Chapter 2: The Watched Act
The cabana's interior swallowed the last of the evening light, leaving only a warm amber glow from a single lantern that sat on the low teak table. The cushions were deep and plush, upholstered in a dark ivory fabric that felt cool against Anaya's bare skin as Rafael guided her down. His hands were broad and certain on her waist, steering her not with force but with a presumption that made her stomach flutter.
"You nervous?" he asked, voice low, almost amused. He knelt over her, the lantern light catching the hard lines of his chest, the shadow of his goatee.
Anaya shook her head, then nodded, then let out a shaky breath that was half laugh. "I don't even know your name. I mean, I know it's Rafael, but I don't actually know you."
He smiled, slow and easy. "You know enough." His hand slid up her bare ribs, thumb brushing the underside of her breast. "I know you're Anaya. I know you wear a little sun pendant. I know you're here."
His thumb circled her nipple, and she gasped, her back arching off the cushion before she could stop herself. The sound she made, small and involuntary, seemed to please him. He leaned down and took her mouth in a hard, deliberate kiss, and she felt his weight settle over her, the heavy warmth of his body pressing her into the plush fabric.
There was no rush to what he did, which somehow made it worse. He kissed down her throat, her collarbone, the slope of her breast, taking his time as if he had all night and she was just a pleasant way to spend it. When his mouth closed over her nipple, Anaya's hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. She was still wet from the pool, still slick with anticipation she didn't want to admit to, and when his hand slid down her stomach, between her thighs, he found that truth easily.
"Christ," he muttered against her skin, his fingers parting her folds. "You're soaked."
Her face burned. "It's the pool—"
"It's not the pool." He pressed two fingers inside her, slow and deep, and her hips bucked against his palm. "You've been thinking about this since you dropped those little bottoms in the bowl, haven't you?"
She wanted to say no. The word was right there, balanced on her tongue, but when he crooked his fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her see stars, the denial dissolved into a moan. He laughed softly, and the sound had an edge of triumph.
Rafael pulled his fingers out, and she felt the loss like a sudden absence of gravity. He sat back on his heels, looking down at her sprawled across the ivory cushions, naked and trembling, and the hunger in his gaze made her feel both exposed and wanted. He tugged at the drawstring of his swim trunks, and they slid down his hips with a whisper of fabric.
His cock was thick, heavy, and when he knelt between her thighs, she felt the heat of it against her inner thigh. She bit her lip, her pulse hammering in her throat. He wrapped a hand around the base and guided the head against her entrance, dragging it through her slick folds, teasing her.
"Look at me," he said.
She did, her dark eyes wide in the amber light.
He pushed inside her.
The stretch was sudden and full, a deep pressure that made her gasp and arch. He groaned, low in his chest, and his hands found her hips, gripping her tight as he seated himself completely. For a moment he stayed there, buried deep, letting her adjust, letting her feel every inch of him.
"God," she breathed. "Oh, god."
He began to move. Slow at first, long strokes that pulled almost all the way out before sliding back in, and the friction was maddening. Her nails raked down his back, and he hissed through his teeth, picking up the pace. The lantern flickered as the cabana's thin curtains stirred in the night breeze, but Anaya was aware of nothing but the rhythm of his hips, the weight of him above her, the soft squelch of their bodies coming together.
Her breasts bounced with each thrust, and he watched them with heavy-lidded eyes before dropping his head to take one in his mouth, sucking hard. The dual sensation, his cock driving into her and his tongue raking across her nipple, sent a jolt of electricity through her spine. She cried out, her knees locking around his waist.
"That's it," he grunted against her skin. "Take it."
The shame was still there, coiling in her gut like something alive. She should not be doing this. She did not know this man. She had been pressured, manipulated, stripped bare at a party that had spiraled out of control. But her body, treacherous and desperate, was responding anyway. Every thrust pulled a new sound from her, and the sounds grew louder, less human, more animal.
She was close. She could feel the pressure building, hot and tight in her core, and she clawed at his shoulders, trying to hold him off, trying to hold on.