He had no shirt on. That was the first thing.
And from the second I saw him, everything else faded out.
His skin was golden — not pale, not overly tanned, just naturally bronzed, like the sun worshipped him instead of the other way around. His chest was exactly what you'd hope for in a man who doesn't just work out — but moves through life with purpose. Broad and smooth, golden brown from the sun, his skin glistened slightly, still damp from the water. His pecs were firm, perfectly shaped, and every time he moved, I saw the tightness of his core — abs carved deep, ridges stacked like a ladder I wanted to climb.
His body was balanced — not bulky, not too lean. Just defined. He had that real kind of strength that didn't beg for attention. V-lines sharp, stomach flat, every muscle working together under smooth, sun-warmed skin.
There was a fine trail of hair leading down from his chest, disappearing under low-slung swim trunks that hugged his hips just enough to make me stare. I could see the top of his hip bones, angled, sculpted — the kind of body detail that makes your mind go quiet for a second, like your thoughts just gave up trying to behave.
His arms? Insane. Thick, veined, with clear definition in his biceps and forearms. Not gym-perfect — better. Natural. The kind of arms that could lift you without effort. His hands were big, strong, and casually loose at his sides, fingers relaxed, veins running across the top like a roadmap to places I suddenly wanted to go.
His shoulders were wide, rounded, like armor built from real life — not just reps. His collarbones looked like they were made to be kissed. His neck... thick and smooth, with a light shadow from shaving, a jawline cut deep enough to be art. His lips were full — not overly done — just soft enough to want to bite. And his face? A mix of bold and calm. Masculine. Clean, slightly sweaty, hair a little messy from the salt water.
Everything about him made sense to my body before my brain had time to keep up.
I watched the way his abs tightened when he bent down. The way his back curved when he stretched his arms above his head, exposing more of that lower waistline — that dangerous, magnetic space just above the swim shorts. The way his shoulder blades moved, how his lats flared slightly, wide and smooth.
And his posture? Confident, loose, present. No phone. No mirror. Just a man completely at ease in his skin.
I didn't care who he was.
Not yet.
All I knew was: I wanted to touch him. Run my fingers across that chest, feel the texture of his abs under my palm, press my lips just beneath his jaw. My thoughts were already there before I even knew his name.
That body... it didn't ask for attention.
It commanded it.
And I gave it — willingly.
I could've left it at that. Let the heat settle into my skin and let the moment pass. But something about the way he moved — calm, slow, like he was grounded — pulled me in.
That's when I noticed his dog.
Golden retriever. Large, sandy, soaked and grinning like a child that had just escaped bedtime. Full of energy and zero boundaries, the dog ran along the edge of the shore, kicking up water, then turned... and came straight toward me.
I didn't plan it. I didn't overthink. I just knelt, open and relaxed, my hand reaching out as the dog happily pushed his face into my palm.
"Well, hello there," I said in a soft tone, my fingers curling into his wet fur, still warm from the sun.
A shadow moved beside me, and I already knew who it was before he spoke.
"He's friendly," the man said, voice low, textured, and deeper than I expected.
I looked up slowly — just enough to meet his eyes under my lashes.
"Good taste," I said, smiling. "He came straight to me."
He laughed once — a short, quiet sound. Just one corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, and I swear it had more pull than a full grin.
"He knows who he likes."
"Same," I murmured before I could stop myself, still kneeling. The air shifted slightly — not dramatic, but enough for me to feel a hum between us.
I stood, brushing off my legs slowly, deliberately, and now he was right in front of me.
And up close, it was worse — or better. I couldn't tell.
His chest was even more ridiculous in the sun — firm, slightly rising and falling, the salt on his skin catching light like glitter. His abs flexed again when he shifted his weight to one side. I noticed a tiny scar just below his ribs. Barely there, but real. His jawline was tighter from this angle. His lips parted slightly like he was holding something back.
The dog — Rio, I would learn soon — circled once, then flopped into the sand between us, tongue out, completely at peace.
I didn't hesitate. "I'm V."
He gave a slow nod. "Jace."
One word, and it carried a thousand things behind it.
He offered his hand, and I took it. His grip was firm, warm, confident. His palm was slightly rough, and something about that made my stomach twist in the best way.
For a few seconds, we just stood there — the waves pulling and fading behind us, his dog sprawled in the sand, the breeze threading between us like it wanted to get in on the tension too.
"Rio's a good wingman," I said, breaking the silence.
"He gets it from me."
"Oh, does he?" I smiled, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugged, still smirking. "Maybe."
God, even the way he talked had rhythm.
He didn't try to impress me. He didn't need to. His whole presence — shirtless, grounded, a little mysterious — was the impression.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn't in a rush to break the silence.
I liked just being there. In that moment. Watching him breathe. Watching him exist.
