The Jeep door slammed shut. Sand hissed off our feet in the foyer, salt crusting skin like crystalline lust. The living room opened wide—vaulted ceiling, floor-to-ceiling glass framing the cove, sheer curtains billowing like ghosts in the ocean wind.
Sunlight bled gold across the teak floor, glinting off the dining table—dark walnut, already scattered with forgotten sunglasses and a half-empty bottle of rosé, its surface cool and smooth under the dying sun, the wood's grain deep and inviting, already warm from the day's heat.
Ava didn't hesitate for a second.
Her flip-flops flew off with a careless kick, scattering across the floor. In one fluid motion, she yanked at the bikini strings—snapped them free—and her full, heavy tits spilled out, bouncing wildly.
Her nipples were already dark and rigid, stiffened by the ocean wind and the raw heat of her desire, jutting out like aching peaks begging for attention.
