Waves of Passion

He kissed her shoulder like it was a formality.

A dry, sand-dusted press of lips--quick, impersonal. Then he rolled onto his back, muttering something about how the sun was stronger than he expected. Ryan always underestimated the obvious.

Ava lay still, skin warm beneath the bikini she'd bought just for this trip. Red. Cut high on the hips. Supposed to be dangerous. Flirtatious. A test, maybe--not for strangers, but for him.

So far, he'd failed. Not even a second glance.

She turned her head slowly, watching him fumble with his sunglasses and check his phone, thumb already scrolling. Probably his fantasy football draft or some guy in his group chat sending memes. He didn't even notice the thin sheen of sweat on her stomach, the curve of her hip where the towel had slipped.

Nothing.

The ocean was perfect--clear, blue-green, stretching like it had somewhere to be. Behind them, the rental sat quietly: white parasols, a small pool and Ryan's parents sitting in silence.

Ava felt stuck in syrup. Pretty scenery, slow time, and not a single real spark between her and the boy she'd once thought she'd marry.

They'd been together since sixteen. That kind of history made you think love was owed to you, like a deposit you made too young to understand. But now, five years later, all she could feel was... dull.

Even his compliments had gone limp.

"Looks good," he'd said earlier, when she'd walked out in the red bikini. Not you look good. Just it. As if the fabric deserved praise more than the body inside it.

She sat up suddenly, sand clinging to her legs. "I'm going to walk."

Ryan gave a small nod without looking. "Don't get burned."

"I won't," she said, even though he wasn't listening.

She paused, glancing down at herself. The red bikini clung to her curves like memory, bold and unhidden. With a moment's hesitation, she slipped a cover-up over her head -- a sheer, gauzy slip of fabric that flowed to mid-thigh. It didn't conceal so much as it softened; the wind could pass through it just as easily as eyes could, leaving the outline of her figure and the flash of red beneath still visible. Modesty, she told herself. But she knew better.

The beach stretched wide and warm under her bare feet. She let the wind catch her hair and closed her eyes briefly, walking toward the waterline where the sand packed firm and cool. Every step loosened something in her--muscles warmed by the sun, wind licking her bare skin in a way that felt almost personal.

When she opened her eyes, she saw him.

Not Ryan.

A man standing barefoot by a rental board shack, drink in hand, tan lines etched across muscular arms. Something in the way he stood--shoulders relaxed, gaze fixed out at the water--struck her as deeply, familiarly male.

He turned his head slightly. Saw her. Paused.

Recognition flickered.

She blinked.

No. It couldn't be.

But then he smiled.

Not wide. Just enough for her stomach to drop.

"Monroe?" he called out, voice like smoke on a late night.

It hit her all at once -- Eric Daniels, her old high school coach.

Time had added something to him. Not wear, not softness--just more. His shoulders looked broader, chest filling out the old gray T-shirt, sleeves pushed up to reveal the kind of forearms that made her stomach twist for no reason she wanted to admit.

He stood with that same stillness he'd always had, like his body didn't need to move to take up space. He looked like he belonged here, like the beach and breeze answered to him without question.

"I thought that was you," he said, offering a half-smile. "Didn't want to stare too long in case I was wrong."

"You've seen me in less," she said before thinking, and then immediately regretted it.

His eyebrow ticked up, amused. "Fair point."

Her skin went hot under her cover-up. She hadn't meant it like that--but maybe she had. Once, a long time ago, she used to daydream about this exact thing. Running into him years later, older, different. But in those fantasies, she hadn't felt so unsure of what to do with herself.

"I didn't think you were local," she said, trying to sound relaxed.

"Rent a place a few blocks down every summer," he replied. "Good spot to get away from things. Unplug."

"That still your advice for everything?"

He grinned. "Old habits."

They stood a few beats too long in silence. The air felt heavier than it had moments ago. She shifted, acutely aware of the breeze brushing her thighs, the damp edges of her bikini pressing against her skin.

"You still run?" he asked, eyes scanning her with something more than professional curiosity. "You used to fly on that track."

"Not really," she said. "I miss it. Miss feeling like my body could do more than just... show up."

"You always had a strong stride," he said, voice easy, but his eyes lingered on her legs. "Looks like you've kept the legs for it."