We ended up near his setup — two beach chairs and a small cooler beside them, tucked away near the edge of the dunes. His towel was half-draped over one, the other chair wide open, waiting. It was quiet here, a little more private, the crowd just distant enough to feel like background noise.
He offered me the seat next to him, and we both sat down — legs stretched out, the heat of the day still lingering in the air. Rio curled up beside us, loyal and chill, like this was already routine.
Everything felt easy. Legit, like it wasn't our first time doing this. We looked like a couple — effortless and new, but already matched. People walking by glanced, smiled, even made a few comments like, "You two are cute," or "Perfect day for a beach date, huh?"
We didn't correct them.
We just let it be.
The sky dimmed into sunset golds and violets. Someone nearby had a speaker playing old-school R&B, and Jace opened the cooler, offering me a canned drink. Cold, sweet, and a little strong. We clinked them together lightly. The first sip buzzed through me like warm static.
There were no kids around. Just adults now — grown people doing grown things. Lounging, laughing, not paying attention. It gave the moment room to breathe. The air felt thicker. Softer.
We didn't talk much at first. Just leaned back, letting the drinks slow us down. But the silence between us was buzzing now. Every time he looked at me, I could feel it — the shift. The weight in his stare.
He turned toward me, arm resting behind my chair. "You know," he said, his voice a little lower now, "I was trying so hard not to look at you when you stood up earlier."
I tilted my head. "Why?"
"Because your body..." He glanced down, eyes dragging slowly over me — not greedy, but deliberate. "It's perfect. That small frame. The way everything fits just right. I couldn't look away."
His eyes moved back to mine. I could see something wild in them now. Something undone.
He reached out, brushed a piece of hair from my face, letting his fingers linger near my cheek. "Your face is dangerous," he said with a crooked grin. "Those eyes? Brown like honey, warm... like they're hiding something. I've been wondering what."
My lips parted slightly. He noticed. His thumb brushed just below my bottom lip.
"And these lips..." He tilted his head closer. "You don't even know how kissable they are, do you?"
I felt my breath catch as he leaned in, speaking right against the shell of my ear now.
"Your eyebrows too. So expressive. Sharp. Pretty. And your hair..." He gently tugged the strand he'd brushed back. "God, I want to pull it. Just to hear the sound you'd make."
My skin lit up. Every word a spark, every breath a flame.
His hand slid down slowly, fingertips grazing the curve of my neck, then tracing along my shoulder to my collarbone. "And this body..." he whispered, looking down like he'd found a treasure he wasn't sure he was allowed to touch yet — but was going to anyway.
His palm moved to my chest — slow, confident — cupping one of my breasts through my top with care, like he was appreciating the size, the shape, the way they fit his hands perfectly. "Small," he said, "but perfect. Just enough to fill my mouth... God, I want to chew on them. Hear your little sounds."
I closed my eyes briefly, heart racing.
Then his lips were on my belly — gentle, warm, like a kiss meant to seal a promise. He let them linger there, like he wanted to learn the taste of me before even going further. His hand pressed against the dip of my waist, thumb tracing the soft line of my side, his breath hot against my skin.
"I love how you're built," he murmured. "So petite. Everything about you... bite-sized. Touchable. I could spend hours just learning every inch."
I shivered under his touch, the heat between us melting whatever space was left. This wasn't fast or careless — it was intentional. Sensual. Full of tension we both let build until it was almost unbearable.
And for the first time that day, I wasn't just admiring his body anymore.
I felt the full weight of his gaze on mine — and I wanted more.
His lips were still on my belly when he looked up — slowly, like he wanted to savor the path his eyes had taken across my skin.
And then... he moved.
His mouth traced a line upward — slow, soft, intentional — skimming past the curve of my ribs, kissing the center of my chest, warm and breathy through my top. His hand pressed gently into my waist, holding me in place like he already knew I was melting from the inside out.
I tilted my head to the side, my breathing shallow. He was so close now.
His face hovered inches from mine. I could feel his breath on my lips — warm and slow — but he didn't move too fast. He was studying me. My eyes, my mouth, the way I reacted to every little pause.
He wanted to feel it happen.
His hand came up and cradled the side of my face — thumb brushing along my cheek, fingers threading into my hair. His touch wasn't rushed. It was deep, steady, like he was holding something delicate but intense.
"I've been thinking about your mouth since the second I saw it," he whispered. "That bottom lip? I swear it's made to be bitten."
I smiled, barely. A soft curve. I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, and I knew he noticed.
He leaned in slowly — not because he was unsure, but because he wanted every second of the moment to stretch.
And then... his lips met mine.
Soft. Warm. Full.
The first kiss was slow — so slow it made my spine arch slightly from the ache of wanting more. His lips moved against mine with care, with heat, with purpose. Not too deep, not too forceful. Just enough to claim space. To own it.
