Chapter 368: Salt, Sun, and the Shape of Home
Malik lay reclined on a low beach sofa set just far enough beneath the palms that the sun filtered down in softened gold instead of striking outright. Pale fabric shaded him, billowing lazily with the breeze, while the sea stretched wide and glittering beyond—blue layered over deeper blue, waves breaking in a rhythm that felt so smooth it almost put him to sleep. A half-finished drink rested near his hand, condensation beading on the glass, forgotten.
His attention wasn't on the horizon.
It was on Aya and Risa.
They were in the water, far enough out that the waves rose to their waists before breaking, close enough that he could hear their laughter when the surf tossed it his way. It was a sound he rarely heard from either of them—unguarded, unmeasured. Joy without a perimeter.
Aya moved through the water like she did through rooms: precise, efficient, utterly unpanicked. Her swimsuit was simple and functional, cut to allow freedom of movement rather than admiration—dark, high-necked, secure. Even relaxed, she carried herself with straight-backed composure, long black hair pulled loose and streaming behind her when she turned, the sun catching that faint blue sheen in it. When a wave came in stronger than expected, she braced automatically, feet finding the sand beneath the surge, steel-gray eyes flicking once to the shoreline before relaxing again.
Risa, by contrast, let the water take her.
Her swimsuit was lighter in tone—soft cream and muted rose—practical but playful, tied and layered in a way that looked casual while hiding a dozen contingencies. She splashed Aya deliberately, laughed when Aya shot her a look that pretended to be disapproval, then ducked under a wave only to pop up closer to shore, hair slicked back and freckles standing out against her sun-warmed skin. When she grinned, dimples flashed, and the ocean seemed to grin with her.
Malik watched them with a quiet fondness that settled deep in his chest.
They had taken to the island as if it had been waiting for them. As if the walls and halls and open skies had known their names long before they arrived.
He let himself breathe that in.
Eventually, Aya noticed him watching. She turned, raised a hand in acknowledgment, and said something to Risa that Malik couldn't hear over the water. Risa followed her gaze, waved enthusiastically, then waded toward shore with exaggerated drama, water cascading off her arms. Aya followed at a steadier pace, steps sure even as the sand shifted beneath her feet.
They approached together, water dripping, footprints darkening the sand. Risa reached the shade first, plopping down on the edge of the sofa with a satisfied sigh, while Aya remained standing for a moment, surveying the beach out of habit before allowing herself to relax.
"You look content," Aya said, finally, her tone calm but warm.
"I am," Malik replied. He smiled at them both. "You should stay."
Risa blinked. "Stay?"
"Yes," Malik said gently. "Here. On the island. As long as you like." He gestured to the sea, the palms, the quiet competence of the place. "I'll return to the Land of Fire myself. There are… conversations I need to have. But I won't pull you away from this."
Risa's eyes widened, then softened. "You're serious."
She looked at Aya, then back at Malik, then at the sea again, as if seeing it for the first time not as a backdrop but as a possibility. "You'd just… leave us here?"
Malik nodded. "The island is secured. The staff is discreet. You'd be safe. And you'd be free." He let the word hang between them, heavy with its own quiet weight. "You've both been living within other people's boundaries for so long. Mine. The villages. The mission's. This place can be yours."
Aya had gone very still. She was looking not at Malik, but at the horizon line where the sky met the sea—a perfect, unwavering division. Her posture was as straight as ever, but the tension in her shoulders was different now. Not readiness for a threat, but the strain of a long-held breath finally being released.
"You would trust us with this?"
"I am," Malik said. "I won't ruin those smiles. And besides"—his gaze flicked between them—"you've taken to this place better than I could've hoped."
Aya studied him, searching for the hidden angle that usually accompanied generosity. She found none. "You trust the wards," she said, half-question, half-statement.
"I trust you," Malik answered. "And the island agrees with you."
Risa laughed quietly. "I like that you say things like that. As if places have opinions."
"They do," Malik said. "Some are just quieter than others."
Aya inclined her head, a small bow that meant more than ceremony. "Then we'll stay," she said. "At least a while."
Risa leaned over the back of the sofa, close enough that Malik could smell salt and sun in her hair. "We'll behave," she added, cheerfully. "Mostly."
Malik chuckled. "I expect nothing less."
