There was too much drama back home. In the Pacific Northwest, everything felt heavy, gray skies, gray moods, decisions I wasn’t ready to make. The cold slid under my coat and into my bones. Rain pressed at the windows like it was trying to finish what my life had started.
I needed to run. Just long enough to feel something besides stuck.
So I booked the flight like I was buying gum. Packed a carry-on. Threw in several bikinis I hadn’t worn in years. Didn’t check the forecast. Didn’t care. I picked a Caribbean island with a name I couldn’t pronounce, because that made it feel farther away.
By the time I landed, the air had already changed me: warm, thick, salt-slicked. It curled around my bare legs as I stepped off the plane. The sun slapped me in the face, unapologetic. I welcomed the sting.
The first couple of days blurred by. The weekend crowd pulsed through narrow streets: tourists pink with sunburn and cheap rum, chasing the island fantasy. My hotel bar smelled like overripe mango and spilled tequila. Every voice too loud. Every glance lingered too long.
I tried to play along. Signed up for a boat tour. The pamphlet promised crystal water and sea turtles. The reality was shrieking kids in orange vests and couples elbowing each other at the rail. When I slipped into the water, snorkel askew, the fish scattered like they’d seen this show before.
Even underwater, I couldn’t get away from people.
Back on the boat, I dried off with a towel that didn’t smell quite clean. The woman next to me talked about her second husband. The one who left. I nodded like I cared.
I came here for stillness. For space. To hear myself think.
What I found was noise. But the island was big. And the bars only stretched so far.
By Monday, the island exhaled. The crowds thinned like smoke. No more screaming kids. No more couples performing their love for Instagram. Just open sand, lazy waves, and a little room to breathe.
I spent most of the day curled under a palm, book in hand, salt drying on my skin. Ordered grilled fish from a shack with a rusted roof and ate barefoot, toes buried in hot sand. For once, no one asked to join me. No one bothered. It felt like the first true exhale I’d had in weeks.
That evening, I passed the marina on my way to dinner. The sun was dropping low, gold, drunk-looking. Boats bobbed gently, hulls knocking in rhythm. Little lapping sounds filled the air like whispers.
Fishermen and tour operators were packing up. Some called out half-hearted pitches, hoping to snag a few last stragglers before the island went quiet for the week.
“Half-day reef tour, mañana!”
Their energy sagged in the heat. But one voice didn’t.
“Full-day sail. Private catamaran. Quiet reef. Real quiet.”
I turned toward the sound.
He leaned against a railing outside a weathered kiosk that looked like it had survived a few hurricanes. Faded navy cap. Sun-worn polo. Skin a deep bronze, like it had stopped bothering to burn and just darkened into salt and leather. Older than me by a decade or more. European, I guessed… Spanish, maybe. His accent was smooth, but his English was clean.
“Not a party boat,” he said, like he’d read my mind. “Just you, me, and two crew. All day. We leave with the sun, come back after it sets. You’ll sleep good that night.”
I hesitated. “And the price?”
“Three-fifty U.S.,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question. “Lunch, drinks, snorkel gear included. We go slow. You swim when you want, eat when you want. Or don’t. I don’t talk if you don’t want to talk.”
That made me smile.
He offered his hand. “Captain Leo.”
I took it. His eyes held mine without pressure.
“Madeline.”
“Good name for the sea,” he said. “Slip fourteen. Seven a.m.”
I nodded. “See you then.”
As I walked off toward dinner, the breeze picked up: warm, ocean-slicked, a little wild around the edges. My skin still tasted of salt and coconut lotion. I caught myself smiling again, for no good reason.
Just me and the sea.
That was the fantasy, anyway. And for the price of a plane ticket and three-fifty in cash, I decided to believe in it.
___ 🐺 ___
I woke before my alarm.
Outside, the light was barely there, just a hint behind the curtains. I didn’t bother with clothes, just slipped into my white bikini, tied up my hair, and slid on sunglasses. In my bag: a striped towel, dog-eared paperback, half-used sunscreen. That was it.
I didn’t want anything heavy.
The marina was quiet, boards creaking under my sandals, gulls already circling like they knew something I didn’t. Slip fourteen was easy to find. The catamaran sat low in the water, white hull a little scuffed but solid, like it had nothing to prove.
Leo was already on deck, barefoot and checking lines. He looked up, nodded. Not a smile. Just hello.
“Right on time,” he said. “We’ll shove off soon.”
Two crew members moved around the deck, younger, focused. One nodded and disappeared below.
