Lincoln's toes sank into the hot white sand, the Caribbean sun pressing down on his shoulders like a warm hand. He'd been watching Ronnie Anne for the better part of an hour, watching the way she laughed with her cousins, the way her hips swayed when she walked, the way she kept glancing back at him when she thought no one was looking. The Santiago family was scattered across the beach like a flock of brightly colored birds—aunts fanning themselves under umbrellas, uncles arguing over a cooler of beer, the kids shrieking as they chased each other into the surf. And Ronnie Anne, in that yellow bikini that had been driving him crazy since they landed, pretending she wasn't aware of exactly what she was doing to him.
"You're staring."
He didn't flinch. "I'm appreciating."
Ronnie Anne flopped down beside him, sand spraying up around her thighs. She was close enough that he could smell the coconut oil on her skin, the salt from the ocean, something else underneath that was just her. "My tía Rosa has been watching us all morning. She's got eyes like a hawk."
"Yeah?" Lincoln didn't look at her tía. He looked at Ronnie Anne's chest, the way the yellow fabric curved over her B-cups, the little beads of seawater still drying on her collarbone. "Let her watch."
Ronnie Anne snorted, but he caught the way her cheeks flushed. "You're gonna get us caught."
"Caught doing what?" He let his hand drift across the sand between them, close enough that his pinky brushed her thigh. "We're just two friends sitting on a beach."
She laughed, low and quiet, and his dick twitched at the sound. "Right. And I'm just a girl who's never seen her best friend's cock."
Lincoln's mouth went dry. "Ronnie—"
"The key's in my bag." She said it so casually, like she was commenting on the weather. "In the bottom pocket. I've been carrying it all week."
He knew what key she meant. The one to the beach house back home, where everything had started, where he'd first untied her top and tasted her skin. The one that had been burning a hole in his pocket ever since. "You brought it to Jamaica?"
"I bring it everywhere." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You know what I've been thinking about? Every night, lying in that hotel room with my cousins snoring? I've been thinking about the sand. About doing it right here, where anyone could see."
Lincoln's heart was hammering. He could feel himself getting hard, pressing against his swim trunks, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. "That's crazy."
"Maybe." Ronnie Anne's hand found his under the sand. Her fingers curled around his, squeezing. "But I've also been thinking about you squeezing my tits while I ride you, and I can't decide which thought gets me wetter."
He let out a shaky breath. "Ronnie, your family is literally twenty feet away."
"My cousins are building a sandcastle. My tíos are arguing about cricket. My abuela fell asleep in her chair." She listed them off like she was reading a checklist, and he realized she'd been planning this. "There's a cove about five minutes down the beach. Behind those rocks. No one goes there."
Lincoln's pulse was roaring in his ears. The smart thing would be to say no. The safe thing would be to stand up, walk back to the resort, take a cold shower. But he'd never been very good at safe, and Ronnie Anne was looking at him with that challenge in her eyes, the one she got right before she did something reckless.
"Five minutes?"
"Maybe four, if you're fast."
He was already standing, brushing the sand off his shorts. "Lead the way."
Ronnie Anne grinned, and for a moment she looked like the same girl who used to prank him in middle school—the same mischief, the same gleam. But there was something else there now, something that had grown between them over the past months, something that had teeth.
She stood up, brushed her hands off, and started walking down the beach without looking back. Lincoln followed, trying to look casual, trying not to think about the way her ass moved in those bikini bottoms. The sand was hot under his feet, and the sun was relentless, and every step felt like a countdown.
They passed a couple of sunburned tourists, a kid with a boogie board, a vendor selling coconuts. Ronnie Anne kept a steady pace, her hips swaying, and he kept his eyes fixed on her, watching the way the muscles in her back moved when she walked. She glanced back once, twice, a smile playing on her lips, and then the rocks loomed ahead—a tumble of black volcanic stone that jutted out into the water, creating a sheltered cove that was hidden from the main beach.
Ronnie Anne rounded the rocks and disappeared. Lincoln followed, and the world changed.
