Chapter 4: Tidal Claim
The phones buzzed like trapped hornets until Scott silenced them with a thumb, the screen casting a blue glow on his face in the dimming cabana. “Stiles. And Liam. The highway’s clear. They’ll be back by ten.”
The number hung in the air. Ten o’clock. A deadline.
Derek stood by the sliding glass door, watching the sun bleed into the ocean, a fiery wound that cooled to violet and deep indigo. The freedom of the last twenty-four hours, a stolen, secret bubble, was shrinking by the second. The pack meant well. They were family. But they were also witnesses, a living, breathing social structure that would force whatever this was between him and Scott into a defined shape. Or try to break it.
“We should eat,” Scott said from behind him, close but not touching. Derek could feel the heat of him anyway.
“Not hungry.”
“You need to. Your metabolism’s in overdrive. You’ll get shaky.” Scott’s voice was pragmatic, Alpha-mode peeking through. It was the same tone he used to coordinate patrols. It grated, and it soothed. Derek hated both reactions.
They ordered room service, eating tenderloin and roasted vegetables on the patio under the first bold stars. They didn’t talk about the shower. They didn’t talk about the phones. They talked about the terrible movie they’d watched two nights ago, about the spiciness of the salsa, about whether the tide was coming in or going out. Normal stuff. It felt like laying a thin sheet of glass over a crater.
After the plates were taken away, the silence returned, thick and charged. The cord Scott had spoken of—Derek felt it now, a physical tug behind his navel, pulling him toward the Alpha. It was worse with the impending separation. His skin felt too tight, itchy with unshed energy.
Scott stood abruptly, his chair scraping on the tile. He stared out at the dark beach, the white curl of waves just visible in the moonlight. His jaw was tight.
“I can’t sit here,” he said, more to himself than to Derek. He turned, his eyes catching the moonlight, reflecting a pale, lupine shimmer. “Come swimming.”
“It’s night. The water’s—”
“Warm. I checked.” Scott was already pulling his shirt over his head, a clean, efficient movement. “No suits. Just us.”
A challenge. An escape. Derek found himself standing, following the unspoken command. His own clothes felt like prisons. He shed them on the patio, the warm breeze a shock against his bare skin. Scott was already a pale shape moving down the wooden steps to the sand, a shadow against the greater dark.
The sand was cool and soft between his toes, then firmer near the waterline. The ocean was a vast, black murmur, the crash of waves rhythmic and ancient. Scott didn’t hesitate. He walked into the surf, the water swallowing his ankles, his calves, his thighs. He turned when it reached his waist, the liquid silver of moonlight painting his torso.
“Coming?” he called, his voice carried away and then back by the wind.
Derek walked in. The water was surprisingly warm, a bath after the cooler air. It lapped at his hips, his stomach, his chest. The buoyancy was a relief, a physical unknotting of the tension in his muscles. He waded out until he was beside Scott, the water up to their shoulders. The world shrunk to the sound of their breathing, the salt on their lips, the dark, endless roll of the sea.
Scott moved first. A hand under the water, fingers skating up Derek’s rib cage. Derek flinched, the touch electric against the liquid silk of the ocean. Scott’s other arm hooked around his waist, pulling their bodies together. The water made them weightless, clumsy and graceful all at once. Their legs tangled, feet finding uncertain purchase on the sandy bottom.
“See?” Scott murmured into the damp hollow of his neck. “Better.”
He kissed him, salt and warmth. Derek kissed back, his hands finding the solid planes of Scott’s back. The water cradled them, pushed them together. Scott’s hands were everywhere, learning his body in this new, fluid element. Palms sliding over his ass, pulling him closer. Fingers tracing the curve of his spine, the dip of his lower back.
One hand drifted between them, under the water, fingers seeking and finding. Derek gasped into Scott’s mouth as those fingers pressed against him, the water providing a slick, effortless glide. He was already open, still loose from earlier, but the sensation was new—the cool saltwater contrast with the heat of Scott’s touch, the elemental embrace of the ocean around them as he was penetrated.
“Scott… someone could—”
“No one’s here,” Scott breathed, his voice low with certainty. His fingers worked slowly, a gentle, maddening rhythm. “Just the gulls. And the moon. And me.”
He added a second finger, the stretch a familiar, welcome burn. Derek’s head fell back, the stars whirling above him. He wrapped his legs around Scott’s hips, clinging to him as the waves lifted and dropped them. The world was reduced to this: the pulse of the ocean, the pulse of Scott inside him, the two rhythms syncing.
“Hold on,” Scott grunted. He maneuvered them, walking backward through the chest-deep water until Derek’s back bumped against something solid and rough—a submerged rock, worn smooth by the tide. It was just below the surface, a dark, massive shape.