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her pulse quickened.

Don't read into it, she told herself. But she already was.

He looked back up, not bothering to hide where his gaze had been. There wasn't anything lewd in it--just interest. Quiet, focused, unflinching.

The kind of look that had been off-limits once. The kind she used to imagine when she couldn't sleep.

"I'm here with my boyfriend," she blurted, a little too quickly.

Daniels nodded, unfazed. "Still with Ryan?"

"Yeah."

"Impressive," he said. Then added, "He let you walk around in that and didn't follow you down the beach?"

She flushed. "He trusts me."

"Sure," he said, with a tone that wasn't quite agreement.

She glanced back at him. He was watching the water now, like he hadn't just set her nerves alight with a single comment.

He looked good. That was the problem. He looked too good. Tanned and cut in that quiet, grown-man way. Like he didn't need attention, but got it anyway. And the scruff along his jaw made her wonder what it would feel like against--

Stop.

Ava looked away, trying to catch her breath. This was too much.

She straightened. "It's good to see you."

"You too, Ava."

Her name in his mouth did something to her. She had no business reacting to it, but she did.

"I should get back," she said, turning half-away.

He nodded once, that same calm, unreadable smile.

"I'll be around."

She walked off quickly, trying not to let her legs shake. But the heat in her chest followed her the whole way back up the beach. And when she sat down beside her boyfriend, who didn't even look up from his phone, she didn't hear a word he said.

Because in her head, she was still standing in the sand, Coach Daniels' eyes on her, and remembering all the ways she used to imagine this moment going.

And all the ways she still wanted it to.

***

The beach was quieter at night. The wind had died down, leaving only the soft hush of waves against sand. Ava walked with her sandals dangling from one hand, her feet sinking into the cool, damp shore. Her light summer dress fluttered just above her knees, the thin fabric clinging slightly with each step.

She told herself she wasn't looking for him.

She'd needed the air. Ryan had fallen asleep early, sunburnt and satisfied after a full day of doing very little. He hadn't noticed how distant she'd been, how distracted. He never did. That was part of the problem.

The night air felt good against her skin--soft, almost intimate. She wrapped her arms around herself, half from the chill, half from the weight she didn't want to name.

It wasn't a plan, this walk. Not a search. Not exactly.

But still, her eyes drifted toward the rental near the edge of the dunes. The place she'd seen Daniels earlier. Lit only by the faint glow of the boardwalk behind her, it looked shadowed and half-hidden--private.

The moon hung low, casting a silver thread across the water, and Ava stopped walking the moment she saw him. Not because she meant to--but because her body understood, before her mind did, that this was what she'd been chasing through the dark. He stood just beyond the tide's reach, hands loose at his sides, shoulders squared against the breeze like he belonged to the coast itself.

She hadn't known she wanted this until now, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. The air smelled of salt and damp sand, and somewhere behind her, the sea whispered against the shore, filling the spaces between breaths.

He didn't smile, only looked at her--really looked--as though reading every flicker of doubt behind her eyes. And maybe he could. Maybe he always had.

"I thought you'd be coming back," he said softly, voice smooth but with no hint of doubt.

She swallowed hard, arms wrapping instinctively around herself, though the night wasn't cold. "I wasn't sure I was."

Her voice sounded smaller than she intended, carried away too quickly by the breeze curling around them. But he heard. He always listened.

His head tilted slightly, barely enough to notice unless you knew him well. Unless you'd spent hours under his gaze once before, years ago, when the most dangerous thing between them was unspoken.

"I'm glad you did," he said simply.

Something about those words undid a knot inside her chest--not all of it, never all at once--but enough that she took a step forward. Then another. Sand shifted beneath her feet, warm and uneven, grounding her in the surreal reality of this moment. She could still walk away. Should, maybe. But the idea felt hollow now, like a rule someone else had written.

When she finally reached him, she didn't look up right away.

The space between them thinned until she could feel the quiet hum of his presence, the warmth of him bleeding through the slight gap left by propriety. His cologne--if it could even be called that--was familiar in a way she hadn't expected: clean soap, sun-warmed skin, and something faintly earthy, like cedar or dry grass after summer rain.