The cove was small, maybe thirty feet of sand cupped by the rocks, with a shallow pool of turquoise water at the edge. The surf was louder here, crashing against the stone, and the sound swallowed everything else. It was like being in another world, one where the Santiago family didn't exist, where there was nothing but the sun and the sand and Ronnie Anne, already turning to face him with that look in her eyes.
"See?" she said. "No one."
Lincoln didn't answer. He closed the distance between them in three steps, his hands finding her waist, pulling her against him. Her skin was hot from the sun, slick with salt, and she tasted like coconut and ocean when he kissed her—deep, hungry, a kiss that had been building since they landed.
Ronnie Anne moaned against his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Took you long enough," she breathed.
"You wanted to be careful."
"I wanted to be fucked." She said it flat, direct, her hand sliding down his chest to cup the bulge in his shorts. "I've been wanting it since we got on the plane."
Lincoln groaned, his hips bucking into her palm. "Ronnie—"
"Don't talk. Just get this off." She was already tugging at his swim trunks, pulling them down his hips, and he kicked them aside, his cock springing free, hard and aching. The air was hot, the sun was beating down, and Ronnie Anne was looking at him like she wanted to devour him.
She dropped to her knees in the sand.
Lincoln's breath caught. "What are you—"
"I told you." Her hand wrapped around his cock, fingers stroking the length of it, and he had to brace himself against the rock behind him. "I've been thinking about this all week." She leaned in, her tongue flicking out to taste the tip, and Lincoln's knees nearly buckled. "And I'm going to take my time."
She took him into her mouth, and Lincoln's head fell back, a groan tearing out of his throat. Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue working along the underside of his cock, and she took him deep, her throat opening for him, her hand stroking what her lips couldn't reach. The sound of it—wet, obscene, muffled by the crash of the waves—was the hottest thing he'd ever heard.
"Fuck, Ronnie." His hand found her hair, gripping the damp strands. "That feels—"
She pulled off just enough to speak, her lips brushing the tip. "You like my mouth, Linc?"
"You know I do."
"Good." She took him again, deeper this time, and Lincoln had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. She worked him with a rhythm she'd learned over months of practice, her head bobbing, her hand twisting, and he could feel the pressure building, the familiar coil tightening in his gut.
"Ronnie, I'm gonna—"
She pulled off, a string of spit connecting her lips to his cock. "Not yet," she said, her voice hoarse. "I want you inside me first."
She stood up, and Lincoln reached for her, his hands finding the strings of her bikini top. He tugged, and the yellow fabric fell away, revealing her breasts—small, perfect, her nipples already hard from the sun and the salt and the air. He cupped them, felt their weight, ran his thumbs over the nipples until she shivered.
"You have no idea," he said, his voice rough, "how long I've been wanting to do this."
Ronnie Anne smiled, stepping out of her bottoms. "Show me."
She sank down onto the sand, lying back, her hair fanning out around her head. Her skin was golden brown, her body open to him, and Lincoln dropped to his knees between her thighs. He could see how wet she was, the slickness glistening on her inner thighs, her pussy swollen and pink and inviting.
"Look at you," he breathed.
"Look at what you do to me," she shot back, and there was no shame in her voice, only challenge. "Now get down here."
He did. He lowered his head between her legs, his tongue finding her clit, and Ronnie Anne gasped, her hips bucking against his mouth. She tasted like salt and sex, like the ocean and something sweeter underneath, and he lapped at her like she was the only thing that mattered. Her fingers tangled in his hair, her thighs clamping around his head, and she was already moaning, already writhing, her hips grinding against his face.
"Linc—" Her voice was high, breathless. "God, right there, don't stop—"
He didn't stop. He worked her with his tongue, his fingers finding her entrance, sliding inside her, curling against that spot that made her see stars. She was so tight, so hot, and she clenched around his fingers, her whole body shuddering.
"I'm close," she gasped. "I'm—"
He pulled back, just as she was about to crest, and Ronnie Anne let out a frustrated whimper. "Why did you—"
"I want to feel you come on my cock."
She stared at him for a second, her chest heaving, and then she laughed. "You're such an asshole."
"You love it."
"Yeah." She sat up, reaching for him, her hand wrapping around his dick. "I do." She guided him to her entrance, holding his gaze, and he felt the tip of his cock press against her slick, swollen folds. "Now fuck me."