There was a pause, the easy kind, filled by the surf and the rustle of leaves. Aya stepped closer then, just enough to cross the line from formality into familiarity. She bent and pressed a brief, deliberate kiss to Malik's cheek—cool from the sea, steady as a promise.
"For trusting us," she said softly.
Risa didn't hesitate. She leaned in from the other side and kissed his other cheek, warmer, lingering a heartbeat longer. "For giving us somewhere that feels like ours," she added, smiling.
Malik closed his eyes for a moment, letting the affection settle. When he opened them, his expression was bright and unguarded. "Thank you," he said. "For staying."
The words hung there, a quiet punctuation to the shift that had just occurred. Malik felt the warmth of their kisses on his cheeks, the cool saltwater left behind beginning to evaporate in the island air.
Risa settled back onto the sand beside the sofa, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She watched the water, her expression contemplative. "Where will you start? In the Land of Fire."
"With the Hokage," Malik said, his gaze turning inward to the logistics ahead. "The official report, the unofficial understanding. Then the clan heads who have a stake in the outcome. It will be a dance of paperwork and politics."
Aya moved to sit on the other side, her movements economical. She picked up a smooth, water-worn stone from the sand, turning it over in her palm. "And your family?"
Malik's expression did not falter, but the light in his eyes grew more focused as he smiled again, "Let's talk about other things. No, need to be so serious."
Malik's golden-pink eyes flicked between Aya and Risa, the warmth of the morning sun casting their figures in soft, golden light. The air was thick with the scent of salt and jasmine, the distant hum of the ocean a steady rhythm beneath their breaths. For a moment, he let himself look—really look—at them in a way he rarely allowed himself. Not as his guards, not as his shadows, but as women, as the two people who had stood by his side . . .
Aya's swimsuit clung to her like a second skin, the dark fabric slick with seawater, hugging the lean, athletic lines of her body. The high neckline framed her collarbone, the fabric dipping just low enough to hint at the subtle swell of her breasts—small but perfectly shaped, firm and high, the kind of body that spoke of discipline and control. The material stretched tight over her ribs, accentuating the faint scars that traced along her sides, the kind of marks that told a story of training, of battles fought and survived. Her hips were narrow, her waist taut, her legs long and toned, the muscles defined but still feminine.
The swimsuit ended mid-thigh, leaving her legs bare, the skin smooth and pale, the kind of complexion that made her look like she'd been carved from moonlight.
Risa's swimsuit, by contrast, was softer, the cream and muted rose fabric clinging to her curves in a way that was impossible to ignore. The top was tied in a delicate knot between her breasts, the fabric barely containing the full, heavy weight of them, the way they pressed together, the cleavage deep and inviting. Her waist was softer than Aya's, her hips wider, her thighs thicker, the kind of body that spoke of strength and warmth, of a woman who could move like water one moment and strike like steel the next.
The swimsuit hugged her ass, the fabric stretching over the round, firm curve of it, the kind of shape that made Malik's fingers twitch with the need to grip, to squeeze. The bottoms ended just above her knees, the fabric clinging to the toned muscles of her legs, the kind of strength that came from years of training, of living.
Malik's breath hitched as his gaze lingered, his body responding to the sight of them, to the way the sunlight caught the damp fabric, the way it outlined the curves of their bodies, the way their skin glistened with seawater. He could see the way Aya's breasts rose and fell with each breath, the way Risa's hips swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, the way their bodies moved in perfect, effortless harmony.
For a moment, he let himself imagine—the way their skin would feel beneath his hands, the way their bodies would respond to his touch, Aya's steel-gray eyes met his, her expression unreadable, but there was a warmth there, a quiet invitation. Risa's amber-brown eyes gleamed with mischief, her lips curling into a smirk that was equal parts challenge and promise.
"You're staring," Aya murmured, her voice a low, velvety taunt.
Malik's grin was slow, unapologetic. "And you're beautiful," he replied, his voice rough with admiration, with restraint.
Risa's smirk deepened, her fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path down her own body, her touch light but knowing. "You like what you see?" she asked, her voice a purr.
Malik's breath came faster, his body trembling with the effort of holding still, of letting them take the lead. "I love what I see," he said, his voice thick with desire.
