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(Self-Edited: All mistakes are mine.)
He loves her like the first day. Maybe even more. Nineteen years old, and already a woman. Her full curves, her pale skin, the way she holds her head. Everything about her seems perfect. Almost out of reach. And yet, she's his. She's the one who said yes. Who chose this life with him. He knows by heart the softness of her neck, the curve of her back, and that musky scent she gives off when she's touched, when her hips begin to tremble. Sometimes he senses it before she even lays a hand on him. And already, his body strains toward her.
Tonight, she came back from the tent barefoot, her long dress falling in soft folds to mid-calf. One of those loose, airy, bohemian dresses, made for the beach.
The fire grows slowly. Ethan feeds it with care, laying the logs as if setting up camp--precise, focused. They're alone, lulled by the sound of the waves and the fading light.
When the motorcycles arrived earlier that afternoon, the noise had torn the silence apart. Five men, strong and confident, set up their camp a little farther down, not aggressive, but not hiding either. They kept their distance until now.
As night falls, they come closer. A bottle passes from hand to hand. A bag of beers follows. A tall, broad man leads the group without forcing it. He looks at the couple's fire, then at Amber, but doesn't push. He steps forward.
-- Mind if we join you? We didn't come empty-handed.
Ethan nods. He sees no reason to say no.
Introductions are simple. First names. Smiles. Looks.
Jaro is the leader. He looks at Amber often. He doesn't stare, but his eyes keep sliding back to her. At one point, when she sits down, her dress parts slightly over her leg. Nothing exaggerated. Just the firelight catching pale, almost iridescent skin.
Jaro lowers his gaze. He watches. And he lets something show on his face. Not a word. Just a breath of hunger, barely audible.
-- Mmh...
It's not vulgar. Not heavy. More like... admiration. Raw.
Amber notices. She meets his gaze, a shy smile playing on her lips. Not embarrassed. Flattered.
For days now, Amber had felt a strange tension stirring inside her. This trip, this beach, this feeling of being far from everything... It had unlocked thoughts she never thought she'd allow. Letting herself be seen. Letting herself be wanted. Maybe even... letting go.
Ethan watches too. He's seen it all. The leg, the look, the sound. And he smiles. Because she's his wife. Because she's beautiful. And because he loves that people know it.
A few minutes pass. Voices drop lower. Glances stretch longer. Alcohol hums through veins, slowly setting minds alight. Around the fire, the air thickens, heavier, charged.
Jaro looks at Amber again.
-- You're not cold, are you?
Amber laughed. Quick, light. Shook her head.
-- No, I'm good.
-- "Your skin..." He let it hang there a second, tasting the thought. "Feels like it would keep you warm."
Amber moved a little. Her leg stretched out. The dress slid higher, almost without her meaning to. Jaro leans forward, and sets his hand down. Not high. Just there, brushing the delicate curve of her ankle.
His palm is warm. The touch is slow, almost casual. Then, without taking his eyes off Ethan, he adds, almost smiling:
-- Tell me if I'm pushing too far.
In the soft night air, Amber's tender musk drifts, brushing across faces like some old secret only desire knows how to wake. Around them, the men hardly move, but their eyes grow heavier, darker, drawn helplessly by the scent and the subtle tremble of the young woman.
Jaro's hand doesn't move at first. It rests there, still, on Amber's skin. He keeps talking, voice steady, telling a story about a dry storm somewhere out in the desert.
And while he talks, his fingers slide, hidden beneath the light dress. Slowly. Upward.
Ethan sees nothing. No one sees anything. Only the slight shudder running through Amber, her parted lips, her breath catching.
Under the fabric, Jaro follows his own secret path: brushing first the ankle, where the skin is thin and cool, then moving up the calf, feeling the live heat pulsing just beneath the surface, reaching the hollow of the knee, slowing a little, savoring its delicate fragility, then pressing up the thigh, where the flesh thickens, warms, grows lush.
Amber trembles. A small breath escapes her lips.
-- Oh... No sudden move. Just a calm, steady advance, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And his voice doesn't change. He keeps talking about the wind, the sand, the tents you think are tied down.
Ethan isn't listening anymore. His eyes are locked on that invisible hand. On his hand. On his wife's skin.
He should speak. He knows it. But something stronger holds him down. The dizzy rush of seeing his fantasies take shape. The terror of giving them up, too. He's trapped between two forces--and he stays there, unable to move.
And she doesn't stop it. Worse--she opens her legs slightly.
Under the dress, Jaro feels Amber's tension, the heat building against his fingers. A faint moan rises from her throat:
-- Mmh... yes...
Inside her, a wave swells, stronger than shame, stronger than fear. She had always been the one who held back. Tonight, for the first time, she lets go.
She stays there. Straight. Beautiful. Maybe offered. But above all... present.
Inside Ethan, everything collides. Jealousy, first, biting hard. Pride, wounded. But right after that--beauty. Amber's beauty. What she's becoming, right now. What she embodies. What she awakens.
And that heat low in the belly. The kind you don't choose.
Jaro finishes his story. Then he turns to Ethan. His gaze is calm. Steady. He knows exactly what he's doing.
-- What you're feeling... it's normal, he says simply.
He doesn't speak loud. He speaks just to him.
-- It's not the first time. That mix. Pride, doubt, wanting to say no... and not wanting it to stop.
Then he glances down at his own hand, still hidden under Amber's dress, a little higher now. And he adds, without a smile:
-- But it's not up to me. It's up to her.
Amber says nothing.
Jaro's hand moves forward, still under the dress. The fabric doesn't shift. Nothing shows. But beneath that thin layer, he reaches the edge.
His fingers brush the waistband of her panties. He doesn't stop. He doesn't ask. He just keeps going, slow and sure. Not a caress. A contact. Under the dress, the heat of her desire rises--subtle, sharp, irresistible.
One of the bikers swallows hard. Another leans in slightly toward the fire, like pulled by some underground current. A shiver runs through her, sharp and visible. Her shoulders twitch slightly. A short breath escapes her. A sound, faint. Not a word. Not a plea. Just a low, uncontrollable moan.
Ethan hears it. He closes his eyes for a second.
When he opens them again, Jaro is still there. Bent over, focused. His hand moving now. Slow. Deep.
His movements are precise, steady, like he knows exactly what he's doing. And how long it should last.
And it lasts.
Minutes stretch, swallowed by the crackling fire and the thick silence around them. No one looks away. No one says a word.
Amber breathes faster. Her mouth opens slightly. Her eyes stay open, staring at nothing--or maybe at everything.
Her hips have lifted a little. She doesn't help. But she doesn't pull away either. She offers.
Ethan sees it. He sees everything.
And he says nothing.
Jaro stops.
Without warning, he pulls his hand back. In one smooth, simple motion, he brings it back to himself, resting it casually on his knee, as if nothing had happened. His eyes drift for a moment into the embers.
The silence is immense.
Amber blinks wider. Her body, all at once, feels abandoned. She doesn't move. But something inside her tightens. A hollow space, begging to be filled.
She turns her head toward him. She looks at him. For a long time.
Jaro doesn't move. Still. Impassive.
Then she whispers:
-- Keep going...
He doesn't answer.