He pushed inside her, and they both groaned.
She was so tight, so wet, and the feeling of her clenching around him was almost too much. Lincoln held still for a moment, his forehead pressed against hers, both of them breathing hard.
"God," she whispered. "You feel so good."
"So do you." He pulled back, then thrust forward, and Ronnie Anne cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Fuck, Ronnie—"
"Don't stop." Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Please, Linc, don't stop."
He didn't. He fucked her in the sand, his hips driving into her, the waves crashing against the rocks in time with their rhythm. The sun was hot on his back, and sweat was dripping off him, and Ronnie Anne was moaning beneath him, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, and he couldn't get enough.
"Roll over," she said, her voice commanding. "I want to ride you."
Lincoln pulled out, and she immediately missed the weight of him. But then she was straddling him, positioning herself over his cock, and she sank down with a gasp that turned into a moan. She started to ride him, slow at first, her hips rocking, her hands braced on his chest.
"God, you feel even bigger from this angle," she breathed.
Lincoln's hands found her hips, guiding her, and then one hand slid up her body, cupping her breast. He squeezed, just like she'd asked, and Ronnie Anne moaned, her head falling back.
"Yeah," she gasped. "Just like that."
He squeezed harder, rolling her nipple between his fingers, and she started to move faster, her hips grinding against him. He could feel himself hitting deeper, hitting that spot that made her gasp every time, and she was getting wetter, slicker, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the cove.
"I'm gonna come," she said, her voice strained. "Linc, I'm gonna—"
"Come for me." He sat up, pulling her against him, his mouth finding hers. "Come on my cock, Ronnie."
She cried out, her body shuddering, her pussy clenching around him in wave after wave. Lincoln held her through it, his hands gripping her ass, his own release building, and when she finally went limp against him, he flipped her onto her back and drove into her again.
"I'm close," he grunted. "I'm so fucking close."
"Do it," she said, her legs wrapping around him again. "Come inside me, Linc. I want to feel it."
He buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing, and he came with a groan that was swallowed by the crash of the waves. Ronnie Anne held him, her arms wrapped around his back, her lips pressed against his shoulder, and they stayed like that, tangled together, as the sun beat down and the sand clung to their skin.
Finally, Lincoln pulled out, collapsing beside her in the sand. His chest was heaving, and he could feel the sweat cooling on his skin, the salt drying in the sun.
Ronnie Anne propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him. "Worth the risk?"
Lincoln opened his eyes, looking up at her. Her hair was a mess, her skin was flushed, and there was sand in places he wasn't going to think about. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Every second," he said.
She smiled, and then she glanced back toward the rocks, toward the beach where her family was waiting. "We should probably get back before someone comes looking."
"Yeah." But neither of them moved. The sun was warm, the sand was soft, and for a moment, the world outside the cove didn't exist.
Ronnie Anne reached into her bag, pulling out the key. It was small and silver, catching the light, and she turned it over in her fingers before slipping it back into the pocket.
"I'm glad we did this," she said, quiet. "I don't care if we get caught. I'd do it again."
Lincoln reached for her hand, squeezing it. "Me too."
They lay there a little longer, the waves crashing against the rocks, the sun high overhead. And then Ronnie Anne stood up, brushing the sand off her thighs, and held out her hand to him.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go pretend we weren't just fucking in the sand."
Lincoln laughed, taking her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. He pulled his trunks back on, watched her re-tie her bikini top, and followed her back around the rocks, back to the world where her family was waiting, where they had to be careful, where they had to pretend.
But the key was still in her bag, and the memory was still on his skin, and he knew that this wasn't the last time. Not by a long shot.
The resort lobby was chaos at six in the morning—suitcases on wheels rattling across the tile, a toddler wailing somewhere near the front desk, and the entire Santiago family in various states of half-awake motion. Lincoln stood by the glass doors with his hands in his pockets, watching Ronnie Anne's tía Rosa bark orders at her husband about which bag went where, watching her cousins yawn and shuffle toward the shuttle that would take them to the airport.