Aya's fingers found the tie at the nape of her neck, her movements slow, deliberate. The knot came undone with a single, smooth tug, the fabric of her swimsuit top loosening, slipping down her shoulders, revealing the small but perfect shape of her breasts. They were firm, high, the nipples dark and tight, the skin smooth and pale, the kind of beauty that came from discipline, from control. Malik's breath hitched as he took in the sight of her, the way her body trembled slightly, the way her breath came in ragged gasps as she let the fabric fall away, leaving her bare from the waist up.
Risa didn't hesitate. Her fingers found the knot between her own breasts, her touch sure as she undid it, the fabric of her swimsuit top falling open, revealing the full, heavy weight of her breasts. They were magnificent—large and round, the nipples a deep, dusky pink, the areolas wide and soft, the kind of body that spoke of warmth, of nurturing. Malik's hands twitched at his sides, his fingers digging into his palms as he fought to keep his composure. He wanted to reach out, to cup the weight of them in his hands, to feel the way they would fill his palms, the way her breath would hitch as he teased her, as he worshipped her.
"You can touch," Aya murmured, her voice a low, velvety taunt. "If you want to."
Malik's breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with the effort of holding still, of letting them give him permission. His hands lifted slowly, his fingers brushing against the soft, warm skin of Aya's waist, tracing the curve of her ribs, the way her muscles tensed beneath his touch. He cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, the way her breath hitched as he teased her, the way her body arched into his touch.
Risa's hands found his, guiding them to her own breasts, her touch firm but gentle. Malik's fingers curled around the heavy weight of them, the way they filled his palms, the way her breath came in ragged gasps as he squeezed, as he explored. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, the way they tightened beneath his touch, the way her body responded to him, the way her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as he teased her,
"You're perfect," Malik murmured, his voice rough with admiration, with restraint. His lips found Aya's, his kiss slow and deep, his hands still cupping her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple, the way her breath hitched as he tasted her, the way her body responded to his touch. Risa's hands slid up to tangle in his hair, her grip tightening as he kissed her, as he explored her, as he worshipped her.
The air grew thick with the sounds of their pleasure, the soft murmurs and gasps that filled the space between them. The sunlight filtered through the palms, casting patterns of light and shadow across their skin, across the way their bodies moved together.
Aya's fingers traced the line of his jaw, her touch light and sure. "We're yours," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin.
Risa's lips found his shoulder, her kisses trailing upward to his neck. "Completely," she added, her voice thick with desire.
Malik's body responded to the promise in their words, to the way they surrendered to him, to the trust they placed in his hands. He knew this moment would linger in his memory—this gift, this surrender, this quiet understanding that passed between them in the filtered light of the island shore.
Malik's gaze lingers on Aya, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur that carries only between them. "Aya," he says, his tone soft but deliberate, "get on the sofa. Lay back for me."
She meets his eyes, her steel-gray gaze steady, and without hesitation, she moves. Her steps are as economical as ever, each motion purposeful as she crosses the few feet to the low beach sofa. She turns, her back to him for a moment, and then lowers herself onto the pale fabric, reclining until she is lying back against the cushions. Her posture remains straight even in repose, her shoulders squared, her spine a clean line against the softness beneath her.
"Now," Malik says, his voice a gentle command, "take off your bottoms. Let me see you."
Aya's hands go to the waistband of her swimsuit bottoms. Her fingers are sure, unhurried. She hooks her thumbs into the fabric at her hips and slides it down her legs in one smooth, practiced motion. The dark material pools at her ankles; she kicks it off without looking, letting it fall onto the sand beside the sofa.
Now she lies before him completely bare.
The filtered sunlight falls across her body in dappled patches, gold and shadow playing over pale skin. Her body is a study in lean, honed strength. Her stomach is flat, the muscles defined but not harsh, a taut plane that dips into the sharp angle of her hips. Her legs are long, stretched out before her, the muscles of her thighs and calves carved from years of movement—powerful, elegant lines.
Malik's eyes trace downward, past the neat triangle of dark hair at the junction of her thighs, to where her body opens to him.
Her ass is not large or roundly soft, but it is perfectly shaped—two firm, high mounds that curve with athletic definition. The curve of her spine dips slightly where it meets her lower back, the muscles there taut and smooth. Her skin is flawless, save for the faint white lines of old scars that cross her ribs like pale constellations.
Malik drinks in the sight of her, his body responding with a slow, steady heat that spreads through his chest. He moves closer, his hand rising to brush the back of his fingers along the line of her thigh, from knee to hip.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, and means it with every fiber of his being.
