She wasn’t dressed to impress. Just a black string bikini, oversized sunglasses, and a heart full of boredom.
The beach was quiet. Until he arrived.
Tan, ripped, cocky. The kind of guy who knew women stared—and didn’t give a fuck. His eyes locked with hers. No pickup line. No hesitation. Just that raw, silent challenge between two animals ready to pounce.
They didn’t even exchange names before they ended up in his hotel room.
As soon as the door shut—boom.
His hands were on her throat.
Her back slammed against the wall.
They kissed like they hated each other. Biting, gasping, devouring.
Clothes? Torn off.
Her bikini top snapped. Her bottoms yanked down.
He picked her up like she weighed nothing, threw her onto the bed like a toy.
She was soaked before he even touched her.
But when he spread her legs and slammed into her, all breath left her lungs.
It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t sweet.
It was sweaty, savage, relentless.
He fucked her like he owned her.
She clawed his back, leaving red streaks.
He pinned her wrists down and pounded her so hard the bed cracked.
She screamed. He grunted.
Their bodies slammed together over and over, drenched in sweat, dripping with lust, skin slick and shining under the hotel lights.
She squirted. Twice.
He didn’t stop.
She begged for mercy, begged for more, begged with her legs wrapped around his waist and her nails sunk into his ass.
By the time he finished—growling into her ear, shaking, spent—they were both soaked to the core.
Sheets ruined.
Pillows on the floor.
Bodies tangled.
He kissed her neck and whispered, “Round two… after you recover.”
But she was already climbing on top of him, hungry for more.