Ronnie Anne appeared beside him, a duffel slung over one shoulder and a travel mug of coffee in her hand. She was wearing the same yellow bikini under an oversized shirt, and she looked like she'd barely slept. He knew why. He hadn't either.
"My mom just told me the airline moved our flight to tomorrow," she said, keeping her voice low. "Something about a storm system. We're stuck here an extra night."
Lincoln's heart did a slow, deliberate thump. "Just you?"
"Just me." She took a sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim. "Everyone else is on the early shuttle. I'm the only one with a delayed flight."
The shuttle doors hissed open. Her abuela shuffled past them, patting Ronnie Anne's arm and murmuring something in Spanish that made Ronnie Anne's cheeks go pink. Lincoln caught the word *novio* and decided not to ask.
Then they were alone.
The lobby, which had been a whirlwind of bodies and noise, went quiet. The shuttle pulled away from the curb, and Ronnie Anne set down her duffel and turned to face him fully. There was something in her eyes that hadn't been there on the beach—something hungrier, something that had been building all night in the hotel room she'd shared with her cousins, thinking about him.
"Room's all ours," she said. "Key's in my pocket."
Lincoln looked at the elevator bank, then back at her. "You want to go up?"
"I want you to fuck me in the elevator."
His mouth went dry. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the elevator, hitting the button with her knuckle. The doors opened on an empty car, and Ronnie Anne stepped in, dragging him after her. She pressed the button for the seventh floor, and the doors slid shut.
She was on him before the car started moving.
Her mouth found his, hot and demanding, her hands already working at the drawstring of his swim trunks. Lincoln groaned against her lips, his hands finding her ass, pulling her against him. The elevator hummed, the lights flickered, and Ronnie Anne dropped to her knees.
"I've been thinking about this all night," she said, her fingers wrapping around his cock as it sprang free. "Couldn't sleep. Kept touching myself in the bathroom while my cousins snored."
She took him into her mouth, and Lincoln's head fell back against the elevator wall. She was good at this—too good, her tongue working along the underside, her hand stroking what her lips couldn't reach. The elevator dinged for the third floor, and neither of them cared.
"Ronnie—" He gripped her hair, his hips bucking. "We're gonna get caught."
"Then we'd better be quick." She pulled off with a wet sound, licking her lips. "Or you could just come in my mouth and we can do it properly in the room."
The elevator dinged for the seventh floor. Ronnie Anne stood up, tucking herself back into his trunks with practiced ease, and stepped out of the elevator like nothing had happened. Lincoln followed, his heart hammering, his cock aching.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn, the bed still unmade from the night before. Ronnie Anne kicked the door shut behind them and turned to face him, and the moment the lock clicked, she was out of her shirt.
"No more waiting," she said, stepping out of her bottoms. "No more sneaking around. Just us, this room, and the whole day."
Lincoln crossed the room in three steps, his hands finding her waist, lifting her onto the bed. She laughed against his mouth, her legs wrapping around his waist, and he was inside her before she finished laughing.
They both groaned.
"Fuck," she breathed, her nails digging into his shoulders. "That's what I needed."
Lincoln didn't answer. He was too busy driving into her, his hips finding a rhythm that made her gasp with every thrust. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard knocking against the wall, and Ronnie Anne's head fell back, her mouth open, her breasts bouncing.
"Harder," she demanded. "Fuck me harder, Linc."
He gave her harder. He gave her everything, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her onto him with every stroke. She was soaked, slick, her pussy clenching around him like it was trying to pull him deeper, and he could feel the pressure building, the familiar coil tightening in his gut.
"I'm close," she gasped. "Don't stop, don't you dare stop—"
He didn't stop. He drove into her, faster, harder, and she came with a cry that was half his name, her whole body shuddering, her pussy clenching around him in wave after wave. Lincoln held on, his own release building, and when she finally went limp beneath him, he pulled out and came on her stomach, hot and thick.
Ronnie Anne looked down at the mess, then up at him, a lazy smile spreading across her face. "That's one."
"One what?"
"One creampie." She reached down, scooping some of his cum onto her finger, and brought it to her mouth. "I'm keeping count."
Lincoln stared at her. "You're insane."