Aya's breath comes shallow, her steel-gray eyes watching him with that same steady focus, though there is something new in them now—something softer, more open. She shifts slightly, her hips lifting just an inch off the cushions in silent invitation.
Malik's hand trails higher, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Malik pushes her legs fully open, needing to get a good look at her pussy, His fingers press lightly into the soft skin of her inner thighs, urging them wider, his golden-pink gaze locked onto the slick folds between her legs. Her pussy is already glistening, wetness gathering at the entrance, her arousal obvious even before he touches her. The dark curls above are trimmed neatly, revealing the smooth, vulnerable skin beneath.
Malik's breathing deepens as he observes her. "You're already wet for me," he says, voice rough with appreciation.
Aya's throat bobs as she swallows, her fingers curling into the fabric beneath her. "I always am," she admits, the words quieter than usual. "When you look at me like that."
The admission sends a thrill through Malik's body. His fingers trace upward, the lightest touch along the crease where thigh meets hip, then higher, brushing over the dampness between her folds. Malik's clothes vanish into pink smoke.
He looks back at Risa and smiles at her as he slowly pushes his thick black cock inside Aya, "Risa, just give me a moment with Aya, then I promise to get to you." Risa's lips curve into a smile that's equal parts amusement and understanding. She watches Malik with keen attention, her amber-brown eyes bright with hunger. "I'm in no hurry," she murmurs, settling back against the arm of the sofa, her fingers idly tracing the curve of her own breast through the damp fabric of her top. "Take your time with her. I'll enjoy watching."
Malik's attention returns to Aya as he pushes inside her, his cock sliding into the slick heat of her body. Aya's breath catches, her fingers digging into the cushions as he fills her, her hips arching slightly to accommodate him. The muscles in her thighs tense, her body taut with restrained pleasure as she struggles to remain composed even as he takes her.
"Malik," she breathes, the sound escaping before she can stop it.
Malik makes sure to lean into Aya and hold her with his arms, "Tell me if you're uncomfortable or in any pain," he told her in a sweet and soft voice before, pushing fully inside her tight welcoming heat, Malik's body moves with controlled precision, his thrusts slow and deep as he sinks fully into Aya's tight heat. Her muscles clench around him, her body stiffening with the unfamiliar stretch of his thick cock inside her. Aya's breath comes in short, measured gasps, her steel-gray eyes locked onto his with that same unflinching intensity, though there is something new in them now—an unguarded vulnerability that she rarely allows to surface.
"You feel so good," Malik murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. His hands grip her hips, holding her steady as he moves, each thrust careful and deliberate. He watches the way her body reacts to his, the way her thighs tremble, the way her back arches slightly, pushing her breasts upward, her nipples hard and flushed in the warm island air.
Aya's fingers curl deeper into the fabric beneath her, her nails biting into the cushions as she fights to keep herself grounded. Malik leaned forward, his arms wrapping around Aya's shoulders, his chest pressing against hers. The scent of saltwater and her skin filled his senses. He held her like that for a long moment, not moving, just feeling the rapid beat of her heart against his own. "Tell me if you're uncomfortable or in any pain," he told her, his voice sweet and soft against her ear.
He felt her shake her head, a minute motion. "No pain," Aya whispered, the words strained. "Just... full."
That admission, raw and honest, sent a wave of protectiveness through him. He kissed her temple, then slowly began to move again, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back in with that same deliberate pace. He watched her face, every subtle shift in her expression—the flutter of her eyelids, the parting of her lips on a silent gasp, the way her brows drew together in focused concentration. Malik could move faster and harder, but he watched her, making sure that she felt as good as possible, more for her pleasure first, than his. His hands slid up her torso, fingertips grazing the undersides of her breasts before cupping them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in slow circles. Aya's breathing faltered, a small sound escaping her throat. Her back arched slightly, pressing her breasts more firmly into his palms.
"You're perfect," Malik murmured against her skin. "Every part of you."
Aya's hands found his shoulders, gripping him tightly. Her nails dug into his skin as he thrust into her again, deeper this time, her body yielding to him with every movement. The heat between them was intoxicating, the slow friction building with every push of his hips.
"You're perfect," Malik repeated, his voice thick with emotion. "The way you feel around me. The way you look at me."