He kissed like he'd been waiting to do it all day.
His other hand slid around my lower back, pulling me a little closer. Our bodies touched now — stomach to stomach, hip to hip. I felt his chest rise against mine, felt the tension in his muscles, the restraint. He was holding back — but barely.
His lips parted, just enough to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushed mine, a tease, a taste — slow again, like he was learning me, not just kissing me.
I made a soft sound in the back of my throat, and the way his hand tightened on my waist in response made my whole body light up.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes — his gaze dark now, hooded, but soft too.
"You're sweeter than I imagined," he murmured, his thumb now brushing over my lips, his voice low and almost possessive. "And I'm nowhere near done."
By now, the sun had fully disappeared behind the water, and the beach had emptied into quiet shadows.
It was just us.
No kids. No noise. Just the soft crash of waves and Rio snoring gently somewhere close by.
The only light came from the moon above and the faint orange flicker of someone else's dying bonfire in the distance. But where we were — tucked between tall dunes and scattered palms — it felt like the world had dimmed just for us.
He kissed me again, deeper this time. More sure. His hands, once gentle, now roamed with a quiet kind of hunger. He wasn't rushing. He was savoring.
"I want to see you," he said low against my neck, kissing just beneath my ear. His voice was rougher now, breathier, like he was already imagining it.
My heart thudded in my chest, but I didn't hesitate.
I nodded.
His hands moved slowly, fingers curling under the edge of my cover-up. I lifted my arms, and he pulled it off in one motion — deliberate, careful not to rush the reveal.
His eyes dropped.
And he froze.
The way he looked at me in that moment — it wasn't just attraction. It was awe. Like I was art. Like I was the thing he didn't realize he needed until now.
"God..." he whispered.
The moonlight hit my body just enough to cast soft glows across my skin, and he took every inch of it in — starting with the way my bathing suit hugged my curves.
Black. Low-cut. Barely-there straps.
The kind of one-piece that didn't hide much, but left just enough to make his imagination burn.
"That's seductive as hell," he said, almost like he was mad about it. "You wore this out here knowing some poor guy would lose his mind, didn't you?"
I grinned. "Maybe."
He laughed softly, running a finger along the strap at my shoulder, letting it trail down my arm. "I should be angry... but all I want is to take my time."
He circled behind me, and I felt his hands rest on my hips — warm, possessive. He kissed the back of my neck, then let his lips glide down my spine, slow and open-mouthed. I arched slightly, his breath hot against my skin.
His fingers traced along the open sides of the suit, thumbs pressing gently at my waist. "The way this clings to you..." he murmured, "You were made for this. For me to see."
I turned to face him again, breathing shallow. His hands were now at the small of my back, drawing me close, our skin barely touching.
We stood in silence for a moment — our bodies lit only by moonlight, our breathing syncing, and the tension between us thick enough to drown in.
And in that darkness, under nothing but stars and secrets... he began to undress me — slowly.
Not all at once.
Not greedy.
Just enough.
Just enough to make me feel like every second of it meant something.
We stood there for a moment, barefoot at the edge of the water, toes sinking into the cool sand. The tide rolled in gentle waves, just enough to kiss our ankles and swirl around us. There were no voices, no music, no laughter in the distance.
Just the sound of the sea... and us.
He looked around again, arms crossed low as he tilted his head toward me.
"No one," he repeated. "Not a single person."
I smirked. "So what? You planning something?"
He chuckled under his breath. "Only if you are."
I turned slightly, letting the warm breeze catch my hair, teasing it over my bare shoulder. His eyes followed every strand.
"Honestly..." I said, lifting my gaze to him, "it kind of feels like the world cleared out just for us."
That smile came back — slow and sideways — like I had said the exact thing he was thinking.
He stepped closer again, hands sliding gently around my waist, pulling me into him.
"Your suit," he murmured, eyes trailing down my body again. "You really wore that here without knowing we'd match?"
I looked down at the black fabric again, how it hugged my frame like it was tailored to it. "It's just black."
He shook his head. "No. It's not just black. It's fate in fabric."
My lips parted. He leaned in.
And then—slowly, intentionally—he kissed me.
His lips were warm, soft but firm, tasting like sea salt and a hint of the drink we shared earlier. He kissed like someone who had waited to do it all day—slow at first, savoring it. His hand slid to my lower back, anchoring me to him. My hands pressed lightly against his chest, feeling every ridge of muscle beneath my fingers.
When we pulled back just a breath, he looked down at me again, voice low.
"You're unreal, you know that?"
I tilted my head, lips still tingling. "So are you."
He leaned in again, lips brushing mine between words.
"I want more."
The moonlight bathed us, the ocean moved, and the beach stretched endlessly around us—just shadows, stars, and skin.
And it felt like the night had just begun.