I stepped aboard without asking. Leo gestured toward the shaded cushions along the port side. “Make yourself at home.”
So I did.
Once we pulled away, the island shrank behind us. The sound shifted: less human, more wind, hull, the slap of water. A few boats dotted the horizon, none heading our way. Leo stood at the wheel, eyes ahead, a steel mug in hand that smelled like coffee and rum.
We cut across the blue in long, steady strides.
I stretched out on the bench, legs crossed, sunglasses on. The sun was warm, but the breeze took the edge off. One of the crew handed me a drink, fruit juice, and something sharp. I didn’t ask. Just sipped and let the quiet settle into me.
The reef came into view midmorning. No buoys, no other boats. Just turquoise water broken by dark shapes below: coral, rock, the flicker of a fin. No music. No engine. Just creaking wood and the rhythmic splash of waves.
Leo dropped anchor himself. Shirt off now, back muscles taut as he moved across the deck. He looked like he belonged to the water.
I stood, drink in hand, shading my eyes.
“You weren’t lying,” I said.
He shrugged. “Not worth the fuel if it’s not real.”
Then: “You want to swim?”
I nodded. He tossed me a mask and fins. I slipped off my sunglasses and tucked them into my bag.
The water folded around me, warm, smooth as silk. Below, the reef shimmered like something private. Bright fish darted through coral towers. A sea turtle drifted past, slow and unbothered.
For once, nothing ran from me.
And for the first time in a long while, I was exactly where I wanted to be, and no one knew.
___ 🐺 ___
Back on deck, I climbed the ladder slowly, the rungs slick under my feet. The saltwater clung to my skin in a thin, crystalline film, drying fast under the midday sun. I felt loose and languid, like I’d left something behind in the sea and didn’t miss it.
Without thinking, I reached behind my neck and untied my bikini top. I let it fall and tossed it into my bag. The breeze grazed over my chest, and the sun kissed me there for the first time all week. It felt like a small rebellion. Or maybe just honesty. My body didn’t want to be wrapped up anymore.
I lay down on the padded deck, arms stretched overhead, legs slightly apart. The warmth from the boards sank up into my spine. My skin hummed. The boat rocked gently beneath me. Somewhere, a metal snap clicked shut. Ice clinked. Water lapped softly against the hull.
I could feel eyes. A pause in movement. Then the whisper of footsteps on fiberglass.
I didn’t bother to look.
“You comfortable?” Leo’s voice, closer now.
“Very.”
“You know you’ve got them flustered.”
“I don’t mind being looked at.” My voice came out softer than I expected. Honest.
He stepped closer. I turned my head just enough to see him in profile. He crouched beside me, his forearm braced against the deck, the other hand setting his drink down. The smell of citrus and rum lifted from the glass and tangled with the scent of my sun-warmed skin.
“And what about being touched?” he asked.
I didn’t say anything.
But I tilted my hips, just enough.
He didn’t need more than that.
His hand came to rest just above my knee. Not exploring. Just… there. His palm was rough, callused, warm from the sun, and it stayed like that for a beat. Still. Present. My breath caught, held.
Then he moved.
His fingers traced a slow line up my thigh, barely skimming. The salt made my skin extra sensitive, every pass felt sharper, cleaner. He watched me the whole time, eyes dark, checking for resistance. There wasn’t any.
My heart thudded, not fast, just deep.
He leaned in. His mouth met my ribs just below the swell of my breast. A kiss, open-mouthed, slow, and full of heat. The scrape of his unshaven jaw left a whisper of burn against my damp skin. My stomach tightened.
Another kiss, higher this time.
His hand slid under the curve of my hip, anchoring me.
And I let him.
He kissed higher. Slow, deliberate.
By the time his mouth found my breast, I wasn’t thinking about the crew, or the deck, or even the open sky above. I wasn’t thinking at all.
Just feeling.
His lips closed over my nipple, warm and wet, tongue slow against the salt that still clung to me. I arched into it without meaning to, a quiet sound slipping out of my throat. His hand moved to cradle my other breast, thumb grazing over sun-warmed skin. The contrast of wet mouth and rough palm sent a shiver through me, deep and involuntary.
I pressed my thighs together. Too late to pretend I wasn’t already aching.
He shifted beside me, sliding one knee between mine. The boat rocked slightly under us, a lazy rhythm that matched the tug in my belly. His hand moved down, fingers grazing the side of my hip, then underneath the thin strap of my bikini bottom.