Aya's face flushed, her usual composure fracturing as pleasure built inside her. The sound of the surf seemed to recede, replaced by the rhythm of their breathing and the soft, wet sound of Malik moving inside her. He kept his pace deliberate, his focus entirely on Aya's responses. He watched the tension gather in her jaw, the way her throat worked as she swallowed, the flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck. Her steel-gray eyes had gone hazy, fixed on something just past his shoulder.
He shifted his weight, angling his hips slightly, and her breath hitched. A soft, ragged moan escaped her lips, the sound so unlike her usual controlled tones that it sent a jolt of heat straight through him. He did it again, and her hips jerked up to meet his, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"There?" he asked, his voice a rough whisper.
She could only nod, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. Malik having found her sweet spot, started to thrust at it with full passion, Malik's thrusts grew more intense, each deliberate movement aimed at hitting that sweet spot deep inside Aya. Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, her heels pressing into the small of his back as she arched up to meet him. The sound of their bodies joining filled the air, punctuated by the soft gasps and moans that escaped Aya's lips. Her usual composure had all but vanished, replaced by a raw, unguarded pleasure that was intoxicating to watch.
Malik's hands moved to grip her hips, angling her body just slightly to give him even deeper access. He could feel her tighten around him, her inner walls pulsing with every thrust. Aya's breath came in short, ragged bursts, her steel-gray eyes now clouded with desire, unfocused and locked onto his. Her nails dug into his skin, leaving faint red marks that he knew he'd wear with pride.
"You feel so good." Malik's voice is a low growl against her ear, his breath hot. "You feel so good, Aya. So tight, so perfect."
Her response is a choked gasp as he drives into her again, hitting that spot with unerring accuracy. Her body trembles beneath him, her muscles clenching rhythmically around his cock. He can feel her nearing the edge, her control fraying at the seams.
He slows his pace for a moment, drawing out the sensation, watching her face as she whimpers in frustration. Her hips buck against his, seeking more friction, more of him. Malik smiles, a dark, possessive curl of his lips, before he gives her exactly what she wants.
His thrusts become harder, faster, each one driving her closer to the brink. Aya's cries grow louder, less restrained, her fingers clawing at his back as she surrenders completely to the pleasure. He feels the exact moment she shatters. Aya's entire body goes rigid beneath him, a sharp, silent cry caught in her throat before it escapes as a long, shuddering moan. Her inner muscles clamp down on him in rhythmic, pulsing waves, her back arching off the sofa as pleasure rips through her with undeniable force. Her steel-gray eyes squeeze shut, her face a mask of ecstatic release, all control and composure utterly abandoned.
Malik holds himself deep inside her, his own body trembling with the effort of not following her over that edge just yet. He watches her come undone, committing every detail to memory—the way her lips part, the faint sheen of sweat on her brow, the way her fingers slowly uncurl from his shoulders and fall limp against the cushions.
He stays like that until the last of her tremors subside, until her breathing begins to even out. Malik remained buried inside her, his body still thrumming with tension as he watched Aya drift back from the peak. Her chest rose and fell in deep, steadying breaths, her eyes still closed, lashes dark against her pale cheeks. A faint, uncharacteristically soft smile touched her lips. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, tasting salt and skin.
After a long moment, he withdrew slowly, hissing softly at the sensation. Aya made a small, wordless sound of loss as he left her body, her eyes fluttering open to watch him. Her gaze was clear again, but softer, the steel in them tempered by warmth.
Malik turned his head, his golden-pink eyes finding Risa where she still lounged against the arm of the sofa. She had watched the entire exchange with rapt attention, one hand still idly cupping her own breast through her swimsuit top, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
Malik's gaze shifts to Risa, his eyes lingering on the generous swell of her breasts over the damp, cream-colored fabric of her swimsuit top. The material loses slightly, hinting at the full, heavy weight that they use to hold, and he can already imagine the softness, the warmth of her skin. His attention drifts lower, to where her swimsuit bottoms cling to the curve of her hips, the fabric dark with seawater.
"Risa," he says, his voice low and inviting. "Your turn. Show me."
A slow, knowing smile spreads across Risa's lips. Her fingers move to the knot at her hip, undoing it with a practiced flick. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband and slides the bottoms down her legs, kicking them aside with a casual grace. Now she lies back against the sofa arm, completely bare, her body open to his view.