She lifted her gaze slowly, as if afraid of what she might see. But his expression held no pressure, no demand. Only patience. Only wanting.

His fingers moved first--just a whisper of motion, brushing a strand of wind-tossed hair from her face. It was such a gentle thing, almost chaste, yet it sent a tremor down her spine. Ryan hadn't touched her like that in years. Maybe never.

"You don't have to do anything you're not ready for," he murmured, thumb grazing the edge of her cheekbone.

The words should have steadied her. They should have given her pause, offered a lifeline back to safety, to certainty. Instead, they made the ache worse.

Because he wasn't asking. He wasn't trying to pull her in--he was holding the door open, letting her decide whether or not to cross the threshold.

So she did.

One breath, shaky at the edges, and then her fingertips found the fabric of his shirt, pressing lightly against his chest as if to confirm he was solid, real. That this was happening.

His heartbeat pulsed beneath her palm, steady and unhurried, mirroring the man himself. Grounded. Present.

And suddenly, everything felt unbearably vivid.

The brush of wind-chilled air against her bare shoulders. The grain of sand caught between her toes. The scent of him, close now, surrounding her senses like memory made flesh.

Ryan's face flickered at the edge of her mind, distant and blurred, and she squeezed her eyes shut for half a second, swallowing against the swell of guilt.

His hands settled on her waist, firm but unhurried, as if mapping the shape of her hesitation. When she leaned in, closing the last sliver of space between them, his mouth met hers with a careful hunger--an answer to a question neither had spoken aloud.

It started slow, lips learning the shape of want again. Ava's breath hitched as he kissed her like he meant it--like she mattered, like this mattered--and something inside her cracked wide open.

Then his tongue traced the seam of her lips and she gasped, yielding, her body pressing flush against his without conscious decision. Heat bloomed low in her belly, sharp and unfamiliar, and when his hands slid lower, cupping the curve of her hips to draw her even closer, she melted into him.

He pulled back just enough to speak, voice ragged and low.

"This okay?"

She nodded, barely able to hear her own yes over the pounding of blood in her ears.

Without another word, he took her hand, fingers threading through hers like it had always fit that way, and led her beyond the dunes, where the moonlight softened into shadow and the world narrowed to just the two of them.

They sank down together onto the cool, yielding sand, sheltered by the gentle rise of the dunes. The sky stretched vast and endless above them, scattered with stars that shimmered like secrets she couldn't quite grasp. Around them, the night breathed--waves rolling in slow rhythm, the breeze curling over sweat-warmed skin, the hush of solitude wrapping them in its embrace.

He moved with purpose, but never with haste. Every touch, every glide of his palms over her ribs, her thighs, the curve of her jaw, spoke of knowing exactly what he was doing. Of understanding the language of bodies better than most. Yet none of it was for him--not tonight. Not with her.

His mouth found the column of her throat, the flutter of her pulse beneath his lips. Fingers slipped beneath the hem of her dress, inching upward, baring her legs to the night air before settling warmly on her skin. She shivered--not from cold, but from the sheer gravity of being seen, truly seen, by someone who knew how to listen with his hands.

She exhaled his name without meaning to, a breathless sigh lost in the hush between waves.

"Just let go," he murmured against her ear, his voice a velvet anchor in the drift of sensation. "I've got you."

And somehow, impossibly, she did.

The dark clung to them like a veil, shielding them from the world beyond the dunes. Faint moonlight spilled softly over the curve of her shoulder as he eased the straps of her dress from her arms, the fabric pooling at her waist like liquid silk. Ava hesitated, breath catching in her throat as the cool air kissed her exposed skin--but then his hands were there, warm and steady, tracing the slope of her collarbone, the dip of her waist, as if memorizing every inch.

She helped him shrug free of his shirt, fingers trembling as they skimmed over the ridges of muscle carved by years of discipline. His torso bore the tan lines of summers spent outdoors, the dusting of dark hair trailing downward, and she swallowed hard, mesmerized by the simple, masculine beauty of him.

Then his hands returned to her, slipping beneath her back to undo the clasp of her bra with practiced ease. The garment fell away, and she sucked in a breath, half-expecting the stars themselves to recoil at her exposure. But he only watched her--reverent, admiring--and then bent to press a kiss just above her breast, his lips feather-light.