I should’ve been more aware of how exposed we were, of the possibility that someone might be watching. But the sun had drugged me. The drink, the water, the steady heat on my chest. I was too open. Too here.
When his fingers slipped inside, I gasped. Not from surprise, but from how ready I already was. My body betrayed me, slick and hungry. He didn’t tease. Just stroked once, then again, two fingers finding the rhythm without effort, like he’d been here before.
My legs fell open.
I couldn’t have stopped them if I’d tried.
His mouth returned to mine, salt on both our lips now. I kissed him back without hesitation. With need. I reached for him, pulling him closer by the waistband of his shorts. I wanted more of him, on me, in me, surrounding me.
He pressed against me, hips grinding slow. Not pushing in yet. Just letting me feel the weight of him.
I wrapped my legs around his waist.
The deck was warm against my back, my shoulder blades sticking just slightly to the cushion. His hands were under me now, pulling my bikini bottom down and off. It snagged briefly at my heel, then was gone. I was completely bare to the sky.
And I didn’t care.
The sun poured over me like warm oil, gliding across my skin. My body pulsed with each breath, every nerve lit up from the inside. I could feel the heat between my legs, his fingers still moving with slow, purposeful care. Not fast. Not greedy. Just enough to keep my hips gently rolling, chasing the edge he was drawing out.
His other hand cupped my jaw, thumb brushing my bottom lip. I opened up to him. Not for a kiss, but because I wanted to taste everything. Salt. Sweat. Skin. Him.
I shifted, pulling him down beside me, then rising up on my knees, straddling his thigh. His hand slipped free of me with a slick parting sound that made me shiver.
His cock was hard beneath the loose fabric of his shorts. Thick. The outline unmistakable. I trailed my fingers over it through the fabric first, watching the way he twitched under the touch. Then I leaned in, kissed the line of it. My hair fell forward, brushing against his skin.
He groaned. Just a small sound, but it vibrated through his chest.
I tugged at his waistband, and he lifted his hips, helping me free him. His cock sprang out, flushed and full, the head glistening already. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.
God, I wanted him.
Not inside me. Not yet. I wanted to play.
I wrapped one hand around the base and squeezed, feeling the pulse beneath the skin. Hot. Smooth. My thumb circled the tip, spreading the slick there. I watched his face, watched his lashes flutter as I leaned forward and let my tongue trace a slow path up the underside.
He tasted like the sea and salt and something purely male.
I licked again. Slower this time.
Then I took him into my mouth, just the head, lips wrapped soft and wet, tongue swirling. I sucked lightly, letting my mouth get wetter, letting the sounds grow messy, intimate. I felt powerful. The sun on my back, the breeze lifting strands of my hair, my thighs open around him as I worked his cock with deliberate care.
He moaned now. One hand drifted to my hip, not controlling, just there. Needing the contact.
I slid lower, my mouth gliding halfway down his shaft before drawing back up, cheeks hollowing. My hand stroked what my lips couldn’t reach, slick and rhythmic, the pace almost lazy. I wasn’t in a rush. I wanted to stay in this place. This power. This heat.
I looked up and met his eyes. He looked wrecked. Reverent.
That only spurred me on.
I sucked him deeper, lips tight, tongue pressed to the underside, then pulled back with a wet pop, licking the head again like it was something sacred.
I felt wild. Not out of control, but stripped down. Free.
And when his breath caught, when his hips bucked just slightly, I knew he was close.
His breathing had gone rough, chest rising in short, shallow bursts. His cock twitched in my hand, the muscle taut and angry with need. I pulled back, just a breath away, lips wet and parted, watching him.
He knelt up suddenly, shifting over me: his thighs straddling mine, his shadow falling across my chest. His cock loomed above me, slick and flushed, gripped tightly in his fist. He looked wild. Desperate. Like holding back even one more second would tear him apart.
I just lay there. Open. Bare. Daring him without a word.
The deck was hot against my back, my skin damp with sweat and salt and him. The sun still kissed my thighs, and the sea whispered just beyond the edge of the boat. Everything felt too bright, too sharp. Perfect.
He started stroking himself fast now, his hand a blur, veins standing out along his arm. I watched, entranced. The way his knuckles flexed. The way his hips jerked forward, chasing friction. The way his jaw clenched as his eyes locked on mine.
I didn’t move. Didn’t close my legs or cover myself. I offered myself with my stillness.
I wanted it. Wanted to feel it.