As she spreads her legs for him, Malik wonders what her pussy is going to look like. Will it be fully shaved, or will she have some hair like Aya, or maybe, Malik hopes, she will be hairy? Risa's gaze locks with Malik's, her amber-brown eyes bright with amusement and hunger. She shifts slightly, her hips tilting just enough to give him an unobstructed view. The soft rose glow of her inner thighs gleams in the filtered sunlight as her legs part wider, revealing the full, curved beauty of her body.
Her pussy is a revelation—softer and fuller than Aya's, the folds plump with arousal, glistening with wetness. Unlike Aya's neatly trimmed dark curls, Risa's pubic hair is denser, a rich black with hints of deep brown, framing her sex like a shadow. The hair is longer around her outer lips, shorter where it presses against her inner folds, creating a soft, inviting contrast that draws the eye.
As she watches him watching her, Risa's fingers trace a slow path down her stomach, coming to rest against the top of her slit. "How do you want me to take you?" Malik asked, already knowing that Risa would be easier to please than Aya.
Malik's golden-pink eyes roam across Risa's exposed form, his gaze locking onto the plush curves of her body, the fullness of her breasts, and the tantalizing sight between her thighs. He drinks in the way her soft, warm skin glistens in the island sun, the way her muscles flex slightly as she shifts, the way her dark pubic hair frames the glistening folds of her pussy.
Risa's smile widens as she watches him, her fingers idly tracing circles around her own nipples, the areolas dark and flushed with arousal. "I want you to take me," she purrs, her voice thick with desire. "Hard. Fast. I want to feel every inch of you stretching me, filling me up."
She spreads her legs wider, one hand drifting down to part her swollen lips, exposing the slick, pink folds beneath. Malik nodded quickly, lining himself up with her entrance, then thrusting into her fully, giving her no time to adjust as he picked her up slightly to better thrust into her at the pace she wanted. The moment his cock slides into Risa, she lets out a loud moan, her head falling back against the sofa as her body yields to the sudden intrusion. Her muscles clench around him immediately, her inner walls rippling as they try to accommodate his thickness.
"God, you're so big," she gasps, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Fuck, Malik..."
He doesn't slow down, doesn't give her time to adjust. He moves with the pace she asked for—hard, fast, each thrust driving him deeper into her warm, tight body. Risa's cries fill the air, unfiltered and unrestrained, her body arching beneath him as he pounds into her.
Her breasts bounce with every impact, the heavy weight of them jiggling with the force of his thrusts. Malik can't help but watch them, mesmerized by their movement, by the way her nipples peak into tight, dusky pink points. Malik gripped Risa's hips, lifting her slightly off the cushions so he could drive into her at a sharper angle. Her body responded instantly, her legs wrapping around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back. Each thrust was met with a gasp or a moan, her voice rising and falling with the rhythm he set. Risa's hands moved from his shoulders to tangle in her own hair, her fingers clenching as pleasure washed over her in waves.
"Harder," she gasped, her amber-brown eyes glazed with need. "Don't hold back."
He obeyed, his pace becoming a relentless piston of motion. The sound of their bodies meeting was sharp and wet, underscored by Risa's ragged breathing. Her breasts swayed heavily with each impact, the soft flesh bouncing and jiggling. Malik leaned down, catching one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard as he continued to thrust. He could feel her getting closer and closer, her climax coming fast as he moved inside her. Malik's mouth worked her nipple, his tongue circling the tight peak before sucking it deep. Risa cried out, her back bowing off the sofa, her fingers scrabbling at his shoulders. The sensation of his mouth on her breast, combined with the relentless drive of his cock inside her, pushed her swiftly toward the edge.
He could feel it in the way her inner muscles began to flutter, a rapid, tightening pulse around his length. Her breathing grew ragged, her moans climbing in pitch. Malik lifted his head, his gaze locked on her face as he drove into her one final, deep time, burying himself to the hilt.
Risa's climax broke over her with a force that seemed to shake the very air. Her eyes flew wide, unseeing, her mouth opening in a silent scream before sound rushed out—a raw, throaty cry that echoed across the quiet beach. Malik slowly pulled out of her, slowly putting her back down on the sofa, making sure she was comfortable. Risa's chest rises and falls in deep, ragged breaths, her body still twitching with aftershocks of pleasure. Her amber-brown eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, but there's a sated smile on her lips. Malik watches her, his own body still humming with need, his cock glistening with her wetness.