"You love it." She sat up, reaching for him, her hand wrapping around his softening cock. "And we have all day."
She was right. They had all day.
The morning dissolved into a haze of skin and sweat and laughter. They fucked on the bed, on the floor, against the window with the curtains cracked open, the Caribbean sun spilling in. Ronnie Anne rode him slow, grinding her hips, her hands braced on his chest, and Lincoln's hands found her breasts, squeezing them like stress toys, exactly like she'd asked.
"Harder," she said, her head falling back. "Squeeze them harder, Linc. I like it."
He squeezed. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, watching her face contort with pleasure, and she moaned, her pace quickening. She was so wet, so slick, and he could feel her clenching around him, getting close again.
"I'm gonna come," she gasped. "I'm gonna come on your dick—"
"Do it." He sat up, pulling her against him, his mouth finding her nipple. "Come on my cock, Ronnie."
She came with a shudder, her pussy milking him, and Lincoln buried himself deep, coming inside her for the third time that morning. Ronnie Anne collapsed against him, her breath hot on his neck, and they stayed like that, tangled together, until the phone on the nightstand rang.
Lincoln reached for it, but Ronnie Anne grabbed his wrist. "Let it ring."
"What if it's your mom?"
"Then she can leave a message." She shifted on his lap, and he felt himself hardening again. "I'm not done with you yet."
The phone rang four times, then went to voicemail. Ronnie Anne's mom's voice filled the room, tinny and distant, saying something about the flight and the hotel and calling her back. Ronnie Anne ignored it, rolling her hips, and Lincoln forgot about everything except the feeling of her wrapped around him.
They fucked through the morning, through the afternoon, through the cartoons that played on the TV with the sound turned down. Some kids' show with bright colors and slapstick humor, and Lincoln found himself watching it between thrusts, his hands on Ronnie Anne's hips as she rode him, both of them half-laughing, half-moaning.
"This is so wrong," she said, giggling as a cartoon character got flattened by a piano. "We're watching cartoons while you're inside me."
"You're the one who put on the cartoons."
"I wanted background noise." She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, and whispered in his ear. "And I wanted to feel you get hard again while we watched."
He was already hard. He flipped her onto her back, driving into her, and she cried out, her legs wrapping around his waist. The cartoon played on, forgotten, as he fucked her into the mattress, her nails raking down his back, her moans drowning out the TV.
"Linc—" She was breathless, her eyes wide. "I think you're gonna get me pregnant."
He faltered. "What?"
"You keep coming inside me." She laughed, but there was something real in it, something that made his chest tighten. "At this rate, I'm gonna be carrying your baby by the time we get home."
Lincoln didn't know what to say to that. He buried his face in her neck, his hips slowing, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.
"I'm just joking," she said, softer now. "Mostly."
He pulled back to look at her. Her face was flushed, her hair a mess, her eyes bright. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he was inside her, and she was joking about carrying his baby, and he didn't know what that meant. He didn't know what any of this meant.
So he kissed her instead of answering.
The afternoon wore on. They ordered room service—sandwiches and fruit and a bottle of something sparkling that Ronnie Anne insisted on—and ate it naked, sitting on the bed, the sheets tangled around their ankles. Lincoln's hands found her constantly, her thigh, her hip, her breast, and she let him, leaning into his touch like she couldn't get enough.
"You're groping me like a stress toy," she said, laughing as he squeezed her breast.
"You told me to."
"I told you to squeeze them while I rode you. I didn't say you could do it all day."
"You didn't say I couldn't."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. She set down her plate and straddled him again, and he was inside her again, and they were fucking again, and the count went up. Five. Six. She rode him facing away, her hands braced on his knees, and he watched himself slide in and out of her, watched the way she took him, and he came inside her with a groan that was half her name.
She collapsed beside him, breathing hard, and he pulled her against him, his arm around her waist. The TV was still on, the cartoon still playing, and Ronnie Anne reached for the remote, turning up the volume.
"I want to see how this ends," she said.
Lincoln laughed. "You're something else."
"I know." She shifted against him, and he felt himself stir again. "Round seven?"
"You're going to kill me."
"What a way to go."
