feel it — her thighs trembling, her pussy clenching and spasming around him like she was fighting it and losing.
"Come on," he growled against her ear, voice wrecked and savage. "Fucking come on my cock."
"I—I'm—" she gasped, choking on the words, on the pleasure battering her from the inside out.
They were right there.
Both of them.
Right on the fucking edge.
And then—
The hoodie slipped off her shoulders.
The moon caught his face.
She opened her eyes.
Their gazes locked — and horror punched the air out of both their lungs.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Not her boyfriend.
Not his girl.
Each other.
The person they hated.
The person they swore they'd never touch — not even drunk, not even desperate.
He choked on a curse, trying to pull away —
She gasped, trying to shove him off —
But it was too late.
Her pussy clamped down hard, dragging him over the edge with her.
He roared — hips jerking, slamming deep, cock spasming helplessly as he came inside her, flooding her with hot, raw spurts.
She broke at the same time — a scream torn out of her throat as her orgasm ripped through her, pussy milking every drop out of him, slick and messy and brutal.
They collapsed into the sand, bodies trembling, still locked together — cock still twitching inside her, pussy still fluttering around him in aftershocks.
The salt wind roared.
The waves crashed.
The fire sputtered far behind them.
And there they lay — wrecked, ruined, wrong — feeling every filthy, beautiful second of what they'd just done.
No excuses.
No pretending.
Just skin.
Heat.
And the terrible, perfect truth of it.
The world reeled sideways.
Sand clung to their sweat-slick skin.
The wind howled across the dunes like it was trying to erase the filth they'd smeared into the earth.
For a long, jagged moment, neither of them moved.
Still tangled.
Still joined.
Still pulsing with the brutal aftershocks of what they'd just done.
Then—
"You," she hissed, shoving at his chest with shaking hands. "You fucking—"
"Me?" he barked, incredulous, jerking out of her with a wet, obscene sound that made both of them flinch. "You're the one who opened your fucking legs for me!"
"Because I thought you were—!" She broke off, strangled by horror and rage.
"Yeah?" he sneered, yanking up his jeans without even bothering to wipe the sand off his skin. "Guess you can't tell the difference between a real man and whatever pathetic loser you were aiming for."
Her eyes snapped fire.
She scrambled to her feet, sand stuck to the slick mess between her thighs, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, hair wild around her face.
"You're disgusting," she spat, shoving him again.
"You're easy," he snapped back, catching her wrists before she could slap him.
They glared at each other, breathing hard, locked in a stalemate that felt more like a fuse burning down.
"You think I wanted this?" she snarled, struggling in his grip. "You think I'd ever let you touch me if I wasn't—"
"Drunk? Stupid? Horny?" he cut in, voice a low, vicious growl.
"Fuck you."
"You just did," he shot back, pulling her closer by her captured wrists. "And you fucking loved it."
Her gasp was half outrage, half something hotter, messier, sliding low into her gut.
"Let me go," she snapped, jerking against his grip.
"You sure?" he said, voice dark and dangerous. "Because you're shaking like you want round two."
Her mouth opened — ready to tear him apart —
but he leaned in, and she felt him.
Still hard.