When he came, it was with a strangled moan and a sudden rush of motion. His whole body tensed, cock pulsing hard in his hand as the first hot spurt of cum splashed across my breastbone. Then another across my throat. Then more, streaking across my stomach, catching my cheek, sticky and warm and real.
I gasped, not in shock, but at the sensation of it. The heat. The claiming of it. Drops rolled down my ribs, others clung to the soft curve under my jaw. I felt marked. Covered. Seen.
His breath slowed as he finished, the last of it spilling across my hip, his hand finally slowing, trembling slightly.
The breeze moved over me like a sigh, lifting strands of my damp hair. The mess on my skin cooled slowly in the sunlight, thick droplets sliding lazily between my breasts, clinging to my stomach, pooling in the hollow of my hip. I didn’t wipe it away.
I liked the way it felt.
The way it marked a moment no one could take back.
My eyes were still half-lidded when I finally looked to the side.
They were watching us.
The other two crew members. The quiet one with the sharp jaw and dark eyes. The younger one who’d poured my drinks earlier. Both leaning casually against the rail, trying to play it cool, but their hands were wrapped around their cocks. Hard. Wet at the tips.
They’d seen everything.
And they couldn’t look away.
The younger one froze when I met his gaze. But the other just smirked a little, stroking slower now, bolder. Like he was waiting to see what I’d do.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t cover up. My thighs were still parted, Leo’s cum still slick on my chest, my face, my skin flushed and tingling. I lifted a hand, dragged one lazy finger through a cooling line across my belly, then brought it to my lips.
I sucked it clean.
His expression cracked. His jaw tightened, his breath rapid.
I smiled then. Something slow. Wicked. I tilted my head back, caught both of their eyes, and blew them a kiss.
Just a flick of my fingers, but I let it linger.
An invitation.
The younger one let out a soft, choked sound and started stroking faster. The other one didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward just slightly, hand wrapped around himself with firm, measured strokes, eyes locked on my body, on the way I sprawled there in the sun, glistening, utterly unbothered.
My pulse throbbed between my legs again.
Not from being touched. Just from the power of it.
From knowing I could give them this.
From wanting to.
I arched a little, stretching my arms above my head, letting my chest rise so they could see every inch of me, painted in Leo’s release. My skin was flushed, sticky, shining with salt and sweat and sex. I watched them watching me, their bodies tensing, their control slipping.
And when the first ropes of hot cum landed across my stomach again, followed by the second, this time streaking my thigh. I moaned, soft and low, not for them but for me.
Because this wasn’t about being used.
It was about being seen.
And in that moment, slick with salt and come and sun, I felt more real than I had in months.
___ 🐺 ___
Their footsteps retreated.
I heard a muttered word, a laugh, the sound of a zipper. Then just the sea again, gentle and endless. The faint creak of the boat as it swayed with the water.
I stayed where I was. Spread out. Marked.
The sun pressed down on me, warming every streak, every sticky splash of cum drying on my skin. My breath slowed. I felt the rhythm of the ocean settle into my body like a second pulse.
I ran a hand down my belly. Fingers slipping through the mess, dragging slow, lazy trails across my skin. Some of it had started to dry, tacky and shiny in the sun. Other parts were still thick, wet. I traced them idly, without shame.
I liked the way it looked on me.
I liked that they wanted to leave it there.
I swirled it across my hip, then brought my fingers up to my ribs, painting invisible lines only I could feel. A low hum rose in my throat. Not arousal, exactly. Just the deep, decadent pleasure of being in this body, in this moment.
I’d forgotten how good that could feel.
Back home, everything was noise. Cold. Complication. I’d spent so much time trying to pull myself back together that I hadn’t noticed how small I’d made myself.
But here?
Here, under the sun with strangers’ desire still clinging to my skin, I felt wide open. Sprawled. Seen.
I rolled my head to one side, letting the warmth bake into my cheek. A bit of it had dried there too, on the soft edge of my jaw, just below my lips. I licked it without thinking. The taste made me smile.
Not sweet. Not bitter.
Just honest.
I sighed, stretching one leg long across the deck, the other bent slightly at the knee. The boat rocked under me. Somewhere behind me, someone opened a cooler. Ice rattled. A bottle clinked. I didn’t move.
There was no rush.
No guilt, no voice in my head whispering what I should or shouldn’t do. Just the sun. My breath. The slow throb of blood behind my knees. The fading wet between my thighs.
This body, my body, was still mine.
And for once, I didn’t need anything else.