They watched the cartoon for a while, his hand drifting over her body, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. It was almost domestic, almost normal, and Lincoln found himself thinking about what it would be like if this were real, if they were just a couple on vacation, if there were no secret and no key and no risk.
Then Ronnie Anne rolled over, her hand finding his cock, and the thought dissolved.
She straddled him, sinking down onto him with a sigh, and he filled her again, and she rode him slow, her hips rocking, her hands on his chest. He watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her lips parted, and he knew he was never going to get tired of this. Never going to get tired of her.
"I want to try something," she said, her voice low.
"What?"
"Just—hold still."
She reached behind her, and Lincoln felt her fingers find his balls, then move lower, tracing the tight ring of muscle between them. He tensed.
"What are you doing?"
"Just want to see what it feels like." Her finger pressed against his hole, and he gasped. "Is this okay?"
"I—yeah. Just—go slow."
She did. Her finger circled him, slick with her own wetness, and then pressed inside, and Lincoln's whole body shuddered. It was strange, unfamiliar, a pressure he'd never felt before, but it wasn't bad. It was intense, his cock twitching inside her, and Ronnie Anne watched his face with fascination.
"You like that?" she asked.
"I don't—" He couldn't finish the sentence. Her finger was inside him, crooking, and his hips bucked. "Fuck."
She laughed, low and pleased. "Good."
She withdrew her finger and started to ride him again, faster this time, and Lincoln was so worked up, so close, that he came within minutes, his hands gripping her hips, his cum flooding her. Ronnie Anne moaned, riding him through it, and then she came too, her pussy clenching around him, and they collapsed together, breathing hard.
"Seven," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
"Eight," he corrected. "The one before the cartoon."
"Oh, right." She grinned. "Eight, then."
They dozed for a while, tangled together, the TV murmuring in the background. When Lincoln woke, the sun was low in the sky, painting the room in shades of gold and orange, and Ronnie Anne was still wrapped around him, her head on his chest, her leg thrown over his hip.
He was still inside her.
He could feel it—the soft, wet slide of her around him, the way his cock had hardened again in his sleep. He shifted, and Ronnie Anne stirred, a sleepy smile crossing her face.
"Mmm," she murmured. "You're hard again."
"I can't help it." He rolled her onto her back, pushing into her, and she gasped, her eyes flying open. "You're too—" He thrust, and she moaned. "—good."
She laughed, breathless, her hands gripping his shoulders. "You're going to get me pregnant for real at this rate."
"Would that be so bad?"
She went still. He went still. The words hung between them, heavy and unexpected, and Lincoln watched her face, watching her process what he'd just said.
"I didn't mean—" he started.
"I know." She kissed him, soft and quick. "Just shut up and fuck me."
He did. He fucked her slow, deep, his hands on her breasts, her hips, her thighs, everywhere he could reach. She came twice, her body shuddering around him, and he came inside her for the ninth time, his cock pulsing, his cum filling her.
He pulled out, and Ronnie Anne rolled onto her side, pulling him with her. He spooned her, his arm around her waist, his cock still pressed against her ass, and she sighed, content, as the last of the sunlight faded from the room.
"Ten," she said, her voice drowsy.
"Ten." He kissed her shoulder. "You kept count."
"Told you." She yawned. "Now go to sleep. I want to feel you inside me when I wake up."
Lincoln slid back into her, slow and easy, and she sighed, pressing back against him. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands cupping her breasts, and they lay there, joined, as the room went dark.
He was still inside her when he fell asleep.
He was still inside her when he woke up, hours later, to the sound of her soft breathing and the first gray light of dawn creeping through the curtains. He was still hard, still buried in her, and he could feel her clenching around him, feel the evidence of the night before—his cum, cooling, leaking out around him.
Ronnie Anne stirred, and he felt her smile against his shoulder.
"Morning," she said.
"Morning."
"You're still inside me."
"I know."
She laughed, low and warm. "Good."
He pushed into her, and she moaned, and they spent the rest of the morning exactly the way they'd spent the day before—fucking, laughing, his hands on her body, her cumming on his cock, his cum filling her until neither of them could count anymore.
The flight was delayed again. Neither of them minded.