"Stay with us," Risa whispers, her voice thick with residual pleasure. "For a little while longer. Please."
Malik's expression softens, his hand reaching to brush a strand of damp hair from her forehead. "I'd like that but . . . . .," he admits, his voice rough with emotion.
Aya shifts beside them, her steel-gray eyes watching them both with quiet contentment. She looks different now—softer somehow, as if the island air has settled something deep inside her. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against Malik's arm, a gentle, possessive touch.
"We'll take care of you." Malik looked Aya up and down, his eyes locking on to her firm and small-ish breasts, naked and high on her chest, "I don't know if I should stay, not that you both don't make great company, and I do mean that too, the sex was great but you both are always a fun time to hang out with but . . .," he stopped knowing that he did want to do other things today. Still, his mind and attention always seemed to wander. "Also, Aya, what cup size are you?" he asked her. Aya's steel-gray eyes flick to Malik, her expression unreadable for a heartbeat before something—amusement, perhaps—flickers across her face. She sits up slightly, the movement precise as always, and looks down at herself with detached consideration. "I'm not entirely sure," she says, her voice quiet but steady. "I've never measured. Probably a B or small C."
Malik nods, filing that information away with the same careful attention he gives to most things inside his head. His gaze drifts back to her body, tracing the lean lines of her torso, the way her small, firm breasts rise and fall with her breathing. They're perfect for her frame—practical, balanced, beautiful in their simplicity.
Risa watches the exchange with a knowing smirk, propping herself up on one elbow. "And I'm a D," she offers cheerfully, her hand gesturing vaguely at her own chest. "Maybe a DD. Depends on the bra." Malik turns his head to look at Risa, smiling at her, "You're for sure at least a D, and I know my D cups and Risa, my dear, you're a D." Risa laughs, a bright, unselfconscious sound that carries across the beach. "You've got a good eye, Malik."
Aya shifts again, her fingers absently tracing a pattern on the fabric of the sofa. "Does it matter?" she asks, not unkindly, but with that characteristic directness. "The sizes."
Malik pauses, considering. "No," he admits finally. "Not really. I was just... thinking." He looks between them, at their bare bodies still glistening with seawater and sweat, at the way the sunlight filters through the palms above them. "I'm glad you're both here. That we had this time."
Risa's smile softens, her amber-brown eyes warm. "We're glad too."
" . . .Honestly," Malik started again, "I just like to know information like that, most likly beacuse I'm a gentlemen and a pervert at the same time, but I love boobs of all sizes, Big or small but what I truly love is an ass, I'm a true Ass man, and both of you having amazing butts," he told them, his cock still fully hard, but he ignored it for now. Malik's golden-pink eyes flick down to Aya's ass again, the way it curves perfectly, high and firm, the way her hipbones dip inward before flaring out again. "Aya, you have an incredible ass," he says, voice rough with appreciation. "Small but perfectly shaped. Like it was made to fit in my hands."
Aya's face doesn't flush, but her expression does change—something unguarded passing across her features. She doesn't shift her position, but her fingers curl slightly against the sofa cushion, as if she's suppressing the urge to move.
"And yours," Malik turns his gaze to Risa, his eyes locking onto the generous swell of her hips, the way her ass curves full and round beneath her. "So soft. So warm. I could spend hours just holding it."
Risa grins, stretching like a satisfied cat. "You can do more than just hold it." Malik thinks to himself as she says that, "You know, I might just spend the rest of the day with you 2, in fact, you should both figure out what you want to do today, separately, just one on one, then we can do that thing, then I think it'll probably lead to more sex, how does that sound?" Aya and Risa exchange a look, something unspoken passing between them. Then Aya speaks, her voice measured as always. "That sounds... acceptable."
Risa laughs, rolling onto her back and stretching, her ample breasts pressing together as she arches her spine. "Acceptable?" she echoes, amused. "That's the best you've got?"
Aya's steel-gray eyes flick to her, a small, almost imperceptible quirk at the corner of her mouth. "It's the truth."
Malik watches them, his body still thrumming with unspent need, but his attention is caught by their interaction. He's seen them fight alongside one another, protect him, and move in perfect sync as shadows and guards. But this—this is different. This is them relaxed, unguarded, just... being.
"I'll start," Risa says, pushing herself up on her elbows.