“Up,” Scott said, his voice leaving no room for argument. His hands gripped Derek’s hips and lifted him with effortless, Alpha strength, seating him on the broad, wet shelf of stone. The water now lapped at Derek’s waist, his legs dangling in the dark liquid. He was exposed, the cool air hitting his wet chest, his nipples tightening.
Scott stepped between his spread knees, his hands running up Derek’s thighs. The moon was directly overhead now, bathing them in its cold, clear light.
“Look at you,” Scott said, wonder and hunger twisting his voice. He wasn’t just looking at Derek; he was surveying. His gaze was a physical touch, tracing the lines of Derek’s torso, the dark hair plastered to his skin, the places where his body was marked—the bites, the faint bruises. His eyes settled between Derek’s legs, where he was open, glistening, presented on this stone altar.
A wave of profound vulnerability, sharper than any he’d felt in the dark cabana, washed over Derek. This wasn’t hidden. This was under the sky. He felt flayed, every inch of him offered up. His instinct was to close his legs, to cover himself. But a deeper, newer instinct held him still. His body arched slightly, an unconscious offering.
Scott’s thumbs rubbed slow circles on his inner thighs. “You’re so beautiful like this. All mine.”
The words should have chafed. Should have sparked the old, defiant Derek. But they didn’t. They settled in him like a truth, warming the cold pit of his vulnerability. He was Scott’s, in ways he was still struggling to comprehend. The chemistry, the biology, the damned cord—it was all real. The fight was leaching out of him, carried away on the outgoing tide.
Scott leaned forward, not to kiss him, but to lick a stripe up his neck, over the swollen mating gland. Derek shuddered, a whimper escaping him. Scott’s hands left his thighs and gripped the rock on either side of Derek’s hips, caging him in. His cock, thick and hard, pressed against Derek’s entrance, nudging, not entering.
“Please,” Derek heard himself beg, the word torn from him by the wind.
“Please what?” Scott’s breath was hot against his ear.
“You know.”
“Say it.”
Derek swallowed. The ocean roared in his ears. “Fuck me. Here. Now.”
Scott didn’t need another invitation. He pushed in, a slow, inexorable invasion. The water eased the way, but the fullness was staggering. Derek cried out, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the beach. Scott’s hips met his ass, sheathing himself completely. They were locked together, Derek impaled on the rock and on Scott, utterly anchored.
Scott began to move. Long, deep thrusts that rocked Derek’s whole body. The rough stone scraped against his back, a counterpoint to the devastating pleasure. He could feel everything—the cool water swirling around them, the hot friction inside him, the primal gleam in Scott’s eyes watching him fall apart.
He was so exposed. If anyone walked the beach now, they’d see it all. The thought sent a jolt of shame through him, which immediately ignited into a darker, sharper arousal. His own cock, trapped between their bodies, leaked against Scott’s stomach.
“That’s it,” Scott gritted out, his pace increasing. The waves crashed around them, covering the sound of their ragged breaths, the wet slap of skin. “No hiding. This is what you are. This is what we are.”
Derek could only nod, his vision blurring. The climax built not as a spike, but as a tidal wave, rising from the depths of his surrender. It washed over him, silent and devastating. His body clamped down on Scott’s, milking him, as his own release spilled into the water between them, invisible, instantly washed away.
Scott followed, a raw, guttural sound ripped from his throat as he buried himself to the hilt and held there, pulsing. He collapsed forward, his forehead resting on Derek’s shoulder, his body trembling with the aftershocks.
For a long time, they stayed like that, linked, the ocean patiently working around them. The moon began its slow descent.
Finally, Scott softened and slipped out. He helped Derek off the rock, his hands gentle now, steadying him in the water. They waded back to shore in silence, the water feeling suddenly heavy, like chains.
They rinsed off under the outdoor shower, the fresh water sterile compared to the salty baptism of the ocean. They toweled dry, not looking at each other. The spell was broken.
Back in the cabana, Derek pulled on clean boxers and a t-shirt. They felt like a costume. Scott was dressed similarly, staring at his phone.
“They’re an hour out,” he said, his voice flat. “Lydia wants to know if we want anything from the airport shops.”
The absurd normalcy of it was a slap. Derek nodded, unable to speak.
Scott finally looked at him. In the electric light, he just looked young, and tired, and unsure. The Alpha certainty from the beach was gone. “Derek… when they get here…”
“We’re packmates,” Derek finished for him, his voice hollow. “We shared a cabana. Nothing happened.”
Scott’s eyes flashed with something pained. “That’s not what I—”
“It’s what it has to be,” Derek interrupted, more harshly than he intended. He walked to the glass door, looking at the now-empty beach. The rock was just a dark shadow in the retreating tide. “For now.”
He felt Scott come up behind him, not touching. The space between them hummed with everything unsaid, everything that had been done. The cord was still there, pulled taut.
Headlights, distant but growing, pierced the coastal road’s darkness. The pack was coming home.
Their time was up.