Ava arched unconsciously into the touch, her fingers digging into the sand beside her as sensation rippled outward from the point of contact.

His lips lingered at the swell of her breast, teasing the edge of her nipple before finally closing gently around it. Ava gasped, her fingers twitching at her sides, torn between the urge to pull him closer and the instinct to shield herself from the intensity of it. He suckled softly, deliberately, his tongue stroking the peak until it hardened beneath his touch, and a slow, molten ache began to unfurl deep within her core.

He moved lower, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses across her ribcage and the flat plane of her stomach. Each touch was deliberate, reverent, as though he were uncovering something sacred, and Ava's breath came quicker, shallower, matching the rhythm of the waves breaking nearby.

When his hands reached the waistband of her panties and the pooled fabric of her dress, he paused, lifting his gaze to hers in silent question. She gave a small nod, biting her lip, unable to speak past the tightness in her throat. With slow, careful movements, he peeled the fabric down over her hips, revealing her one inch at a time. The cool night air kissed her skin, but the heat of his stare warmed her faster than sunlight could have.

She lay bare beneath the sky, the sand cool beneath her back, the night cradling her like a promise. And then his hands were on the insides of her thighs, spreading her just a little wider, his thumbs skimming the sensitive flesh as he settled between her legs.

Ava tensed--anticipation coiling low in her abdomen, sharp and electric. She told herself to breathe, but the air stuck in her lungs anyway, stolen by the weight of expectation and the terrifying thrill of being so utterly exposed.

He didn't rush it.

Instead, he pressed a kiss to the tender skin just above her knee, then higher--to the quivering flesh of her inner thigh, where the pulse beat strongest. It was rough in the most delicious way -- a rasp of heat and friction that made her thighs tense and tremble. The contrast of his unshaven jaw against her sensitive skin was almost too much, grounding her in every breathless second.

Only then did he lift his head, exhaling warm against her center before finally--finally--pressing his mouth to her.

A strangled sound escaped her throat, somewhere between a cry and a sigh, and her fingers dug into the sand as sensation surged through her like a wave breaking against stone. His tongue moved with patient intent, tracing the delicate folds of her sex, tasting her as though savoring something rare and precious.

She bucked once, startled by the depth of it--the pleasure sharp and immediate, unlike anything she'd ever known.

He worked with slow, measured intent, his mouth worshiping her in ways she had never imagined possible. There was no urgency, no desperation--only the steady, unwavering attention of a man who knew precisely what he was doing, who took pride in unraveling her piece by piece.

His lips closed gently around her clitoris, and Ava gasped, arching sharply off the sand, her knees trembling at his sides. He held her hips steady, grounding her even as he pushed her higher, his tongue circling, teasing, relentless in its pursuit of her pleasure. Each stroke sent ripples of sensation lancing through her nerves, building something deep and wild inside her--one long, tightening coil of ecstasy winding tighter with every passing second.

She couldn't catch her breath. Couldn't think. Could only feel.

His fingers joined the dance, slick with her arousal as they traced the her entrance, dipping just enough to tease before sliding lower, gathering more of her wetness to ease the path of his tongue. He groaned softly against her, the vibration nearly undoing her entirely.

"Please..." she whimpered, half protest, half prayer.

He didn't stop. Didn't falter.

Instead, he drove her higher, deeper, until the world dissolved into nothing but sensation--the crash of the waves, the hush of the wind, the fire burning low in her belly.

Until there was no Ryan.

He drew back slowly, reluctance evident in every movement, as if pulling away from something precious. The night air was cool against her overheated skin, and Ava shivered at the sudden absence of his mouth on her. Dazed, she lifted her lashes, watching as he rose onto his knees, his silhouette strong and taut against the starlit sky.

For a moment, he just looked at her--lying there, flushed and open, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then, with deliberate care, he pushed his pants down over his hips, kicking them aside before settling between her parted thighs once more.

Even in the dim light, she could see him--thick and rigid, the length of him glistening with anticipation. A flicker of nervousness stirred deep in her gut, unexpected but fleeting. He was big, yes, but it wasn't fear that gripped her--it was the stark realization of how much she wanted this. How much she trusted him to lead her into it.